23

The Girl Who Talks with Dogs

Ulla’s interviews with dog owners follow what I call the ‘Easy Rider’ approach. There is no plan except just to get started and see where things lead. Ulla set off with a voice recorder and did exactly that. The recordings were so full of laughter they took an age to transcribe, so please imagine the hilarity that peppered the words but could not easily be transferred to the page. It certainly did help the dogs and their owners, most of them strangers, to relax. I certainly could not have done it.

These interviews do not by any means constitute a statistically significant sample, being recruited largely by chance encounters in Hyde Park close to Ulla’s London studio. I should have said that Ulla is a painter and needs to be close to the galleries that display, and occasionally sell, her work.

The only dog with which I can claim any sort of friendship is Sergio, a boisterous Italian Spinone who lives on the Isle of Skye. Ulla and I stay on Skye for much of the year, and Sergio belongs to a friend and neighbour a couple of houses along the road. Sergio is nine years old and, although not a huge dog, is certainly large and powerful, so when we were first introduced I was always careful to stand in the background. Ulla on the other hand had no hesitation in running her fingers through Sergio’s thick coat, not always managing to avoid the threads of drool that dripped continuously from his mouth, a characteristic of this breed. Now when we come back to the island Sergio seems to know we have arrived and runs up to our gate and launches into an extraordinary performance, running around in small circles while softly singing with muffled bleats. Though with time Sergio has got used to me, there is no mistaking his disappointment if I am there alone; he quickly loses interest and trots back down the road.

Ulla Plougmand, the interviewer, with Sergio (Italian Spinone).

Bonnie and Bernie

Not long before I was due to meet up with Ewan, the professional Kiwi sheep musterer, to ask him about life with his working dogs, Ulla had a chance to interview Bonnie and her new owner Bernie. They lived in a spacious lodge a short way outside Wanaka on the South Island where we had been staying. Bonnie lived up to her name. She was a very pretty 4-year-old Collie crossed with a Kelpie, an Australian sheepdog, with long legs which gave her an elegant, bouncing gait not unlike the wolves we had encountered when we met up with Shaun Ellis the previous year. Bernie and her husband Paul had lost their mischievous Springer Spaniel, Minnie, two years before and felt it was time to replace her. She had been such a character with a most charming way of begging for food – she would pad up to the table and sit quite still just looking at the guests with doleful eyes whose message was clear and could not be ignored. Minnie’s patience was always rewarded by a piece of cake or some other tasty morsel. But now she was gone. Bernie and Paul did not want to replace her like-for-like, so they looked around for a completely different dog. They found one on Forever Homes, a New Zealand-based website devoted to rehousing all sorts of unwanted animals. They liked the look of Bonnie and arranged to visit the lady who was caring for her after she had rescued the dog from a farm.

‘We had been looking for a dog for some time,’ explained Bernie. ‘We always knew that when the right dog came along we would know it, so we arranged to go and see Bonnie to see if she was that special dog.’

‘And was it love at first sight?’ enquired Ulla.

‘Well. Yes. But we knew she would be a challenge.’

‘Yes, the thing you notice straightaway about Bonnie is that she is obviously extremely shy. What did you learn from the lady who had rescued her that might explain this?’

‘The lady who was looking after her had a farm and she had rescued Bonnie from another farm nearby. She had been brought in as a working dog on the sheep station, but she just didn’t want to work. Farmers in New Zealand, like everywhere else, are not sentimental. She was costing money to feed so they tried everything to make her work. They beat her and when she still wouldn’t work she was left chained up.’

‘It is so heart-breaking to hear a story like that.’

‘She doesn’t bark because it was beaten out of her. She was meant to be a heading dog – they are quiet and they creep along close to the ground. Farmers routinely beat the bark out of them from when they are puppies, or they put “bark-collars” on them so that every time they bark they get an electric shock or the collar emits a high-pitched whine which drives the dog mad.’

‘But now she has a happy life, doesn’t she?’ declared Ulla. ‘I took a walk earlier today and she has a lovely little house surrounded by grass and flowing fields to run around, everything a dog could want.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t realise until I spoke to a farmer that I should not expect her to do a lot. Farm dogs go out and work hard for maybe half an hour then they’ll sleep. Then they might do a bit more work, but they are mostly just sitting around waiting.’

‘So they have sudden bursts of energy and then they are knackered out and they need their rest. Good God, it sounds like me you are describing. But now she is settling down, is she becoming less of a farm dog and more part of the family?’

‘Yes, she comes into the house and goes anywhere she likes. She has her crate in the corner over there which she goes into at night. She used never to come into the sitting room when the television was on, because of course she had never seen one before. When she first came to us she was scared of just about everything. She used to run off when the fridge door was opened. I would show her and say “Look, it’s the fridge door making that noise.” And the next time she heard it she was fine.’

‘Because she is bright and she learns very fast,’ said Ulla.

‘At night when she comes in she straightaway jumps onto our bed.’

‘But you and Paul are very hands-on people, which I love, and lots of people would say “Oh No. Not on the bed.” I used to sleep with my Cocker Spaniel in the bed. In fact, I was pushed over into a corner.’

‘She lies on the bed between the two of us, on her back with her paws up in the air. She loves to have her belly rubbed. Then when it’s time to go to sleep we turn off the light and say, “Go on then, off to bed”, and she jumps up and goes straight to her crate.’

‘I think that’s really lovely and I’m surprised to hear that you have got that far with her in, what is it, only three months.’

‘Yes, but she is a very bright dog, which I like, but even with the bad treatment she received on the farm you can still see the sheepdog instincts coming through. For instance, if she is on the other side of the paddock and I call her she will run straight back and sit down beside me. Minnie never did that.’

‘So, Bonnie is still a sheepdog at heart, but a much happier one than before,’ Ulla concluded.

Sheba and Alexander

Alexander Thynn, Lord Bath, is an interesting, unusual and some might say eccentric member of the aristocracy. I met him first in 1997 when I was attempting to recover DNA from human fossil bone. His large estate surrounding Longleat, the beautiful Elizabethan house in Wiltshire in the south-west of England, extends to the famous show caves in Cheddar Gorge. In one of these, Gough’s Cavern, two human skeletons were recovered in the last century and I managed to recover some DNA from them. I needed Lord Bath’s permission to do this, as he was the owner of the cave, and he became very interested in what I was doing, especially when I found a genetic match between one of the skeletons, the so-called Cheddar man, and his butler Cuthbert. When I went to see him at Longleat to go over the results, he was accompanied everywhere by his cream Labrador called Boudicca. Perhaps unconsciously already planning this book, I took a DNA sample from her. Nothing came of it because I used a DNA technique closely modelled on humans, but it was enough that Lord Bath remembered this and years later graciously allowed Ulla to interview him. By then, Boudicca had died and her place at Longleat had been taken by Sheba, another Labrador with lots of Poodle mixed in. The interview took place in Lord Bath’s apartments on the second floor, a space once taken up by his father’s collection of Nazi memorabilia. When Alexander succeeded to the title on his father’s death, the collection was the first thing to go and Alexander converted the space into comfortable living quarters with a grand view of the lake and wooded parkland stretching into the distance. As befits the owner of a large country estate, there have always been dogs in the family, but as you see from this account that does not diminish by any means the love between a dog and its owner.

Ulla began her interview with a very direct question.

‘Alexander, can you tell me why you love your dogs. What I mean by that is what characteristics do you appreciate most in your dogs?’

After a thoughtful pause he replied:

‘With Boudicca it was loyalty and love. With Sheba I like being taken as part of her background which she knows is safe. Now that Boudie is no longer here I think Sheba realises there’s a gap in the requirements which she is expected to fill.’

‘I noticed something over lunch. Boudicca because she was a Labrador she could not stop eating and you would become her best friend if you had something to feed her with. I noticed that Sheba is much more withdrawn that way.’

‘Yes, she is not going to be a fat dog, but she is not going be a starving dog either.’

‘She is a lucky dog actually. Would you say with your dogs that you treat them as part of the family?’

‘Well, we are a sort of bunch all together.’

‘My old Cocker Spaniel that I had as a child used to sleep in my bed. I did not mind a bit. Would you dream of having your dog sleep on, or even in, your bed?’ asked Ulla.

‘They wouldn’t have it any other way. She comes up rather aggressively and lies on top of me for part of the evening and then when I start wriggling a bit she gets impatient and moves a couple of paces away.’

‘So in a way she’s taking it for granted that it is her bed as well. If anybody had to move, it might be you!’

‘The expectation might be there but she would be surprised at the resistance. At mealtimes Sheba will come and put her head on my knee to remind me that she is still there waiting, quite patiently, for her due desserts.’

‘She’s very well-mannered, your Sheba. Now, with all this enormous love between a dog and its owner I wanted to ask you what you would do if Sheba became unwell. I knew a dog called Timmy, a Labrador like Boudicca, that I used to take for walks in the park. When he was about twelve years old, his hip had gone and the lady who owned him had a hip replacement done for him. What lengths would you go to if your dog needed something like that?’

‘If my dog is suffering pain I’d take that as a decision made for me. She mustn’t be in pain and we have to provide a way of her getting out of it. I had already taken that decision with Boudicca. She could no longer get up, and though she was not in pain there was really nothing left. When she got very old and could not move any more, her quality of life was such that I would not prolong it.’

‘You obviously loved Boudicca. It’s now possible when a dog dies to clone it and, in a way, get an identical replacement. Would you ever consider doing that?’

‘I’ve been lucky with whichever dogs I have chosen and so the need for cloning really hasn’t been there. I look forward to the next dog with its own personality and to surprise me in some way. I’m not really for having an identical dog, although with Boudicca it would have been lovely to have her back again. You take a gamble with any new dog on how they will turn out. I suppose it’s the same with children.’

‘Has there ever been a gap between the dogs, or has there been a time where you’ve said that if ever a dog has passed away or you have had to let one go, that you won’t get another dog?’

‘I’ve had dogs all my life, as a child and onward, so when I lose one there may be a short gap but I soon begin to think about what kind of dog I’ll get next. When Boudicca died I decided to try a cross between a Labrador and a Poodle, a Labradoodle, and that is Sheba. With Sheba, she is more Poodle than Labrador so if I have another dog in the future I might go back to having a Labrador again, even if it loves its food more than it loves me.’

Elton and Ulf

Ulla was visiting Palma de Mallorca when she came across a dog boutique in the centre of town near the cathedral. Attracted by the window display, she walked in and was soon talking to Ulf, the Swedish owner. He specialises in high-quality photographic portraits of dogs, and Ulla began by asking him about the sort of people who commissioned them.

