San Francisco’s Dogs and Owners Have a Ball

As socialites swirled on the dance floor, the band played a lively version of the old Marvin Gaye standard “I’ll Be Doggone.”

Later on it was Elvis’ “Hound Dog” and a mongrelized version of a classic Spanish love song, retitled “Besame Poocho.” You get the idea.

The gala event held Thursday evening in the cavernous Gift Center building had gone completely to the dogs.

Well-heeled people and pets, $150 a head and $20 a muzzle respectively, were dressed to the canines at the 10th Annual Bark & Whine Ball, benefiting one of the country’s most luxurious animal shelters.

In a way that few other places outside San Francisco and possibly New Orleans could match, restraint had been completely unleashed.

“It’s a San Francisco thing,” said Daniel Crain, president of the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. “Maybe a little over the top. Some of the dogs are almost in drag.”

For example, Wally, a 3-year-old corgi, and his pal Jimmy, a 5-year-old yellow Labrador, were both clad in tuxedos. Al, a 2-year-old Jack Russell terrier -- growling steadily like a car stuck in idle -- wore a collar studded with aquamarine-colored Austrian Swarovski crystals.

Some of the other neck gear was of even rarer stuff.

“You see those with stones that look like rubies?” asked Dr. Sheila Martin, a veterinarian who has a practice in the exclusive Marina District. “They really are rubies.”

Martin, pet vet to the San Francisco upper crust, was escorted by her 10-year-old Rottweiler, Astrid.

“These are mostly well-to-do dogs,” Martin explained. “They fly on Lear jets everywhere. Some of them have their own cooks.”

No wonder, then, that the dog ball is one of the more successful fundraisers for the San Francisco Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Crain, who came to his position after years in the hotel business, said the money helps support an $11-million annual budget that includes 150 employees.

The San Francisco chapter is famous for its elegant, $7-million Maddie’s Pet Adoption Center. The center was one of the first projects funded by PeopleSoft Inc. founders Dave and Cheryl Duffield, who have since pledged $200 million to animal programs around the country.

At the adoption center, which takes in stray animals collected by the city, cats and dogs live in comfortable, well-lighted “condominiums,” each with its own television set. Favorite viewing for the cats on a recent afternoon were videos of squirrels gathering nuts and slow-swimming fish. Some cats had their own aquariums with real fish.

When the adoption center was completed in 1998 in a warehouse district west of downtown, it was initially the target of protesters who complained that the stray-pet facilities were better than those provided for the city’s large homeless population.

Undaunted by the protesters, then-local society President Rich Avanzino simply invited them in.

“If you would like to partner with us,” Avanzino said, “we will allow 12 homeless people to stay in 12 of our apartments with 12 of our dogs during the after hours when the dogs are not in training. It teaches our dog what it is like to have a human roommate.”

The only concern, Avanzino joked, was about the television. Most of the videos on hand were old Rin Tin Tin movies and “Lassie” television reruns. And, he asked, if a man and a male dog shared the same room, “Who’s gonna control the remote?”

As it turned out, said Crain, no one responded to the offer and the homeless-vs.-stray controversy has mostly died down, although there are still occasional encounters between the two drifting populations.

Outside the center on a recent afternoon before the ball, a homeless heroin addict who identified himself as Howie, a 41-year-old former racetrack stable hand, walked by just as Spunky, an aptly named black-and-white cat, was lounging on his cat tree and peering out the picture window of his condominium.

“It’s disgusting,” said Howie, pausing to watch as Spunky stretched and yawned. “The money they spend for the carpeting or whatever is ridiculous.”

“Myself,” Howie said, directing a triumphant grin at Spunky, “I would never stay in a shelter.”