President Harry Truman once observed: ‘If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.’ Boris Johnson, as Prime Minister in the unfriendliest era British politics has known, and his girlfriend Carrie Symonds have taken on a Jack Russell puppy called Dilyn. They and I are therefore among the 24 per cent of UK citizens who are dog-owners, with nearly nine million animals in our national ownership.
Taking on a puppy in retirement, said our friends, was madness — especially in a house full of antiques and with a carefully tended garden. Certainly, the game has changed since we last raised a puppy 40 years ago. So have the overheads. Vet’s bills and food we had factored in, but this time we were advised we had to invest in a puppy cage for sleeping (discarded after the second night) and another for car travel (discarded after the first journey in favour of a harness). Waitrose now sells at least seven brands of dog training treats and pet shops sell bones from creatures in Jurassic Park.
Those who told us not to tie ourselves down with a dog gave sound advice, but the attractions cannot be calculated the same way. A fortune awaits the entrepreneur who can find a way of bottling the smell of warm puppies. Morning grumpiness is impossible when you have been greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a small happy body. When a gangly retriever seeking reassurance on its first car journey to puppy class curls itself into a small ball in your lap it is irresistible. The liquid eyes of a small dog in repose have a soulfulness to melt the hardest heart, even if their owner has five minutes earlier artfully stolen a full round of naan bread.
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