Why are we so soft-hearted when it comes to dogs? I think the reason is quite simple: dogs can’t speak. They don’t tell you you’re ugly, dressed inappropriately, or have bad breath (their own is usually quite terrible). And they offer unconditional love and loyalty, no matter how badly we behave.
I am aware at times that dogs are very dependent on me, and I feel that I should allow them to be dogs rather than furry humans. Several writers in this collection argue that our love for our pets is a selfish one. Charlotte Perkins Gilman writes ‘Our love for dogs is often of the basest . . . No live thing can be happy unless it is free to do what it is built for.’
Why should I decide how my dogs should live their life so it is convenient to me? How blithely we drive them to the vet to be neutered and pick them up all woozy and sterile. ‘There there, I’ll look after you darling, the vet says you’ll be calmer now, have no sex drive, and won’t run away.’ They stare back at you with shaved tummies and cones around their heads to stop them nibbling at their stitches.
When I was in my twenties, I had a Yorkshire terrier named Binky Beaumont, who I treated like a practice baby. A friend of mine made him outfits. He had a ‘Hotel Beaumont’ bell hop uniform, with gold tasselled epaulettes, and an Elvis cape with jewels and small silk scarves to hand to fans. He repaid me by peeing on me during a photo shoot with the famous photographer Harry Benson. I was xiv