‘We have been quite overwhelmed by how much people are willing to spend on their dogs these days. How much do you charge for a portrait of a dog?’

‘So, if you want me to make a portrait, a small one would be around €150, going up to about €600 for the biggest that I do. This one here is Elton, my own dog. Elton is a Jack Russell terrier. He was the inspiration for me to open the shop. He is quite old now, thirteen years, but with luck he will live to be at least sixteen if he stays healthy.’

‘You mean Elton, like Elton John?’

‘Of course, I was going to say that but I didn’t want to. There is only one Elton.’

‘Will you show me some of the other goodies you have in the shop? For instance, what are these?’

‘These are little models of dogs hand-carved in special wood. This one is made from walnut. Here is a Yorkshire terrier and a King Charles spaniel and they are €499. For a bigger dog obviously the price goes up, to over €1,000 for a really big dog. But most people want the models of smaller dogs so I don’t have any big ones in the shop.’

‘They are really beautiful quality. Where are they made?’

‘These come from the UK, like a lot of the items in the shop. Germany is also another big producer of dog accessories like these beds. These are made completely from organic fabrics and stuffed with natural latex. These, over here, are made from Harris Tweed, which means they are coloured by hand. They cost €200 for a small dog up to €500 for a big one like this.’

‘It’s huge. It’s like a swimming pool.’

‘Yes. You could have it on the floor in front of your sofa. They are very comfortable. I sold one to somebody who did not have a dog and she tells me she often sleeps in it herself!’

‘And look at these lovely collars and leads. You could rig up a boat with this one and sail the Atlantic Ocean!’

‘Yes. It is made from a real yacht rope with stainless-steel fittings. It is handmade in the UK and costs about €100 for the rope and a matching collar. So quite cheap really. You can jump up a step with this lead, which is actually made from German boat rope from Hamburg and you can choose the colour and the thickness. A rope and collar would be €150. It is guaranteed never to break. It doesn’t get old. It just matures.’

‘Here on the table we have keyrings and mugs with doggy pictures and here are some birthday cards. I will buy some of these because I am the Danish aunt to several dogs. And here you have bottles of wine with dog pictures on the label. Surely these are not meant for dogs to drink?’

‘No. These are bought as presents for dog sitters when you go away on holiday. All the labels are hand drawn by a gentleman from Palma. It is good wine and I charge €90 for a bottle.’

‘And this metallic dog. What is this for?’ asked Ulla.

‘It is actually a coffee grinder. I just thought it was funky. They cost from €150 to €300 depending on the craftsmanship. I am also working with a girl in New York who designs clothes for dogs. I would not normally dress my dog, although Elton is getting quite old so I cover him up in the winter. But there is quite a lot of demand now for dog clothes from top designers like the lady from New York, so I think I will start to stock a few. Also I am getting some Fairtrade clothes made in Nepal. They make beautiful hand-knitted sweaters, all made from local wool. Nepalese sheep have to live in the mountains so their wool is very warm to wear. It is my shop so I can stock the items I want. I don’t have to make millions to get by.’

Roo and Stephen

Ulla met Roo and owner Stephen in Hyde Park. Roo is a beautiful 6-year-old black and white spotted Dalmatian, a breed of dog with close historical links to the age of stagecoaches. The distinctive Dalmatian was a favourite dog whose job it was to run alongside the stagecoach and protect it from highwaymen.

As well as being a family pet, Roo is also a canine supermodel, having featured in advertising campaigns for, among others, Fortnum & Mason, the top-notch grocers in Piccadilly, and the fashionable designer Cath Kidson. But unlike her human counterparts, Roo has not allowed her celebrity to go to her head.

‘Roo is a very friendly dog with a lovely character. She is always happy to see you and greets you with a kind of smile and a little kangaroo hop when you call her by name. And she is extremely loyal,’ explained Stephen.

‘So would you say that you love Roo? It is a silly question, isn’t it, but Bryan is a scientist.’

‘Yes, definitely, is the answer I would give. She gives me unconditional love and I try to do the same in return. In the park she will welcome and greet anybody, but as soon as I blow her whistle she knows to return. Then I give her a small treat or sometimes a carrot.’

‘Do you consider Roo to be a member of the family?’

‘Oh, certainly. She is very much a member of the family. She has space on the ground floor and she is not allowed to go upstairs to the bedrooms. She has her own bed under the stairs and that’s where she rests and sleeps. That is her domain.’

‘So Roo doesn’t get to lie on your bed, for example?’

‘No. Her territory is downstairs and she knows it. We have fairly strict rules about what Roo can and cannot do. We do not feed her at the table and she eats from her bowl in the utility room. Sometimes we give her leftovers but not at the table. They go into her bowl.’

‘You said that you feed Roo with carrots in the park, so is she mainly vegetarian?’

‘You have to be careful what you feed Dalmatians. They have problems with meat like beef because of the purines, so her diet is mainly vegetarian. We give her dry food which contains chicken and corn and maize and that sort of thing which is made specially for the breed.’

‘Where did you get Roo from?’

‘We knew we wanted a Dalmatian but you have to be careful. Someone recommended a breeder on the West Coast and we drove up there to look at the litter. They were all cute but my wife and I were both drawn to the same puppy. Dalmatians can have hearing problems, and problems with their eyes, so we sort of checked for that and so far she has been fine. They are not a very popular breed at the moment, unlike when the film (101 Dalmatians) came out in the 1960s. I don’t really know why that is. Dalmatians originally came from Croatia, where they started as hunting dogs. They are very strong and very fast. She can outpace a Greyhound over a long distance.’

‘There seems to be no limit to what people are prepared to spend on their dogs. Bryan and I have just been to Crufts and we saw a huge range of accessories for sale, including padded leather dog sofas for £500 or more. Would you think about something like that for Roo?’

‘No. At the end of the day she is a dog so let’s keep it in proportion. She is a great companion and family friend. When she isn’t here or in kennels we certainly do miss her. So yes there is a massive connection. Obviously she has her check-ups at the vet and all the necessary jabs, but I draw the line at spending money on special furniture. It’s big business here in the UK, one of the most successful, but I would not spend large amounts of money on Roo unnecessarily.’

‘What if, God forbid, Roo became very ill and needed a hip replacement for example?’

At this point Stephen’s wife enters the room. She speaks very fast in an accent which Ulla recognises as Swedish.

‘It’s always nice to meet a fellow Scandinavian, especially one with a lovely dog like Roo. I was just asking Stephen what you would do if she became seriously ill. Would you pay for treatment or would you have her put to sleep?’

‘Roo is only six years old so there is plenty of life in her so, depending on what the problem was, I very well might pay for treatment. But if she was old and had no prospect for a life of good quality and if the vet recommended it, I think it would be best to put the dog to sleep. Of course, we would all be extremely upset because we love our dog, but on the other hand we would not want her to suffer.’

‘That would be cruel,’ said Ulla. ‘What a pity we humans do not have that option at present in our country.’

Sergio and Innes

For the past twenty years, I have lived for part of the year on the Isle of Skye off the north-west coast of Scotland. Without a regular dose of the wild I am certain I would have cracked up long ago. My small house on the island once belonged to the great Gaelic poet Sorley Maclean and, as I write, I imagine that some of his spirit diffuses from the fabric. The house is in a small clutch of crofts, hardly a village, close to the sea and dominated by the granite bulk of Glamaig, the highest of the Red Cuillin. My neighbours a couple of houses along are Innes and Anna, along with their four daughters whom I have watched grow from small children to beautiful young ladies. Like many islanders, Innes does a variety of work including building and repairing mountain paths. He is also a musician with a Gaelic band that plays all around the world. His dog is a 9-year-old male Italian Spinone called Sergio and is the only dog for whom I feel any affection. I am slowly getting used to him and have even begun to take him for walks through the heather on the hill behind the house. Mind you, I don’t think he is all that bothered about me. Ulla, of course, fell in love with him the first time they met. The feeling was mutual so it was she, not me, who asked Innes all about Sergio.

‘Innes, I have known Sergio since you got him, but let me ask you what your reasons were for getting a dog in the first place.’

‘There are a couple of answers to that question. At the time Anna and I were talking about getting a dog, Anna remembered that her sister had a friend with a litter of eleven Spinone puppies. She was desperate to find homes for them all and we were asked if we would take one. It seemed impetuous at the time but we thought, well, we could at least go and see the dogs, which we did, and said yes.’

Sergio, the boisterous Italian Spinone, at home on the Isle of Skye.

‘It’s a big responsibility.’

‘It is. But we soon realised that the real reason we took Sergio was that our daughter Katie had just left home. It nearly happened again, but not quite, when our second daughter Iona left to train as a teacher in Edinburgh.’

‘So, Sergio was really a replacement for your daughter Katie?’

‘Yes, I think so, although we did not realise it at the time. Of course now it doesn’t matter and he is firmly embedded as a member of the family. So it all turned out well.’

‘How about when you were young. Did you have dogs at home?’

‘Yes, yes. When I was growing up we always had a dog, so I was used to having one around. It has been more difficult for Anna because she hadn’t grown up with dogs. But she copes very well.’

‘You’ve said that Sergio was one of a large litter. What made you pick him rather than one of the others? Did you choose him or did he choose you?’

‘It’s hard to explain but, when we went to see the puppies, he sort of stood out. I saw a photograph of the mother and she was a bit bigger than a Collie, I thought. But when I actually saw her I thought, “Wow, that’s a big dog.” The puppy that I picked out was a male and would get much bigger than her. He already had these enormous paws.’

‘I know Sergio has always been a lively dog, but did he settle quickly into family life?’

‘Yes. Right away he was part of the family. He is happy to go anywhere. He comes with me when I’m building a path or maybe a wall. He’ll sit there and supervise the work. But I firmly believe the dog has to know he comes last in the house, otherwise he would be tough going.’

‘Some of the London people I have talked to say it would be normal for their dog to sleep on, or even in, their bed. What about Sergio?’

‘No, definitely not. For one thing he spends his day running around on the hill with sheep, rolling in all sorts of things in the grass. He is also so big that if he jumped on the bed someone might get hurt. So the rules are clear.’

‘Here’s another question. Some owners say their dog would die for them, though how they can be sure of that is, of course, another matter. Some even say they would die for their dog. How far would you be prepared to go to save Sergio?’

