Bingo the Dalmatian Is a Real Schmuck

Before I tell you about his dog, let me tell you a bit about my man Schmuck.

First, that’s really his name. He’s a friend from childhood and now happens to be in the news racket too, as a sportswriter. His name always sounded funny, but it was several years before I learned that schmuck, American slang for “an obnoxious or contemptible person” (Random House Unabridged), has roots in a Yiddish vulgarity for a singular feature of the male anatomy.

His short-fused brother legally adopted their mother’s family name. My man Schmuck took the opposite course: He’s got it and he flaunts it.

Years ago, when his then girlfriend tried to buy him the vanity plate SCHMUCK for his birthday, the DMV refused to issue it, describing the term as obscene. “State Won’t License Schmuck,” a headline soon declared. Schmuck hinted at legal action; the DMV issued the plate.

But enough about Schmuck. This being the gift-buying season, let me offer a cautionary tale about his dog, Bingo.

Bingo Schmuck eats baseball bats. Bingo Schmuck, you see, is a Dalmatian.

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Now, Dalmatian bashing isn’t my aim here. True, Disney’s live-action remake of “101 Dalmatians” has inspired a frenzy of interest in the cute, cuddly little spotted puppies that have the bad habit of growing up. The media has already done such a good job of warning the public about what a troublesome breed the Dalmatian is that Calvin Trillin, in his Time magazine column, delivered a rebuttal, sort of. Trillin seems suspicious that Dalmatian owners themselves are issuing the warnings.

Having met Bingo, I just think the Dalmatian owners mean well. Two years ago, the Schmucks purchased her as a puppy. They had Bingo registered with the American Kennel Club under the formal name Our Miss Fortune. At first Schmuck thought the name was more clever than prophetic.

Schmuck and his wife, Linda--it must be love; she actually took his name--entered Dalmatian ownership as innocents, blissfully unaware that perhaps only pit bulls have a worse reputation.

The awakening began with a trip to the vet. First he tested Bingo’s hearing. Many Dalmatians are born deaf. The Schmucks soon learned that “Dals” are high-strung, rambunctious and require loads of attention. Many people think they’re not very bright, but Dal owners insist it isn’t stupidity that makes the dogs hard to train. They’re just hard-headed and independent. “She’s a horribly behaved dog,” Linda says.

But at least Bingo isn’t deaf and, unlike some Dals, she isn’t a biter. Bingo is, however, a serious chewer. It took her about three months to gnaw that baseball bat down to nothing. Talk about a high-fiber diet.

Now, the Schmucks say, Bingo is eating the back deck.

It didn’t take “101 Dalmatians” to make Bingo a celebrity in the Maryland neighborhood where my friends now live. This big, slobbering dog is nothing if not friendly, so friendly the Schmucks had to put up a new fence.

Kids love her, of course. “Dalmatians are kid magnets,” Linda says. Their son had a slumber party the other night, and the boys begged for permission to allow Bingo to join the party.

Mom and Dad have learned from experience that it isn’t wise to let Bingo indoors very often. For one thing, she has a habit of jumping on tables and kitchen counters. Plus, like other Dals, “she’s a shedding machine.” And because she sheds in black and white, it’s obvious no matter the color of the carpet.

But they still love Bingo. So on cold winter nights, she comes indoors. One night my man Schmuck and his bride even decided to let Bingo sleep in their room.

Maybe there was a full moon. The couple found themselves in a romantic mood . . . until 75 pounds of “completely freaked-out” canine interrupted the proceedings.

Says Schmuck: “She’s a combination burglar alarm and birth control device.”

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Once again, you’ve got to hand it to the capitalists at Disney. Eisner, Ovitz and Co. is scoring political points for standing firm against Beijing’s economic threats over the movie about the Dalai Lama. Meanwhile, “101 Dalmatians” is No. 1 at the box office and Disney is selling tons of Dal dolls at $15 to $22 a pop. I wonder how much the Dalai Lama action figures will cost.

Meanwhile in Maryland, the Schmucks insist they’re happy with their live-action dog. They’ve met other Dal owners who gravely warn, “Don’t pet him.” You can pet Bingo--and she’ll be your pal for life.

“A lot of people get more than they bargained for,” Schmuck says. “We got a good one and we still got more than we bargained for.”

Our Miss Fortune, indeed. Not counting food, Schmuck figures that, in just two years, Bingo has cost them $3,000 in veterinary bills, home improvements and repairs.

“I’d have my MasterCard paid off by now, if only we’d gotten another cat.”

Dwelling on such matters can make Schmuck sound like the villainess Cruella DeVil. Maybe, he suggests, the breed really should be turned into coats.

He was joking about that, I’m sure.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311. Please include a phone number.