Like a lot of stupid Americans, I like to talk to dogs. I say things like “good morning” or “nice to see you” to a passing spaniel. The dog will usually tilt its head, registering me as either interesting or potentially mad. The British human attached to the lead, however, looks mildly alarmed. And they are quite correct.
I’m originally from western New York, but last year married my British wife, and moved permanently to the UK.
One of the many things I love about this country is the attitude to dogs. To me, Britain seems to be dog heaven – if I were a dog, I know exactly where I’d choose to live.
Dogs are allowed in pubs, so they learn to behave
British pubs and coffee shops are broadly ready for dogs. Water bowls appear without comment. Biscuits are produced as if by magic. Dogs lie under tables, absorbing conversation, waiting patiently, occasionally snoring through heated debates about football or the NHS. American over-reliance on cleanliness — and litigation — means that state and local health regulations tend to ban dogs from most spaces that serve food or drink. The pandemic softened this a little, but the American default remains the same: if the humans go out, the dog stays home, alone, staring at the walls, sleeping, or staging a small domestic rebellion.
British dogs are included in public life, which means they are expected to behave in it. This turns out to be good for everyone.
They’re encouraged to get mucky
In the Leicestershire village, where I sometimes walk with my in-laws’ cockapoo, dogs get filthy. Gloriously so. They return home coated in mud, leaves and existential satisfaction. In north London, where I live, I’ve spotted houses fitted with special outdoor “pet showers.” Britain has accepted a simple truth: if a dog isn’t muddy, it hasn’t had a proper walk.
So the country adapts to the dog’s needs. You buy wellies. You rinse the dog. You don’t panic. In America, we have expectations of clean pets. What kind of life is that for a dog?
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While dogs can often roam freely in British parks, heaths and woods, in New York, we have specialised and overcrowded “dog runs” – small areas that corner and cage the dogs with no area to escape, causing anxiety and fights to erupt. They seem more suitable for human socialisation than canine. Open off-lead play is only allowed in New York parks after sunrise and before 9am, if at all. Outside of New York, rules vary, but rarely in the dog’s favour.
Americans treat dogs like babies…
Young American couples will often acquire a dog as a sort of trial run for parenthood: something that eats, poos, wakes you at inconvenient hours, and resents you quietly. I understand the logic; I don’t approve of it. A dog is not a rehearsal.
And then there is the phrase “fur babies”. God help us. Please don’t. When I see pictures of a dog’s birthday party—cake, candles, hats, a paid-for photoshoot—I fear we have wandered from the path. You paid a photographer. For your dog. This is not love. This is a cry for help.
American dog culture is drenched in projection. Dogs are narrated constantly. They are told how special they are, how brave, how handsome. They are dressed. They are congratulated for existing. They are asked if they’re mummy’s best boy. Meanwhile, the dog is trying to work out why its human smells needy.
Here, you treat them like a colleague
Historically, dogs here had jobs: hunting, herding, guarding. They added value. They were co-workers, not dependants. That legacy remains. In Britain, you are not a pet parent. You are not even really an owner. You are the dog’s manager. You provide structure, boundaries and opportunities for the dog to do what dogs are good at: moving, noticing things, being alert and then lying down somewhere sensible.
1970s TV personality Barbara Woodhouse understood this. She famously trained owners, not dogs. Her message was blunt: dogs want clarity. They want consistency, simple cues and calm authority. They do not need your unresolved childhood trauma placed on their heads. A British dog is not expected to be special; it is expected to behave. And paradoxically, this makes for happier dogs.
Unfortunately, from my urban, middle-class north London perch, I am noticing more and more of the American style coddling and neurotic projection. Please don’t get our habits; it can get grotesque.
Dogs can go on the buses and trains
The “accessory dog” arrived in earnest in the 90s – a tiny, photogenic animal designed to be carried rather than walked. I believe Disney tween sensation Ashley Tisdale (don’t ask me) began carting around a small dog in a Louis Vuitton or Prada handbag, and everything unravelled from there. Paris Hilton and her Chihuahua. Lady Gaga and her French Bulldogs. The Kardashians and their rotating cast of Pomeranians.
I fear that New York is the source of this terrible habit of carrying pets in handbags. The New York City Subway prohibits all pets not carried in a container, and things just got worse from there.
Here in London, it’s commonplace to see unbagged dogs on the bus, tube and train – and strangers, rather than freaking out, striking up conversations with owners and asing if their kids can have a stroke.
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Dogs are not here to serve our emotional needs
I’ve been reading a wonderful book lately, The Happiness of Dogs by Mark Rowlands, a Welshman. It is, in a way, a book of philosophy for dogs – and asks a deceptively simple question: what makes dogs happy, on their own terms? Not what makes humans feel loved, reassured or necessary, but what suits the dog’s experience of the world.
What I found refreshing is the refusal to sentimentalise. He treats dogs as creatures with their own forms of attention, perception and enthusiasm.
This, I think, is the real difference. In America, we ask our dogs to serve our emotional needs. In Britain, you provide for the dog’s. One culture integrates dogs into public life and expects them to rise to the occasion. The other builds an elaborate emotional theatre around them and wonders why everyone is exhausted.
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