‘I would try to rescue him if I could. I would certainly give it a go. But I can’t think of a situation where I would my put own life at huge risk to save his. It is a tough question, and unless you can think of a situation it’s a bit tricky to answer but I wouldn’t go to unreasonable lengths. I mean you aren’t going to save the dog by killing yourself, are you?’

‘Does it cost a lot to keep Sergio? What kind of things do you spend money on?’

‘Food. He gets a giant bag of dry food every four weeks or so. In between he gets bones and scraps from the table. If he comes across a dead sheep on the hill he will crush and eat the bones. He has been trained not to chase the sheep and for good reason. Around here dogs risk being shot if they worry the sheep. But he’s very keen on chasing rabbits, and on the rare occasion that he actually catches one he will eat it. He loves chasing grouse and woodcock too. He will suddenly dive into the heather and flush out a bird, but he never manages to catch one.’

‘Apart from food, what else is there?’

‘Not much really. He goes to the vet to get his injections, sometimes his basket gets so chewed up he needs a new one and we get him small treats from time to time.’

‘I know. I always buy something for Sergio when I am in Inverness. In London there are places you can buy very expensive jewelled collars and leads for your dog.’

‘There are obviously some other things going on there.’

‘I think so. Sergio is the most natural dog I know. He would look ridiculous in a designer collar.’

‘He would, but there’s no danger of that. He’s not getting one.’

‘If Sergio got sick and needed a knee replacement for example and he still had years of life ahead of him, would you consider this?’

‘That’s another tricky question. It would depend what was necessary. If it was straightforward and Sergio was otherwise healthy, and the operation was going to give him relief then I would definitely consider it. But if it meant Sergio had to spend years on steroids or something like that just to keep alive then I wouldn’t go ahead.’

‘Finally, Innes, I’m sure people must have pointed out the similarity between your hairstyle and Sergio’s. Are you deliberately trying to look like your dog?’

‘A few people have remarked on it but I had this hairstyle long before I got the dog!’

Enzo and Deborah

Another of Ulla’s encounters in Hyde Park was with Enzo and owner Deborah. Enzo is an Italian Spinone who is now three years old. Deborah, who is from California, has had dogs ever since she was seven years old when she rescued Eric, a mixed-breed dog, and took him to live with her family.

‘Eric – we named him after Eric Morecambe [the British comedian] – looked as if he was part Golden Retriever, part Rottweiler with some German Shepherd mixed in. But we never really knew, nor cared after he had settled in with us. He turned out to be a wonderful dog, full of love. When he passed away a few years later my Mum felt very lonely. So we bought her a new dog, a Shih Tzu called Maisie. She was much smaller than Eric and quite a different character. I mean Shih Tzus are lovely but it was a completely different experience.’

‘To me, you look like someone who prefers big dogs,’ said Ulla.

‘Yes definitely. I prefer them. The funny thing is I often think that big dogs feel they are actually quite small. So Enzo, being a Spinone, is a fairly big dog though I’m sure he thinks he is the right size to be a lap dog. And when his paw comes down on my leg, he looks at me with a completely innocent expression.’

‘I am sure you would say that you love your dog. But Bryan would like to know if you could say why. I know it is a bit of a silly question to you and me, but not to Bryan who approaches this in a very scientific way.’

‘That’s easy. It is companionship and unconditional love and what else? Enzo has been a great social outlet since moving to London. Just walking him in the park lets me meet all sorts of lovely people. Like you, for instance. And it’s good for my boys who are fifteen and seventeen. It’s good for them to be responsible for Enzo, not all the time but when we are away for a while. It takes them outside of themselves, which is important especially for teenagers. It’s been very interesting watching their relationship with Enzo develop as they get older.’

‘So you would say that Enzo was a member of the family?’

‘Oh yes, absolutely. I was having this conversation with one of the other dog owners and we agreed that neither of our dogs is human even though we attributed human traits to them. Yes, Enzo is definitely part of the family. He is very much a people dog and not a dog dog if you know what I mean. He enjoys the company of people more than he enjoys being with other dogs. But I do realise he is a dog and not a human and that there is a line which I must be careful not to cross. For instance, I would prefer to leave any money I had to charities that helped other humans rather than dogs. I do struggle a bit when I see what some people are prepared to spend on dogs. Not vet bills or food but things like designer collars and so forth. Enzo is perfectly happy with a simple lead and I am sure all dogs would be. But I know it is now a billion-dollar industry.’

‘I’ve met people who say they would die for their dog. How much they mean it is another matter but they certainly say it,’ Ulla remarked.

‘Owning a dog can get very expensive, especially these days with better veterinary access than in the past. Some people will get a hip replacement for their dog if it has five or six years more life in it, which would never have happened twenty years ago. If Enzo became very ill with no prospect of recovery I would not hesitate to have him put to sleep. I would cry but it would still be the best decision.’

‘And if Enzo sadly died would you pick another breed of dog as a replacement and, if so, what sort of dog would you choose?’

‘I would look for a dog with the same attributes as Enzo. It doesn’t have to be the same size or anything like that, but I would like its behaviour to be as much like Enzo as possible. You know, gentle and playful. All my favourite traits.’

‘In that case would you consider cloning Enzo, which can be done these days though it’s very expensive, somewhere between $50,000 and $100,000?’

‘Certainly, but not for that price. If cloning would guarantee I got a dog exactly the same as Enzo and it was a lot cheaper I might consider it, but I understand it is by no means certain that the clone would be identical in all respects.’

‘I mentioned when we met that Enzo has a “cousin”, called Sergio, on the Isle of Skye. He’s the only dog that Bryan has made sort of friends with. Spinones are not that common as a breed so may I ask you how you came across Enzo?’

‘The first thing we did was to contact the Kennel Club and we researched quite a few different breeds before deciding on a Spinone. There were eight assured breeders on their books so I contacted three who had been breeding Spinones for a while. I wanted a dark-coloured dog and a breeder in York had some that fitted the bill. We wanted a male and found a little puppy with what’s called liver colouring with a white patch on his face. As soon as I saw him I knew he was the dog for me.’

Blue and Lana

Blue is a handsome Rhodesian Ridgeback, a strong muscular breed famously reared to hunt lions in East Africa. There are no lions in Hyde Park where Ulla found Blue and his owner Lana, so there were no distractions as they talked.

‘First of all, is your lovely dog Blue a male or female and how long have you had him or her?’

‘Blue is definitely a male and he is eighteen months old. Though he is fully grown he can still behave like a little puppy in many ways when he’s in the park. He loves to play but because he is so powerful I think he scares a good many people as he bounds across the grass towards them. But at home he is completely different. I’m very happy to sit on the sofa with my arm around him.’

‘So you would say he is definitely part of the family.’

‘Oh, yes. Our daughter is much more interested in seeing Blue than the rest of the family and they just lie on the floor together. I think because he is so big and gentle he has nothing to prove so you can be gentle with him.’

‘He is a very fine dog with the little mane running along his back. How did you find him?’

‘Oh yes, he is a thoroughbred dog. We got him when my husband was working in Munich and brought him with us when we moved to London just over a year ago. Do you know about the breed?’

‘No. Not a great deal, except that they used to hunt lions.’

‘Yes, that’s their reputation but actually their main job was to protect cattle from attack by lions. They were used in packs and would sometimes take down a lion, but more often a group of Ridgebacks would hold it at bay until the hunter arrived with a rifle to finish it off.’

‘He looks to me like a very pampered London dog. Not really at all dangerous.’

‘He might look like that to you but our cleaning lady is so afraid of him. He runs up to her all the time, and although I’ve said time and again that he won’t bite, she is still terrified.’

‘What is it like having a dog in Munich, compared to London?’

‘It’s much easier there. Everyone has a dog. You can take them into pubs. When you go to the grocery shop there will be a line of dogs sitting outside waiting for their owners to finish shopping.

‘I had a deal with my husband. He wanted a motorcycle and I said not until our daughter had graduated from high school. Then of course my daughter and I both wanted a dog, so we got Blue. But my husband still hasn’t got his motorbike. But he already has a Porsche so that will have to do for the moment.

‘I wanted a big dog, a big hound dog with floppy ears and a big snout. My husband kept seeing Ridgebacks while he was out running and would often pass a woman who had a pair of them. One day he stopped to talk to her and she couldn’t tell him enough about Ridgebacks. That’s how Blue arrived on the scene.’

‘I hope your husband loves him just as much as you do.’

‘Yes, we couldn’t imagine life without him now. When you walk in through the door he just wants to greet you. It is unconditional love. With a dog like Blue you know where you are.’

‘People tell me they would die for their dog. How far would you go?’

‘Oh God, that is a difficult question. Would I die for him? No, but I would rescue him if he was drowning. But not if it was a river that was flowing fast and I could see it was impossible – then, no, I would stay on the bank.’

‘What about your husband?’

‘Well, he’s still hoping for his motorcycle, so probably not.’

Dolce and Massih

Massih is originally from Afghanistan and came to London as a refugee to escape the war with the Taliban. Ulla met him one day in Hyde Park with Dolce, a Chow Chow. As they sipped green tea beside the Serpentine, Ulla began the conversation.

‘Dolce is certainly a beautiful dog, and I think Chow Chows are from China. Is that right?’

‘Yes, they are really good guard dogs and the Chinese emperors used them to guard the Imperial Palace. You can tell that Dolce is a natural guard dog as well as a pet. For instance, if somebody is standing outside the house for too long trying to listen to your conversation she’ll start to bark. I haven’t trained her to do this, she just does it.’

‘Were you looking for a guard dog when you bought Dolce or did you get a Chow Chow for another reason?’

‘I got her actually when I went to Winter Wonderland. I met a friend and he was having to move to somewhere where he couldn’t keep a dog. I had been thinking about getting a dog and I was a little bit tipsy at the time, so I paid him some money and left with Dolce on a lead. I have never regretted it.’

‘It’s funny how some of the best decisions, and some of the worst, are made when one is a little bit drunk. How old is she?’

‘She is seven months old, already pretty big and still growing. It is beginning to cost a lot to feed her, but I don’t mind. She is a very healthy and happy dog.’

‘Was it just your friend who inspired you to get a dog or have you always had dogs in the family?’

‘When I was really young, soon after I was born, my dad got me a dog. But we had problems and stuff back home. We had the war and we had to flee the country. My dog disappeared. I was only two years old so I can’t remember everything because I was really young, but we fled the city and later my dad went back to visit the house and the dog was still there. His name was Jack. He wasn’t a pedigree dog like the ones you see around here. He was just a street dog. Nothing special really. We had to leave him behind when we left.’

