Golden retrievers bring masters to party

Appraising the gathering, Jim Davis, a retired Unisys vice president accompanied by his wife, Lindsay, and their beloved golden retriever, Meg, a seasoned sailor who looked jaunty in a blue kerchief, had this to say:

"It's quirky, and so are the dogs."

"And so is the hostess!" added Adele Hebb, her remark exempt from cattiness because she was referring to herself.

Both were right, on all counts.

The comments were prompted by the fifth annual Golden Retriever Party, a private, invitation-only affair Saturday in Hebb's spacious, fenced-in backyard in Lafayette Hill.

Eighteen shaggy, blissfully blond pooches showed up, with their enabling, smitten, and somewhat bewildered human companions and servants in tow.

"I can't believe that something like this exists," said Paul Walsh, 47, a real estate broker from Blue Bell, whose dog, Shannon, was hanging out with her sister, Luvee. Shannon and Luvee had met by chance at last year's bash and bonded instantly. Recalled Walsh: "We had a blast."

If the golden retriever is the quintessential suburban dog - smiling goofily in Christmas-card portraits or through the hatchback window of Range Rovers and Volvos, a canine symbol of the good life and all that is pleasant, serene, and benign - this was the ultimate suburban doggie play date and celebration of the breed.

"It's pretty impressive," said Eric Tilles, 47, a lawyer from West Mount Airy, who came with Rory, a gorgeous British cream golden retriever. "These are good dogs to get together. They're generally very social."

Indeed, the canine guests were well-behaved and mannerly. They frolicked and scampered and exchanged tail-sniffings with grace and class. There was no fighting or barking. This reporter saw only one breach of etiquette, when one randy golden (you know who you are, Buddy) momentarily became very social with another.

Not every breed of dog would appreciate a party, said Leah Riband, 72, of Fort Washington, a cohostess and co-organizer of the fete. "Goldens are not aggressive. They don't growl or snarl or snap. They have a truly golden personality. Their one psychological disorder is that they think they're human and wear a big, stupid grin all the time."

Added her husband, Herb: "They love people and companionship. The one thing you can't do is ignore them. They're people-huggers. That's why they're so beloved."

As the dogs got acquainted, so did their masters. ("We're all just appendages," noted Cathy Herbert, the wife of Eric Tilles and "mother" of Rory.)

There was talk about breeding and training, of course, but mostly there were tales and testimonials about the marvels and wonders of a dog whose disposition is as beauteous as its silky amber coat.

Various owners described goldens as sweet, loving, kind, loyal, affectionate, tolerant, nonjudgmental, and promiscuously nice. If Fred Rogers were to return as a dog, he'd be a golden retriever.

"They're like the person I'd like to be," said Herbert, whose other golden retriever, Sylvie, stayed home because she (Sylvie, not Herbert) thinks party chatter is inane. "They're outgoing, friendly, and they take everything in stride."

Barbara Penny, 57, a lawyer from Blue Bell, who brought Sailor, a 3-year-old rescue from Charleston, S.C., called goldens "a joyful breed" and lauded their "consistency of temperament."

"I breed English cocker spaniels, and I adore them," Penny said, "but goldens are accepting of all breeds."

Sometimes too accepting, Riband interjected.

"If a burglar comes to the door, a golden will say, 'Welcome! You want money and jewels? No problem. Come on in. I'll show you exactly where they are!' "

Riband and Hebb met through their love of opera. Hebb, a woman who exudes vitality, is on the board of the Academy of Vocal Arts, and her goldens, Chris and Renata, are named after the AVA's music director, Christofer Macatsoris, and Renata Tebaldi, the late acclaimed soprano. When Riband and Hebb discovered they also shared a passion for goldens, they hatched the idea of the Golden Retriever Party.

The first year, they invited friends, friends of friends, and random folks they bumped into on the other end of a golden retriever's leash. A good time was had by all, and a rite of spring was born.

Unlike cocktail parties, where humans stand around with glasses in their hands boring one another with small talk and gossip, the Golden Retriever Party has always been enlivened by tasty food for the people (Riband's lemon cake was divine) and games for the dogs.

This time around, the dogs competed in two events: the popcorn catch and the clean-plate contest. No dog was declared winner in the popcorn catch because nary a one could snag five consecutive pieces tossed into the air. The fact that the popcorn was so light and the day so windy certainly added to the challenge.

Truth be told, some retrievers were simply in no mood to retrieve. Their attitude seemed to say, "I may be good-natured, but there are limits to the idiotic things I'll do to win a pat on the head or a doggie treat."

In the clean-plate contest, two dogs were crowned champions. One was Sunshine, the pride and joy of Rose-Marie Jones, 75, a retired nurse from Lafayette Hill. Sunshine scarfed up everything on her paper plate: soy-based imitation bacon bits, mini-chunks of broccoli, a morsel of Granny Smith apple, a baby carrot, Pepperidge Farm goldfish, and small pickle pieces. Other dogs were more picky, and some took one sniff and turned up their noses totally.

Such an omnivorous display was typical for Sunshine, Jones averred. If there were a dog division at the Wing Bowl, she'd be a contender.

In honor of her appetite and indiscriminate palate, Sunshine was given a ridiculous squeeze toy. She seemed nonplussed by the item, but being a golden retriever, she was, of course, deeply grateful, and signaled as much by wagging her tail vigorously.