Breed Profiles

For three years, a small white dog named Biscuit rode the bus with me to work, tucked in a canvas bag on my lap, watching the world go by through the window like a tiny commuter with opinions. People assumed she was a prop. She was the reason I looked forward to the ride. The Havanese is built for exactly this kind of life, and I didn't know that when I got her.

I'd been warned that small dogs are yappy and fragile. Biscuit is neither, though she will announce the postman with the energy of a much larger dog. What she actually is, underneath the silk coat, is a sturdy little companion with the temperament of someone who was bred to sit on a lap in a Havana courtyard and charm visitors, not to hunt or herd or guard. That job description suited me better than I expected.

The coat is the commitment

Her fur is the one thing I underestimated. It grows and grows and never stops, like a shaggy jumper that's permanently attached. Left alone it mats into ropes, so every six weeks she goes to a groomer for a puppy clip that turns her from a mop into a small, dignified marshmallow. Between clips I brush her every other day, and I've learned the spots she hates — the belly, predictably — and the ones she loves, behind the ears, where she leans in.

What I didn't expect was how unfazed she is by everything. Buses, crowds, a toddler who grabbed her tail, a thunderstorm that sent the neighbour's terrier under the bed — Biscuit watched it all with the same mild interest she gives the weather. That steadiness is the breed's gift. She's a travelling dog because she was made to be a companion who goes wherever you go without falling apart.

She's not a couch ornament, though. A Havanese has enough spark to chase a ball until you quit, and Biscuit learned a dozen tricks in her first year because she genuinely enjoys the game of it. The bus rides started as a necessity when my car died, and became a habit because she loved them. Strangers would ask to hold her at red lights and she'd oblige, a tiny diplomat with no fear of strangers and no patience for being ignored.

The small-dog health worries are real but manageable. Her knees are the weak point — patellar luxation is common in the breed, where the kneecap slips out of place. I caught hers early when she started skipping on one back leg for a step, and the vet showed me the exercises that keep it stable. She stays lean, which helps, because every extra ounce loads those little joints. Her teeth need brushing too; small breeds pile up tartar fast, and a dog who rides the bus deserves to have fresh breath when she greets the passengers.

The commuter I'd miss

Three years of bus rides taught me that the right small dog isn't a burden you carry, it's a friend who makes the boring parts better. Biscuit turned a grey commute into something I looked forward to, and she retired from public transport only when I bought a car, which she inspected with deep suspicion. If you want a portable, cheerful companion who'll go anywhere and ask little beyond your company and a good brush, the Havanese is the quiet overachiever of the toy group. Just budget for the grooming. The coat never lets up, and neither, thankfully, does she.

What I didn't expect when Biscuit retired from the bus was how much I'd miss the little commuter. The car is warmer and drier, but it doesn't have the stranger who always offered her a finger to sniff, or the window light she'd sit in like a tiny sunbather, or the routine that turned a grey trip into something I looked forward to. A Havanese slips into your daily life so completely that you stop noticing the dog and start noticing the absence when she's at the groomer. She's still my travel companion on trains and ferries, still the small diplomat who wins over people who claim not to like dogs, and still the reason I keep a brush in my bag. The breed asks for two things, really: your company and a regular trip to the scissors, and in return it gives a portable, cheerful friend who goes anywhere without falling apart. If you want a small dog who isn't a yappy ornament, who'll ride the bus or the train or just follow you room to room with real attachment, the Havanese is the quiet overachiever of the toy group, and the grooming bill is simply the price of the silk.

The bus is gone from our lives now, but the habit of her company hasn't budged, and I still catch myself looking for the small white shape in the window seat where she used to ride, because some passengers you miss long after the route ends.