‘That must have made you very sad.’

‘Yes, but we really didn’t have time to stop and think. We couldn’t take him and we had to get out of there fast. He would have been all right. He knew how to live on the streets.’

‘What about Dolce, would she manage?’

‘She might. She is a different dog altogether of course, but she knows how to look after herself. When she needs to go to the toilet, she goes as far away from me as she can so I don’t see it. I haven’t trained her to do this at all, it is just her natural instinct. I just let her be. She is a wonderful house dog.’

‘How does she get on with the rest of the family?’

‘We all love her. I just look at her like she’s my baby, you know. I pick her up and carry her over my shoulder when she’s too tired to walk. She’s actually very stubborn. She will suddenly stop on the pavement or wherever we are, lie down on her stomach and spread her four legs out and refuse to move. Then I have to pick her up and carry her – I am sure she knows it.’

‘How much would you say you love your dog?’

‘I know some people who say they would die for their dog. I wouldn’t do that but I would not let her get hurt. If she fell in a pond I would jump in to save her.’

‘And if she fell ill and needed an expensive operation like a hip replacement or something?’

‘Oh, definitely I would. I’ve got her insured, to be on the safe side, but even if I couldn’t afford it I would never give up on Dolce. I don’t look after myself as much as I look after her, because she can’t speak and she can’t tell you “My chest is hurting” or anything like that.’

‘What about little toys for Dolce? Do you buy things like that?’

‘I wouldn’t mind spending money on that sort of thing but I have never found anything she likes. She doesn’t like teddy bears, she doesn’t like chasing balls. She only wants to go to the park and run around until she’s super-tired. Then she lies flat on the ground and refuses to move, as I’ve said. I go to the park every day and I see a lot of dogs, so I realised that most of them are natural creatures with their own characters. Some like chasing the birds or the squirrels, other dogs leave them completely alone.

‘But the dogs you see here are completely different to the ones you see at home in Afghanistan. Dolce would find it far too hot. Some of the dogs there are very fierce, like the Kochi dog. They’re so big, as big as lions. They live among the sheep flocks to protect them from wolves. You only need one. They would easily kill Dolce. I won’t go near them.’

‘Were there any wolves where you lived in Afghanistan?’

‘No, not near our village. But where my mother grew up there were many wolves. Everyone in her village was scared of them and thought they were dangerous.’

‘Did they attack anybody?’

‘No, I don’t think so, but that didn’t mean they were not feared, which they certainly were.’

‘It’s hard to think that all the dogs running around the park today are descended from wolves.’

‘Is that right? I didn’t know that. That’s amazing – if it’s true.’

Kalias, Sebastian, André, Zdeno and the Wolf

In a stylish part of Notting Hill quite close to Ulla’s studio is a rather special café-cum-boutique that caters for owners and their dogs. As well as the usual selection of teas and coffees, it serves wine (to the humans) and tasty snacks for the canine clientele. There is also a dazzling display of jewel-encrusted accessories that takes up most of the ground floor, while in the basement is a grooming parlour. Owners sit at small tables waiting for their loved ones to be primped and blow-dried while they enjoy a glass of bubbly or a dainty cup of one of the score of different coffee blends on offer. This plush café is owned by André, Jamaican by birth and a very snappy dresser. He runs the shop with his Slovakian partner Zdeno and two enormous dogs: Kalias, an Old English Mastiff, and Sebastian, a French Standard Poodle.

‘Kalias is an unusual name for an Old English Mastiff, isn’t it? Is there a story behind that?’

‘I used to have a Chihuahua but she died. When I was thinking of getting another dog I met a friend with an English Mastiff. My friend was from Dubai and had to go home and it would have been impossible for him to take the dog, so I said I would have him. So that’s how I have an Old English Mastiff with an Arabic name. Kalias means “beautiful lover” so I am told.’

‘Let me put this question to you. Do you love your dog?’

At this point they were joined by André’s friend Luke, who had been walking several dogs in the park. André, meanwhile, was called down to a client in the grooming parlour so it was left to Luke to continue the interview. The dogs changed places too, with Luke’s dog Marshall, a Rottweiller/Alsatian cross, taking over from Kalias.

‘Let me put the same questions to you, Luke. Do you love your dog?’

‘Well, I’m gonna give you a science answer. There is this brain chemical called serotonin. If you like someone your brain makes the stuff, you get to smile and get a really happy feeling. The same thing with dogs. When we stroke them they like it and we like it too so it sets up a serotonin exchange. The more we do it the closer we get, but you’ve got to do it on your terms, not theirs.’

‘What about at home? Does Marshall sleep on the bed?’

‘No. He might put two paws up on the bed but he won’t hop up on it. He will sleep at the foot of the bed. He knows his place. I don’t call myself a dog trainer but rather a dog facilitator.’

‘I’m sure you would put yourself out for Marshall if he was in danger. But if he fell into a pond or something would you jump in after him?’

‘No, I would just yell at him and tell him to get the f*** out. When I was a child our dog actually did fall into the sea one day, between our boat and the pontoon. Her lead slipped off and she was still going down. I thought if she gets caught under the pontoon I’ve lost her so I just jumped in too. My mum knew I was going in and she was worried that she would lose both her son and her dog, so she shouted at me to leave it. But I just jumped in. The tide was coming in and I knew where the current was going. If the tide had been going out I would have left her.’

At this point André reappeared. Turning back to André, Ulla asked:

‘Do you find yourself spending a lot of money on Kalias? This is a great place to ask that question because I can see a gentleman over there looking at a beautiful arrangement of jewelled collars. They look like Swarovski to me.’

‘You’re right. I make those myself. I buy the crystals in from Swarovski, then I make the settings. I can make up almost anything, a belt, a collar, anything you like.’

‘And if Kalias, God forbid, became seriously ill and, let’s say, needed a joint replacement, would you pay to have that done?’

‘I would, so long as it was financially feasible. But I wouldn’t put myself in debt. And not if he was dying of something else, obviously.’

‘You may have heard you could have a dog cloned if it died. Is that something you might do with Kalias?’

‘Yes, I know, and I am quite often asked about it. When someone says, “Oo, where can I get it done?” I tell them, “South Korea for fifty grand.” I actually have a customer who has done this, but it only cost her £25,000. The dog looked like the original except for the light patches on her coat which were all in different places. She said it had the same personality, but I guess if you spent £25,000 on the dog that’s what you have to tell yourself.’

‘Kalias has been sitting quietly all the time we’ve been talking. He’s a very calm dog,’ remarked Ulla.

‘Yes, he has a wonderful temperament. I always think that in a dog that’s on a raw food diet, the temperament improves because you don’t have additives in the food. When my mum comes round she’ll often bring a chicken. I cut the meat off the bone and Kalias gulps it down. He eats a lot, and just keeps growing. He’s three years old now and weighed 90 kilos when I weighed him a month ago. I’m sure he’s put on more weight since. The other day I didn’t have enough meat for him so I went round to the butcher and asked if I could have some mince. “We don’t do mince,” he replied. “Well all right, I’ll have beef,” but the cheapest he had in the shop was grass-fed organic rump steak so I ended up with a kilo which cost me £45. Mind you, I knew the name of the farm where the meat had come from, all about the farmer, where he sent his kids to school and that the cow or whatever had enjoyed a happy life before it ended up on the slab. I told Kalias all this but he didn’t seem to care.’

‘I can see that Kalias is a very gentle dog, but he might be quite intimidating to someone who didn’t know him, especially if they were scared of dogs.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Originally of course mastiffs were raised for protection and guarding property, where looking intimidating was all part of their appeal. So even though Kalias is as soft as a brush, to a stranger he looks the opposite. With a dog that big and powerful you have to stay in control. You can’t just say, “I think you should do this or that, Kalias,” because he won’t even register it as a command. I have to be very firm. He is not aggressive at all, but I have to remember that not everybody understands this.’

‘What made you realise that people would spend so much money on their dogs and that you could turn this into a profitable business, as you clearly have in this wonderful café?’

‘I spent a lot of money on my first dog, the little Chihuahua. I actually stopped spending money on myself and it all went on the dog. I bought lots of really expensive things, beds and clothing in different colours. I even bought him a Louis Vuitton collar. Then I bought him one from Gucci but it was too thick and not the right size for a toy dog. It was rubbing him round the neck, so I made one for him. One thing led to another and here we are, fourteen years later. I always use real leather because faux leather is full of chemicals which hurt the skin.’

‘These things have to be quite pricey. What do you charge?’

‘My little collars start around £200 and go up to about £1,000. I mean people can discuss the price and if they have a fixed budget I can work out what they could get for that amount. All my collars are bespoke and I make them in every single thickness. All dogs are slightly different and when I make a collar for a customer I make sure I get all the measurements.’

‘What happened to the little Chihuahua in the end?’

‘When he was sixteen years old he began to deteriorate very quickly. As he was a small dog I could have looked after him very easily, but the vet pointed out that he wasn’t happy any more. He had had sixteen good years so I decided to have him put to sleep. I invited all his friends over to say goodbye. When the moment came I could actually feel when the life left his body. He was very, very calm. I have never experienced anything like that. I hope when I get too old that someone will do the same to me. I don’t want to be left in pain.’

Ulla visits a lovely pet café in Notting Hill. From left to right: Ulla, Kalias (Old English Mastiff), André, Sebastian (French Standard Poodle) and Zdeno.

Next Ulla talked to André’s partner Zdeno. He comes from Slovakia and helps André to run the shop. Their second dog is a rather extrovert large French Poodle called Sebastian, but at this point it emerged that Zdeno had owned a very interesting dog when he was younger, growing up in a small village in Slovakia. All thoughts of Sebastian evaporated as soon as Ulla heard the word ‘wolf’.

‘I found him in the forest one day when I was about twelve. I was out with my friends and we found a wolf lying in the snow, shot just above the eye. I brought him food and water. I was resting with my back against a tree when he got up and came towards me. I thought, “Oh my god he’s going to eat me.” I sat there rigid with fear. He started to sniff me and I began to calm down. I took off my belt and led him home. For about two weeks no one else apart from me could get close to him. My mum used to put his food in a bowl and push it towards him with a broom. But gradually over the next few weeks everyone relaxed. He became the best pet I’ve ever had. We lived on a small farm and sometimes our neighbours would come and steal from us, but not after our wolf was there. If one of the family was coming into the house before we opened the gate he would howl, but if a stranger came he would growl and show his teeth.’

