In the midst of the dreary new year, my sluggish brain conjured up a weak argument: I enjoy observing dogs in the local park, therefore I may enjoy walking dogs in parks. It was a frigid time, where the couch and I had merged into one. I decided to sign up for a dog borrowing website, one of many in the UK, and swiftly created a profile. Before long, I connected with a nearby co-owner of a small dog named Barney. This terrier mix seemed mostly uninterested in our meeting. Nonetheless, the following week, I took Barney out for our inaugural walk together. And in that brief outing, I was instantly transformed into a dog lover.
Barney was immediately captivating up close: the way he leapt into the world, his twitchy snout leading the way; the moments of stillness as he tracked scents in the wind; the loud snuffling as he explored the ground with one paw raised in the air. I appreciated how he bounced through the grass and trotted along paths, transitioning seamlessly from clownish antics to sleek, graceful motions. In short, I was enamored by the pure dogness of Barney.
Yet, it wasn’t just that. As a journalist, I am obsessed with language and words, but now this non-verbal creature seemed to be communicating with me. What was he trying to convey? As I continued to walk Barney every week, rain or only a little less rain, I scoured the internet for answers. I followed the digital trails left by other dog owners, seeking clarity on questions like “Why does my dog suddenly stop during walks?” or “Why does my dog bark at me?” I even stumbled upon a pet-centric version of the timeless human insecurity: “Does my dog even like me?”
I truly believe that borrowing dogs is a form of socialism. I learned to interpret Barney’s signals and respond in a manner that made sense to a canine companion. And when I encountered difficulties, I resorted to the tactic I often use with people: I tempted him with food, though not cupcakes and home-cooked meals, but with chicken treats and liver paste.
Now, in addition to Barney, I also walk another dog named Arlo. Arlo, a cockapoo, fascinates me with his contrasting temperament and character. Barney is high-energy, occasionally aloof, and prefers having space to do his own thing before engaging in interactive play, such as tug-of-war. As an introvert, I can relate. He enjoys physical and mental challenges, like dog puzzles or performing tricks.
On the other hand, Arlo is more overtly affectionate, sociable, and frequently approaches other dogs and people during our walks. He too possesses an impressive array of tricks, but often drops toys at my feet and playfully bows, signaling his desire for a game of tug, fetch, or chase. In the past, I might have questioned whether attributing such distinct, individual personalities to animals was venturing into the realm of anthropomorphism. But the old me was naive.
Growing up, my family never had pets, and while I still would not consider owning one myself due to the lack of a garden, limited space, and an inconsistent routine, borrowing and walking dogs feels like a fulfilling alternative. It is a non-transactional, community-driven practice imbued with the essence of Marxism’s “from each according to his ability” mantra. Indeed, borrowing dogs is a form of socialism.
The regularity of encountering the same dogs and their owners offers a refreshing antidote to our disconnected lives in bustling cities. People stop and engage in conversation when you’re accompanied by a dog. Now, I find myself striking up conversations with fellow dog owners as well. It’s as if walking a dog is the only socially acceptable opportunity to speak to strangers. Meanwhile, the two dogs I borrow are always thrilled to see me, associating me with outdoor adventures and playtime. And in contrast to the never-ending stressful headlines, this experience brings solace every time.
I had heard about the positive effects of pet ownership on mental and physical health – reduced anxiety, lower blood pressure – but I never imagined that spending a few hours with a canine companion could provide so many benefits. Naturally, I enjoy some of the advantages without the full commitment of raising, training, and daily care for a pet. The dogs I walk are thriving and loved. Yet, I am aware of the trust and responsibility placed upon me, especially when navigating the chicken bone-laden, half-eaten sandwiches, discarded sweets, and abandoned crisp packets that litter London’s streets. “Leave it!” has become part of my daily vocabulary.
I have come to understand what a gift dogs truly are and why so many consider them part of their families. While dogs do not have to worry about work, bills, or inflation, there is something about their ability to find contentment in simple pleasures: time spent in nature, a gentle belly rub, or a tasty treat. They enhance our lives by reminding us of the value in life’s small joys.