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You can never actually be disappointed in your daemon. Supposedly.

Orfeo wasn't as beautiful as Margaret's chestnut Afghan, or as fitting as Bonnie and Ginger's terriers, nor was he as solid as Mrs. Landingham's retriever.

She had to admit that he had a certain grace, and his slender form was a fetching match to her own. She was far from the only person with a dog daemon working in DC, and his long stride made loping through hallways and up stairs to chase Josh around easy.

Still. No one would mistake Donna's ash blonde greyhound as a beautiful, interesting daemon.