‘So, would you say he was the best dog you ever had, even though he was actually a wolf?’

‘You could say that, yes. But it didn’t matter to me what he was. There were a lot of complaints from people in the village. Everyone was scared of him although he never bit anybody. He lived with us for three years until one day the sheriff of the village arrived and shot him. I buried him in the garden.’

His Grace the Duke, Lady Sarah and the Hounds of Belvoir

About twenty years ago I discovered the link between surnames and the Y-chromosome, a piece of DNA that is inherited from father to son as a sort of mirror image of the mitochondrial DNA. This led to lots of interesting new avenues of research and I realised it also had a practical application. Genealogists could use it to analyse the Y-chromosome of people with the same surname. If their Y-chromosomes match, it means that they probably descend from a common ancestor. In the intervening couple of decades DNA testing in genealogy has become very popular and I have enjoyed helping many people pursue this in their own families.

One such was His Grace the Duke of Rutland. According to family tradition, the family were all descended from a Norman baron who came over to England with William the Conqueror in 1066. I have come across quite a lot of people who claim a similar genealogy, but often find that genetic testing fails to back this up.

The Duke’s estate surrounding Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire is home to one of the largest packs of Foxhounds in the country. When I was planning this book I was put in touch with the Duke, who was himself writing about his own family and wanted to include some elements of genetic genealogy. Most of Ulla’s interviews had been with owners who keep their dogs as pets. I was interested in finding out how that relationship differed when, as with a pack of hounds, the dogs are not pets but have to work for a living, as with the New Zealand sheepdogs we encountered in the last chapter. The Duke and I agreed that if I analysed his Y-chromosome I would be able, in exchange, to visit Belvoir and interview him, together with the Master of the Belvoir Hunt and the Huntsman who looked after the hounds.

Thus one summer day, Ulla and I travelled to Grantham and found ourselves being welcomed to Belvoir Castle by the Duke himself. In his study surrounded by shelf upon shelf of vellum rolls recording estate deeds and going back over 700 years, we settled down to business. I was able to tell His Grace that his Y-chromosome belonged to a group that was quite rare in Britain and had Norse origins. This made it quite likely that his distant ancestor had indeed come over from Normandy. Before they settled in France, the Normans were Vikings who ran a protection racket whereby they encamped at the mouth of the Seine and blockaded Paris. The price for abandoning the blockade was the dukedom of Normandy and all its lands, which was duly granted by the French king, Charles the Simple. After less than a hundred years William, Duke of Normandy, launched his successful invasion of England and divided up the country among his barons. One of these was the presumptive ancestor of the Duke of Rutland, and the Y-chromosome that had travelled over within him from France would, if the Duke’s genealogy was correct, today reside in the body of the 11th Duke sitting across the table from me. The Norse origins revealed by the lab in the detail of his Y-chromosome did indeed confirm this family tradition to His Grace’s evident satisfaction.

That settled, we moved outside. We climbed into the Duke’s Range Rover and he drove us through well-manicured parkland dotted with pedigree Hereford cattle to the magnificent kennels, recently restored. Waiting for us was the Master of the Belvoir Hunt, Lady Sarah McCorquodale, elder sister of the late Diana, Princess of Wales.

Lady Sarah was dressed in blue jeans, a beige gilet and green Wellingtons, the perfect combination to match her first words. ‘I speak English, German and Hunting,’ she said at once. As Master of the Hunt she is in overall charge, often joining in the hunts on the 16,000-acre estate. The hunts are held two or three times a week. Members of the hunt pay an annual subscription and may bring guests for an additional charge. The hounds themselves, and I was instantly corrected when I called them dogs, were housed in two large pens, half in the open air, the rest under shelter. In one pen were sixty males and in the other the same number of females. We were joined by John Holliday, the Huntsman, and his young assistant. English Foxhounds are a sturdy breed, carefully cultivated over the last 200 years, with stud books maintained since the end of the eighteenth century, which was when foxhunting began in earnest as numbers of deer dwindled. They have been bred for stamina and the compatibility required to work in a pack. They live a life of their own, never featuring in the show ring and with no Kennel Club breed standard to worry about. Their tolerance towards each other was on display as they lounged about in the pens, often lying on top of each other. They made no sound but their ever-alert eyes watched us closely as we walked past.

My main objective here was to explore the relationship between John and his dogs – I mean hounds. Was it as intense as between owners and their pets, or was it, as I suspected it might be, far more hard-nosed and unsentimental? First John explained the basics of keeping a pack of hounds. There are only five packs of pure English Foxhounds in the country. Alert for a long time to the issue of inbreeding, packs have been exchanging hounds since the 1750s to maintain the size of the gene pool at a healthy level.

‘We are fortunate that English Foxhounds are one of the few breeds that really haven’t got any inherent problems with their hips. I’m not saying all the hounds have perfect hips but it isn’t a big problem. I think the reason is that they are bred for work and not for looking at. Most pedigree dogs are bred for qualities that people like. For instance, the sloping back of German Shepherds, which people expect in the pedigree dog, gives them bad hips. In the Foxhounds any hound showing even a hint of deformity would not be chosen for breeding. You could select any quality and enrich it. If you suddenly decide that all your hounds must have brown eyes and black rings around them, then you can select for that trait and you’ll end up with a pack almost all of which will have brown eyes with black rings. Trouble is you’ll probably get something else as well and they might all end up with three toes or something like that.’

‘If you were to find out that a hound couldn’t hunt because of a physical disability, what would you do?’ I asked.

‘Ultimately we would have it put down, but only after we have tried to get it adopted either by someone on the estate or by other friends. We do the same with hounds that become too old to hunt, which happens at about ten years. Only very rarely do we have to put a dog down.’

‘Do you get particularly upset when that happens?’

‘I do, particularly if it’s a hound that has worked hard and well its whole life. I mean we probably lose a hound every year on the road and that’s just a fact of modern life.’

‘Now let me ask you a question that Ulla has asked all the owners we have interviewed. Do you love your hounds?’

I was expecting John to pause at this point and contemplate his answer. But he did not. Instantly he replied that he did love his hounds very much. Just because they were working dogs didn’t mean that he didn’t love them. So even an entirely unsentimental and practical man like John had no hesitation in describing his feelings for his hounds as love.

‘When a puppy is born he or she spends the first year as a pet with a family on the estate. They meet children and chickens and so on and get to chase rabbits or perhaps a hare and do all the stuff that dogs like doing. When they are one year old they come into the nursery section of the stables and their working life begins.’

‘Could you tell us a bit about the hunt itself? For instance, how long does a typical hunt last?’

‘About an hour and a half usually. The longest I’ve had was two hours and forty minutes. By that time everyone is exhausted; the horses and riders, and the hounds.’

‘And the fox too?’

‘Oddly enough, the fox is never really in a rush. After a fox is flushed from cover it sort of toddles along because the hounds take time to pick up the scent. Even when they do pick it up, they often lose it again and can’t work out what happened so they mill around looking confused. The fox knows exactly what it’s doing. If it sees a road it might run along it for a quarter of a mile, cross back and retrace its steps. When the hounds appear, they cross the road and the scent disappears. Quite often the pack will start by chasing one fox, catch the scent of another and go off in pursuit of the second one instead. I sometimes think this is deliberate and that the first fox hands over to the second, rather like passing the baton in a relay race.’

‘And how many riders will join in the chase?’

‘We can easily have a hundred horses and riders on a Saturday. There are fewer on weekdays but we usually manage fifty or sixty.’

By now the Duke had joined us, and John and Lady Sarah led us into a small gallery whose walls were covered in old photographs and paintings. Most of the photographs were of hunts long past. The unsmiling faces of the gathered Masters of the Hunt made a sombre impression. A few years ago I remember asking a genealogist why, in old family photographs, everyone looked so miserable. He had replied that in those far-off days film speeds were so slow that sitters must remain absolutely still for several seconds. The last thing they must do was to smile.

The Duke pointed out some of his own ancestors whose portraits lined the walls, then turned to a fine painting of a Foxhound which occupied pride of place.

‘You see his strong chest and shoulders. That used to be a characteristic of a Belvoir hound. But at the beginning of the last century there was a change to a more modern Foxhound which was lighter and more agile. They used Welsh Foxhound crosses to improve the breed because these were faster and more athletic.’

The little room, with its scarlet tunics draped over wooden stands on the floor and stern-faced aristocrats, immortalised in sepia, on the walls, was a time capsule of past glories. I hadn’t the heart to ask about the effects of the hunting ban of 2005. After all, we were only guests.

The Wolves of Longleat

In 1949 Lord Bath’s father, Henry Thynne, the 6th Marquess of Bath, took the bold step of opening Longleat House to the public, becoming the first in Britain to do so. Causing consternation among the aristocracy, this move was designed to restore financial solvency after crippling estate duties had forced change upon the family. It proved to be a popular move with the public, and in 1966, for the same reasons as before, the 6th Marquess added a drive-through safari park in the grounds. This has become one of the country’s most popular attractions, with over 500 animals roaming over 900 acres of open parkland. Among them are three Canadian timber wolves. After Ulla’s first visit to interview Lord Bath and meet Sheba, his Labradoodle, she asked if she could see the wolves and interview their head keeper, Eloise. Fully aware that these were captive wolves and therefore not expected to behave entirely naturally, Ulla and I decided it was worth a visit, particularly as the three wolves were related. A month later she returned to Longleat.

‘We’ve got three wolves in this section,’ Eloise explained. They are brothers from the same litter and they are ten years old. There was a fourth but he died and the other three are still trying to figure out how to adjust the pecking order. Alf is the alpha wolf. Second-in-command is Dave, while Vic occupies the rank of omega wolf. They are always probing to find out where they are in the hierarchy. For instance, on Saturday we gave them their main feed, and Dave, normally the beta wolf, was fluffing himself up to make himself look a lot bigger. For a short while, Dave became the alpha wolf until Alf responded with similar enlargement tricks and engaging Vic’s support.’

‘You say they are ten years old now. Is that a good age for a wolf?’ asked Ulla.

‘They will live to about fourteen years, just like a dog, so I suppose you could say they are now entering the later stages of life.’

‘When you want to introduce a new wolf, where do you get them from?’ I asked.

