Now that Barack Obama has picked his secretaries of state and defense, it’s time to focus on a post even more central to projecting American authority.

The White House dog.

Nations defer to us because we are perceived as a superpower. What would it say if the president of the United States had a Pomeranian?

I was relieved to see Obama has gone on record against such a breed. During an interview that touched on the subject, Barbara Walters suggested he consider a Havanese.

His response said good things about his character:

“What,”Obama asked, “is a Havanese?” He added that he did not want it if was a “yappy” or “girly” dog.

I endorse this outlook, and would today like to offer him advice from someone who has picked many dogs.

To my own shame, we once did have yappy little dogs when I was a young teen. We got a dachshund named Heidi. She had two daughters we kept named Rosebud and Daisy. I was one of five brothers, all insecure males, and I am not sure how we ended up with small dogs with such names.

On the one hand, dachshunds are better than Havenese, which should be reclassified as members of the rodent family, but I’d still advise Obama to keep looking.

We also had a schnauzer named Cindy, but I don’t see a schnauzer in the White House. Admittedly, it was a feisty thing. Had any of us tried to pet Cindy while she was eating we’d have lost at least a finger. Despite this, a schnauzer does not project a strong enough image. To me, they’re kind of in the poodle class, and if Obama even considers a poodle I would urge my congressman to initiate impeachment proceedings.

The most rambunctious dog we had was a lab named Blackjack. It was larger than each of us children, and kept us in a state of terror for years. On long car rides, it would stretch out on the third seat of the station wagon and growl if we tried to move him, so we would have to sit on the floor. It once proudly bounded in from the backyard with what seemed a tan piece of wood in its jaws that proved to be a mummified cat. So I’d say no to a Blackjack-dog as well. We don’t want to project belligerence.

My first dog as a single man was a collie-setter-plus mix from the Potter Shelter in Middletown named Roy. He was a “mood” hound who could tell when I was down. He would put his chin on my knee and give me a supportive look with his big brown eyes. Often — I swear it’s true — when I was particularly low he would sit next to me on the couch and put a paw on my shoulder. Though on reflection, he often did this while I was eating and in those cases, his big brown eyes were looking at the food.

I think a collie-setter mix would be fine for the White House. In fact, I was so taken by Roy that after he went to dog heaven, I adopted an exact look-alike named Jasper, and even had him wear Roy’s collar for six months and eat from a bowl labeled “Roy.” Jasper was very loyal except on Sunday mornings when he tended to disappear. I finally solved the problem when I found him several blocks away outside a bagel shop, where the owners reported he had become a regular.

When my daughter began lobbying for a cat, to divert her, we went back to the pound a third time and got a beagle mix named Molly who put on a perfect pet routine until we got her home, at which point she attacked Jasper. She had the classic female alpha personality, wanting to be the only one. She hated all other dogs, but loved us. She wasn’t the most attractive thing — she was bristly and walleyed — but owners are particularly devoted to dogs with flaws, and we adored her. But I’m not sure a walleyed beagle mix is White House material.

A few years ago, after Jasper and Molly joined Roy in eternity, we went pound-hopping again. We saw one too many pit bull mixes and then came across a black Border collie mix on Petfinder.com at the Norton, Mass., shelter. When brought out to meet us, he was so high-strung he turned over the lobby water dish and then put wet paw prints on everyone’s pants. My wife suggested that we would probably have done the same thing had we been cooped up in a concrete pen, so we took him home, named him JJ and he calmed right down.

It turns out that Border collies are smarter than most humans. JJ has convinced me he does not understand the word “come” unless I say it while shaking a box of biscuits. He has so mastered the “crestfallen” facial expression that it’s impossible to leave him behind. Every night, he sleeps at the foot of my wife’s bed so she can’t straighten her legs, but she is so taken by him she does not kick him off. I am among the many husbands wondering what the dog is doing right and I’m doing wrong.

This is why a Border collie mix would also be a good White House dog. They are masters at getting what they want.

So I hope Obama knows that even more than “Defense” and “State,” this could be his most important pick.

As such, he should not search for candidates with impressive pedigrees.

A Havenese? A Pomeranian?

Mr. President-Elect, you could do better.

Go to the pound.

mpatinkin@projo.com