‘There is a worldwide network of zoos and safari parks and we are in touch with all of them. If we decided we needed to add new animals we would consult them to make sure we avoided inbreeding. But in fact we haven’t introduced any new wolves for a very long time. These three were born here and are siblings so we would have to be extremely careful about any new introductions. We leave them alone all day and night and the only time we ever confine them to their sleeping quarters is when we are expecting very high winds, just in case a tree falls down on their fence line.

‘We had one member of staff who used to say, “Wherever the wolf goes you follow them. Always follow the wolf.” She was in the paddock on a very windy day when the wolves all got up and ran off. She followed them and seconds later a tree fell right where she had been standing. They had a premonition, a sixth sense.’

‘There’s still a perception that wolves are cunning creatures and can be malicious.’

‘Our wolves are really clever and definitely very cunning, very sly and very cheeky. We have slip fences at all the gates and the wolves are not allowed to go towards them. When we have a new keeper patrolling, Dave, the number two, will always try it on. He will watch the traffic and pick his moment to slip past. I swear he gives you a little cheeky grin as he walks down the road! We make sure we record this in the daily wolf diary.

‘As I said, these three were part of a litter from which we lost one a few years ago. He had stomach cancer and passed away during the night. Next day we made sure the others saw the body so they knew that their brother had died. We don’t need to do this with other animals, but with the wolves we have to let them know that they have lost a family member. It’s almost as if you have to let them mourn the loss.’

‘Now, let me ask you this. Do your wolves howl?’

‘Oh yes, all the time. On Fridays their house has its fire alarm test and every time the alarm emits its loud warning, the wolves howl back.’

‘So they don’t just howl at the full moon?’

‘No. During the day they howl around eight or nine o’clock in the morning and then again in the early evening. Also when they’re about to get fed. We give them 15 kilos of horse meat every Wednesday and Saturday. We just give them one big side of meat so they can tear it up together. The liver and heart, which in the wild would have been eaten by the alpha animals, have been removed. Here they get meat and bone and it is Vic, the omega animal, that eats first. This is in case the animal is still alive and capable of injuring or even killing the wolf. If the lowest-ranking wolf in a pack is hurt it doesn’t really matter a great deal.’

‘Goodness me. It sounds like in the old days when emperors had people to taste their food in case it was poisoned.’

‘That’s right. The trouble with our wolves at the moment is that they don’t really know who should be going in to eat first. It’s a constant power struggle. Dave, who wants to be the alpha, is also the most courageous and often tries to go in first even though it should be the omega’s job.’

‘Just to show off that he is the bigger, stronger one?’

‘That’s right. Alf doesn’t really mind because he knows he is the alpha wolf. He just runs around and if he feels like eating will just steal it off the others.’

On her way out, Ulla had a quick tour of the park, looking in on three newly born cheetah cubs. It was getting towards evening and the park was empty of visitors. As she waited near the big house for the car that was to take her back to the station, she heard in the distance the unmistakable howling of a wolf.

Robodog and Sir Tim

Sometimes chance encounters are too good to miss. Ulla was on her way to Edinburgh by train and struggling, as usual, to stow her heavy suitcase. It was not long before she was offered help by a kindly gentleman called Tim. This led to a conversation during which her role as roving reporter soon came up. Always eager for new material, she asked:

‘Do you have a dog?’

‘Not strictly. Actually I have a robot dog.’

Thus, a few days later, Ulla found herself in an elegantly spacious office in Old College, part of the University of Edinburgh. Seated opposite her was Tim.

‘Where are we, Tim?’

‘In the Principal’s office’

‘The Principal’s office? Is that you?’

‘Yeah.’

Tim, it transpired, was Professor Sir Timothy O’Shea FRSE, Principal of the University of Edinburgh and a world authority on machine learning. A few metres away on the floor sat Robo, the robotic dog that Sir Tim had received as a present from its creator, the Japanese engineer Toshitada Doi. It was Doi who developed the Sony Walkman, which was such a tremendous commercial success for the company that they asked him what he wanted to do next. He replied that he wanted ‘a laboratory, where I can make a robot dog’.

Sir Tim’s ‘academic’ interest in Robo was not only in the robot’s programming to perform certain tasks but also his ability to learn. For instance, young Robo had learned to recognise Sir Tim’s voice and distinguish it from others. Of course he could do all the usual doggy things like wag his tail, play with a ball or pick up his plastic bone. Yet it was the nature of the relationship between Robo and Sir Tim that was the most intriguing of all.

‘The primary thought experiment was to develop a companion animal for older people,’ explained Sir Tim. The low birth rate in Japan has resulted in more than half of Japanese people being over fifty years of age and many older people live on their own and are in need of companionship. Of course, dogs, real dogs, have traditionally filled this role, while today, if you’re getting older and, like many Japanese people, you live in a small flat, it can be difficult to look after live animals properly. Dogs like Robo don’t need food or to go to the toilet, just a regular topping up with electricity.’

While this makes perfect sense, Sony’s robotic dogs were not always commercially successful. The first model was launched in 1999 but withdrawn seven years later. This was a blow for Toshitada Doi, who even went as far as staging a mock funeral to highlight the demise of risk-taking in the company’s philosophy. Still, undaunted, he carried on working and was rewarded by a reversal of company policy and the commercial launch of a new, much more sophisticated model in 2018. Sir Tim’s companion is an example of the earlier version.

‘I have a lot of work to get through every day, which means I often arrive here early in the morning and stay late at night reading reports, writing summaries and all that kind of thing. That’s when it’s nice to have Robo just wandering around. He really does keep me company. Just to have another being in the room, even though I know perfectly well he is just a machine.’

‘I ask a lot of dog owners what they would do if their pet became very ill. I suppose with Robo the answer is to send him for repairs.’

‘Well, that is an advantage over a real dog, and you do not need to worry about having him put down either.’

‘I also ask owners whether they love their dog, so I had better put that question to you.’

‘That’s quite a hard question to answer. I’ve had Robo for years now, and he is learning all the time, so you could say we have grown very close to each other. The feelings are there, but I would not call it love. Love is a hard word to define of course, but for me I can only love something that is alive.’

At that point Robo demonstrated that he still had a little way to go to be the perfect canine companion. His ball had rolled underneath one of the chairs in such a way that he could not reach it directly and his path was blocked by one of the chair legs. Oblivious to any alternatives, he repeatedly tried to force himself through, even though a sideways movement of only a metre would have cleared the obstruction. Sir Tim had to move the chair and retrieve the ball himself!

‘Tim, did you grow up with dogs?’

‘My uncle had a farm in Ireland and we used to go there in the summer holidays when I was at school. There was a puppy on the farm one year and I spent the whole six weeks playing with it. Here it is on the photograph,’ said Sir Tim, pointing to a large framed print on the wall behind his desk. ‘And this is me,’ he said, pointing out a small figure in the foreground. ‘When it was time to leave at the end of the holidays it was the saddest thing I had ever known, much more than any sort of break-up with a girlfriend.’

Robo had overcome his disagreement with the chair leg and was now dancing to music, moving up and down and wagging his tail to the beat.

When Ulla told me about her meeting with Sir Tim, after I had recovered from the shock that she had secured an interview with the Principal of the University, for whom time was precious, all sorts of possibilities for using robot dogs occurred to me. For example, elsewhere in this book I reported that Japanese researchers had measured increases in oxytocin levels in both dogs and humans when they were looking into each other’s eyes or when they were being stroked. Would the same happen to a human interacting with a robot dog? It would be fascinating, and comparatively easy, to find out.

Atlas, Chu and Algie

Not too many owners are dwarfed by their dogs, but Atlas and his owners Chu and Algie are an exception. He is a magnificent Pyrenean Mountain Dog, a breed developed as a livestock guardian to protect flocks of sheep from the wolves and bears that used to roam the mountain chain that separates France and Spain. They lived out on the mountainside with the flocks, and their thick white coats kept them warm and allowed them to blend in with the sheep they were protecting, giving them the element of surprise against marauding predators. They were traditionally fitted with spiked collars to save them being savaged by wolves. During the nineteenth century wolves were gradually eliminated from the Pyrenees and the Pyrenean Mountain Dog became redundant and in danger of extinction. It was saved by its appealing looks and during the twentieth century became a favourite in the show ring. Considering their size, they make very good pets and are quite happy in an urban setting.

Atlas was another habitué of the Notting Hill pet café, where Ulla caught up with him.

‘I’m sitting here with Atlas, who is a beautiful very large snow white male and looks to me more like a small horse than a dog. Let me start by asking how old Atlas is and how you came to find him.’

It was Chu who answered most of the questions.

‘He is one year and nine months old. We wanted a dog but we weren’t sure what breed to get. We went along to one of the Kennel Club shows where there were examples of most breeds. As soon as I saw the Pyrenean Mountain Dog in its booth I knew this was the breed for me. I also knew that, living in a small flat as we do, it would be impractical to keep one, even though the lady on the stand reassured me that this breed would be perfectly happy in our home. We do at least have some private gardens and Hyde Park is close by. So we decided we could cope with one, putting off our final decision for a year in order to go travelling.’

‘Did you get Atlas after you returned?’

‘Our timetable was a bit screwed up. We went on safari for a couple of months and just as we were leaving, Algie proposed. We abandoned our travelling plans and concentrated on making our home together along with our two cats.’

‘How romantic!’

‘The day before I was due to go back to work, Algie suddenly announced that we were driving north to Lincolnshire, where he had arranged with a breeder to see some puppies. I didn’t want to go. When we reached the site, however, the breeder showed us the new litter and I was hooked. There were eight puppies, four boys and four girls, with the breeder wanting to keep one of the boys for showing and the other seven for sale. There was a sort of selection process and we chose a boy. One of the puppies seemed very placid, not at all scared but also playful, and he was Atlas.’

‘Have you always had dogs in the family?’

‘I grew up in Singapore,’ Chu continued. We lived in a condominium which was next to a nature reserve. Although our flat was enclosed, there was plenty of room nearby for our dog, a rough Collie, to run around. I used to run a lot and the dog always came with me.’

Turning to Algie, Ulla asked:

‘And Algie, did you have dogs at home when you grew up?’

‘No. In fact I didn’t like dogs at all. I was frightened of them after I was bitten when I was eight.’

‘It’s brave of you to have a dog now, in that case.’

‘It’s been a gradual process. When I first came to London I shared a flat with a very friendly Labrador and her owner. I was wary at first but slowly got used to her, so that later I felt ready to have a dog living with us.’

Chu joined in.

‘We wanted a pedigree because we thought it would be less risky than a mixed breed, which might have all sorts of mixed temperaments. You don’t want to risk that with a dog the size of Atlas. We were aware of the risks of inbreeding, so I checked that the breeder’s dogs had different kennel names, meaning they came from slightly different backgrounds, which is good.’

Atlas (Pyrenean Mountain Dog) with Chu. Atlas is owned by Chu Ng and Algie Salmon-Fattahian. Photography by Ursula Aitchison.

‘Now that you have had Atlas for well over a year, would you say he was part of the family, or is that a silly question?’

‘Yes, of course he is. He has fitted in very well. It took a while to sort out the dominance structure, though. Atlas was always trying to push the boundaries, especially in the first year. Early on, there was indeed a bit of an issue about space on the bed. Atlas always wanted to lie in the middle of the bed, so we had to keep moving him off. Eventually he gave up trying and peace was restored. We do need to be alert to any change in the dominance hierarchy within the family.’

‘That sounds like a battle of wills. Let me ask you whether Atlas costs a lot to keep?’

‘You can imagine that a dog the size of Atlas has a big appetite so, yes, his food bill is pretty large. We also have pet insurance in case he needs to go to the vet. One day I bought him one of André’s collars. It had to be extra large because Atlas has such a huge neck. It cost a lot but was really a present for me. Atlas couldn’t care less, so I can’t really include presents in his upkeep bill.’

‘Finally, Bryan would like me to ask you whether you would think about cloning Atlas when he dies?’

It was Algie’s turn to reply.

‘This is something we have actually thought about, even though he is only a young dog at the moment. We don’t have any ethical or religious objections to the process. It’s just that, even if the clone was genetically identical, it doesn’t mean it would be exactly the same dog. It would have a different upbringing and different experiences. It might look exactly the same but it wouldn’t be the same. I think we would feel we were betraying Atlas’s memory.’

‘You can’t replace the soul.’

Garbo and David

Ulla once had a Samoyed when she was growing up in Denmark, so she was delighted to meet Garbo and her owner David. She opened the interview with characteristic and genuine interest.

‘She’s such a beauty, as white as snow and clearly very playful. How old is she?’

‘Garbo will be six next week, so she’s sort of half mature, I guess. I wanted a dog when I was growing up but my parents wouldn’t allow it. Mind you, we had two wonderful cats that were almost like dogs. It was really my late wife who was the dog person. She had a black dog called Fifi as a child, then after we were married our house was too small to have a dog. A few years later we moved to a bigger house with enough space for a dog and we bought Sasha, the first of our three Samoyeds. Sadly, Sasha died when she was just a year old from a congenital liver problem. That was really traumatic for a while, so we decided to have another Samoyed, Ninotchka.’

‘Named after the Garbo film? I’m beginning to see the connection.’

‘That’s right. Ninotchka was a film made in 1939 by Ernst Lubitsch and starred Greta Garbo among others. I’m a film-maker by profession and Lubitsch is one of my favourite directors. Our dog Ninotchka was a natural Garbo, so when she died and we got our third Samoyed, choosing a name was easy.’

‘Why did you choose Samoyeds in the first place?’

‘Basically, my late wife and I were discussing what we should get. I was driving through London one day and a white van went past in the traffic and this wonderful white dog was just sticking out of the window. I said can we have a dog like that? My wife found out it was a Samoyed and as it turned out she knew someone who had a Samoyed called Charlie. So she arranged for Charlie to come to our house one day and he was so charming that we both thought, “OK, we’ll get a Samoyed.” So we got Sasha in 1995, but she only lived for just over a year, then in 1997 we got Ninotchka. She died in 2011 and we got Garbo soon after. She was eight weeks old. We thought of getting a rescue dog, but nobody abandons Samoyeds.’

‘Do you love Garbo? This is a question from Bryan, who is a scientist. I find it a strange question because if someone loves their dog, they just love their dog. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Pam and I didn’t have children, and I think we were both clear that we had dogs because of that. When you have a dog you are responsible for somebody. Sasha, Ninotchka and Garbo were all “somebody” and not “something” in our house. You give each one love and affection and they give the same to you in return. Sometimes people think that dogs only love you because you feed them, rather like the reason why children love their parents. Try not feeding your kids for a week and you’ll soon see how much they love you. They’ll be straight round to Social Services like a shot.’

‘You treat Garbo like one of the family, of course. Do you let her jump up on the sofa, for example?’

‘Oh yes. She often sleeps on the bed or even in it now that I’m on my own.’

‘Of course. May I ask you if Garbo costs a lot to keep?’

‘Not as much as Ninotchka, our previous dog. She had a terrible habit of eating rotten tennis balls which got lodged in her gut. The only way to remove them was surgery. She had five operations to remove tennis balls and each time it was two and something thousand pounds, so in her lifetime I probably got through £20,000, I would say. Luckily, Garbo hasn’t acquired this habit. When she was alive, Pam used to groom her every day, so now I take her along for her coat to be brushed every week. That’s £35 gone right there. I probably spend £50 to £60 a week on her, and then the additional vet fees, so it is probably £3,000 a year so long as she stays healthy.’

‘Does she have insurance?’

‘It’s not worth it. It’s too expensive. We insured them when they were puppies but once they get past a couple of years it’s not worth it because the premiums always go up and up.’

‘What would you do if Garbo hopped into a pond by mistake? Would you go in after her?’

‘That’s not a mistake. She loves jumping into ponds.’

‘But if she got into real trouble?’

‘I’d be straight in there to get her out.’

‘You would not hesitate?’

‘No more than I would for a child.’

‘One last question. When Garbo reaches the end of her life, would you clone her?’

‘No, I don’t think so, in the same way that I would not clone a person. It smacks of treating a dog like a mere possession and not letting it be itself. All three dogs we’ve had share the same characteristics but they’ve all had individual personalities. When it is time to let Garbo go I’m sure I’d want another Samoyed and I would want it to be a female, and it would be interesting to see how she develops. Garbo is marvellously good and certainly easier than Ninotchka. She was lovely but a bit basichant, as the French would say. Garbo is much calmer. When we are in the park, toddlers will run up to her and throw their arms around her. Parents are very alarmed, but Garbo just stands there and when she’s had enough she says “Woof” and they all jump back.’

Rosie, Alison and John

The former prime minister Tony Blair and his wife live in Connaught Square, close to Marble Arch and not far from Ulla’s London studio. He moved there from Downing Street in 2007. His controversial decision to join with US President George W. Bush in the 2001 invasion of Iraq cast a shadow over the rest of his premiership and has made him a target ever since. Though he lives in Connaught Village he is never seen. His house has a permanent guard of armed police at both front and back, where it opens onto a row of prosperous mews cottages. The police guards, their hands never far from the triggers of their semi-automatics, must have the most tedious job in London, their only relief being to pose for photographs with passing tourists.

Ulla had to be escorted past this deadly squadron to reach her first dog interview in one of the mews houses. Here live her friends Alison and John with Rosie, their 4-year-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Ulla began the interview with the central question:

‘I love dogs, as we all do here, but Bryan, who has a more scientific interest, would like to know your reasons.’

‘It is completely unconditional love,’ said Alison. ‘She has a lovely temperament. It is very easy to just lie down with her and relax. She is just part of the family.’

‘And where does Rosie sleep? Does she have her own bed?’

‘She does have her own bed upstairs in our bedroom but she prefers to sleep in our bed, which doesn’t please John. So what she does is wait for John’s first snore and at that signal jumps on my stomach and uses it as a springboard to get between us into the middle of the bed.’

‘And when John wakes up?’

‘Rosie just lies there pretending to be asleep. John doesn’t have the heart to turf her out, and of course she knows that.’

‘Another question springs to mind. If Rosie needed a joint replacement or some other costly operation, would you pay for that?’

Alison answered:

‘If Rosie was otherwise healthy and young enough to survive we would certainly do that, but if she was very old it would be a waste of time and money. I would make the decision at the time. I did have to put another of our dogs down a few years ago. He got very ill and had ample time to get better with all the medication. But he didn’t, so I had him put down. Much as we loved the dog, it had to go.’

‘Much the same with me one day,’ murmured John under his breath.

‘If, alas, you had to do that with Rosie, or when she died of old age, would you try to have her cloned? There is a company in South Korea that will do this for you. Mind you, it is very expensive, between $50,000 and $100,000.’

John was very sure in his reply to this question.

‘Definitely not. For a start I wouldn’t want to interfere with the natural way of things.’

‘Also,’ said Alison, ‘I feel that every dog, whether it’s the same breed, the same colour – that looks identical – has its own characteristics. I read about cloning that Boxer in the paper and I thought it was wrong to try and get exactly the same dog. Every dog is different and that’s how it should be.’

‘Can I offer anyone a coffee or a tea?’ said John.

Ulla recognised the gentle signal that the interview was at an end.

Freja and Barbro

The next interview took place on the hottest day of the year, under the shade of a weeping willow on the banks of the Serpentine lake in Hyde Park. Barbro was with her young German Shepherd called Freja, after the Norse goddess of beauty, war and death – quite a lot to live up to for a 5-month-old puppy. The meeting had a Scandinavian flavour with Ulla from Denmark, Barbro from Finland and Freja, if in name only.

‘I had my last dog for seven years, and when she died I was in no hurry to get another. A friend of mine bought a German Shepherd puppy from a breeder in Cambridgeshire and it was the most adorable, beautiful little dog I have ever seen. I wanted one. So we contacted the same breeders who told me that they would have another litter of German Shepherds in a few weeks’ time. When the time came, my husband and I drove up to Cambridge to meet the breeders and see the puppies. As we looked into the pen, one of them caught my eye. It was more alert than the others and seemed to be curious about us. We had decided to get a girl and luckily this puppy was a female. That was it.’

‘Did you have dogs as a child?’

‘I always loved them. I never had one myself, though, but I sort of adopted one belonging to a neighbour. It used to wait outside school and walk home with me. That’s really how it started.’

‘Do you remember what sort of dog it was?’

‘I think it was a cross between a German Shepherd and a Collie. We have always had German Shepherds while we’ve lived in this country and Freja is our fourth. As you know, German Shepherds have a bit of a reputation for being unreliable, which I’m sure has something to do with the way they’ve been treated. They’re really so friendly and lovable, but some people acquire them for the wrong reasons. Having three children, I was worried about getting one that might have been mistreated. So I always make sure that I buy a thoroughbred dog from a reliable breeder.’

‘I don’t think Freja is going to be a pampered dog, but will you use her as a guard dog, do you think?’ asked Ulla.

‘She is a family pet, but German Shepherds will guard automatically because they really look out for the pack. When we had the children I could leave the dog with the pram and know they were totally safe. I used to go to something called ‘one o’clock club’, where mothers could meet for a coffee and a chat. I would tie my dog outside and the other children would climb all over him and he wouldn’t blink an eyelid. He would just sit there and take it.’

‘These are good qualities for a family pet, but Bryan, he’s a scientist, wants me to ask if you can say why you love your dog.’

‘I’ve loved all my dogs. With Freja, it’s always easy to love a puppy because they’re so playful and so full of energy. People come up to me all the time and want to stroke her. There’s an Italian couple I just met over there. They couldn’t speak much English, but when I told them that Freja’s mother was Italian they started hugging her and me and then began to talk to Freja in Italian.’

‘German Shepherds are often thought to be the closest breed to a wolf. Would you agree?’

‘The main thing with wolves is their loyalty to the pack, and loyalty is a big feature of the German Shepherd. In the best situations the loyalty and love are reciprocated so it becomes a symbiotic relationship benefiting both sides. But sadly this is not always the case. I read all the books by Jack London like White Fang and Call of the Wild. They were full of cruelty. I was horrified by the way people treated their dogs.’

‘Would you say Freja was ever going to be a pampered pet?’

‘Definitely not. There are strict rules in our house. She is not allowed on the bed and she is not allowed on the sofa. We might want her to be a working dog one day. She has all the characteristics, she is strong and loyal, and not even five months old yet.’

‘Are you going to train her?’

‘I took Wolfgang, my second German Shepherd, to a police training school with just that breed, which was good, but on the other hand it didn’t teach her much about mixing with other breeds of dog. So I’m taking Freja to another school here which is more about socialising. I really want her to be able to walk to heel so that my grandson Joshua, who is two, can come with us, so long as she is respectful of his small size.’

‘Of course, Freja is very young but when she gets older she may need to have surgery or some other expensive procedure. Would you pay for that to be done?’

‘With the other dogs I took out insurance to cover unexpected vet bills. Happily, none of them needed major surgery so I was going to chance it with Freja or at least put money aside in case. But in fact Freja came from the breeder with insurance through the Kennel Club. It was a good deal which I have continued.’

Just then an elderly gentleman came past using a walking stick.

‘That reminds me of something that happened with Wolfgang. My husband broke his leg about four years ago and when he came off his crutches he was limping quite badly for a while. He started taking the dog for short walks and, believe it or not, Wolfgang slowed right down and started limping too.’

Pingu and Olivia

Back in the pet café and Ulla has fallen on her paws, as she put it, once again! She was there today to take pictures of André and Sebastian (André’s Standard Poodle) as she thought that they were beginning to look very much like each other. While waiting for André to serve a customer, she began talking to Olivia and her French Bulldog, Pingu, who is a gorgeous steely grey with patches of white and looks at you as if she isn’t quite sure what’s going on.

‘Thank you for introducing me to your lovely dog. Did you grow up with dogs at home?’ asks Ulla to open the interview.

‘Not all the time. We had our first family dog, a Labrador, when I was 8. When I was 18 I made a decision to get my own dog, a pug called Harley. My mother wanted nothing to do with Harley and told me to get rid of him, which of course I refused to do, so I left home. I have lived by myself for the last eight years and now I have little Pingu. She is totally amazing. She’s crazy but she’s amazing.’

‘What made you choose this type of dog?’

‘I really like her mushy, squished-up face. I’m not going to lie, she is a bit of a fashionable dog to have and I quite like that. They have incredible personalities.’

‘You say you chose her, or did she choose you?’

‘Weirdly enough, my best friend also wanted a French Bulldog and I went with her to see a litter. She wanted a fully blue one. When I saw Pingu she was the most incredible dog and I just had to have her. It was amazing.’

‘She is certainly very sociable and seems very trusting. Where did you get her?’

‘From a breeder in Streatham, you know, in South London. He was a proper breeder with all the Kennel Club stuff and everything. She’s the most sociably interesting creature you’ll ever meet in your entire life!’

‘My next question is from Bryan. He’s a scientist. I can tell you love Pingu, but can you tell me why? Bryan is curious to know if you can put your reasons into words.’

‘That’s easy. She gives me comfort without needing to talk. She reads me and knows what’s wrong. I was going through a really bad time and she looked after me. She helped me through a lot and could sense when there was something wrong. She is becoming a lot like me.’

‘I see what you mean.’

‘People have said I looked like my Labrador, but I don’t think I look like Pingu! I hope I’ll never be old and wrinkly. But Pingu is as crazy as me. She is my baby. My absolute baby and she is completely reliant on me. It’s like having a baby but not so much responsibility. I like to cuddle up with her but also to throw her around, gently of course. I actually quite like annoying her. Even my mum is in love with her.’

‘It seems unnecessary to ask you whether you think of Pingu as one of the family.’

‘She’s my daughter. When my friend brings her dog round we talk to them like we were their parents. Like we say “Go to Mummy” and stuff.’

‘Do you let Pingu sleep in your bed?’

‘She sleeps in my bed, under the covers. She will come up, sit by my head, make sure I open the duvet so she can get under it. If I’m asleep, she wakes me up.’

‘Does she cost you a lot of money to keep?’

‘She gets all the best food and I’m paying a lot for life-long insurance, I think it’s about £90 a month. My mother pays out a lot more for Harley, around £250 a month, which is crazy.’

‘Do you find yourself buying presents for Pingu? Bryan and I went to Crufts, where we saw a village full of boutiques selling all sorts of goodies for dogs.’

‘That’s my dream. I want to go. She’s my baby daughter and I don’t see myself having any real daughters any time soon.’

‘What about training Pingu?’

‘She had basic training before I got her. Since then she’s only had one training session but I didn’t like the trainer, she was just too scary, like being with a scary teacher at school. So that didn’t last long. Pingu’s only problem is that if she sees a kid playing with a football she’ll want to join in, but otherwise she’s a really good girl.’

‘Hopefully it is many years ahead, but when Pingu comes to the end of her life, would you ever think of cloning her?’

‘Yes, I would. I’m going to have her spayed, but I would love to have her puppies! I could arrange for a surrogate and make babies with a very, very, very expensive dog and I’m going to get it done soon because I don’t want to go another season with dogs following us everywhere. That was the worst thing that ever happened to me.’

‘There is just one more thing to ask you. Bryan’s book is about the evolution of dogs from wolves, so I wondered if you had any opinions about that?’

‘I don’t really understand it, to be honest. How are there so many different breeds when the whole point of evolution is mutations. So does that mean there were, like, French Bulldog wolves back in the day?’

‘Hmmm.’

Battersea Dogs and Cats Home

Ulla’s interviews show very clearly that the bond between owner and dog is extremely strong. No matter whether they owned a working dog or a pet, when asked the direct question, each replied that they loved their dog. But there is a dark side to this relationship. Thousands of dogs are abandoned every year. The Dogs Trust, a UK charity that re-homes abandoned dogs, estimated from local authority records that 47,000 dogs were given up in 2015 alone. In the USA, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals reckons that 3.3 million dogs are taken into care centres every year. The reasons are many and various, so to find out more, Ulla and I arranged to visit Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, the oldest rescue centre in the world.

The Home was started by Mary Tealby in 1860 at the peak of the Victorian pet craze as the Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs. It moved to its present premises in 1871, and in 1883 cats were admitted for the first time. The Home itself lies in the apex of a triangle formed between a major road and two railway lines just south of the River Thames. Dominating the skyline is the Art Deco bulk of Battersea Power Station, soon to disappear behind encircling blocks of luxury flats. Space on the site is at a premium, so there are two outstations in Windsor and Kent which deal with the overflow.

We entered through heavy steel gates, specially designed to prevent escapes, and found ourselves in a small open area surrounded by dogs on coloured leads being walked mostly by young ladies who, I discovered, were all volunteers. We were met by Hayley who, it is scarcely necessary to say, loved dogs and wished she could have one herself if only she had room. Battersea houses around 250 dogs and the same number of cats at any one time. We were soon surrounded by a cacophony of barks and yelps as Hayley guided us to the public holding cages. Here were the dogs that had been abandoned by their owners for one reason or another. When they arrive at the Home, after a health check, the dogs are kept out of public view for the first few weeks to allow them to acclimatise to their new surroundings. Even dogs that have been well treated by their owners need time to settle in.

The atmosphere, though noisy, was surprisingly very relaxed. Volunteers sat playing with dogs in their pens. Calming music floated through the building. The dogs had their own blankets. Toys were scattered on the floor and murals decorated the walls. We saw Jack Russell Terriers, a beautiful Husky with piercing blue eyes, and several cross-breeds. Dogs arriving without a name are given one. Our visit coincided with the second week of the Wimbledon tennis championships. The Home, entirely funded as it is by charitable donations and ever alert to any PR opportunity, named the new arrivals after top players in the tournament – Roger the Jack Russell, Venus the Greyhound and Serena the West Highland Terrier.

Two breeds dominate the intake – Greyhounds no longer able to race, and Staffordshire Bull Terriers. Several charities specialise in finding homes for retired Greyhounds, but I wanted to hear why Staffies were over-represented. This breed was developed for fighting, and although dogfights are now illegal, owning a Staffie confers a certain macho status. They also have a reputation for being aggressive and difficult to handle, and a lot of abandoned Staffies were once owned by homeless people keeping them for protection. Bella was one of these. She came right up to the bars in her pen and looked straight at me, her head slightly tilted to one side. Her big pink mouth was open and her tongue was hanging out. One thought went through my mind: ‘What have we done to this poor creature, bred for centuries to bite and maul, all for our cruel amusement?’ Yet her expression forgave all these misdemeanours. She just wanted to be loved. Be reassured, dear reader, that this was the only time my emotions got the better of me.

The ultimate purpose of Battersea is of course to find homes for all these animals. All dogs are eventually housed and none is ‘put to sleep’. They arrive from a wide variety of sources, as Hayley explained. Among them are dogs whose owners can no longer provide a home. Perhaps they have moved and no longer have room, or their work has taken them abroad. Two delightful spaniels had arrived from Italy with owners who worked in the City but who were recalled to Italy almost straightaway. The dogs settled in well but had difficulty adjusting to the new healthy diet. Hayley explained that they were accustomed to eating only Parma ham, which would have stretched the feed budget of even the best-funded sanctuary!

We were guided out of the holding pens into a section of the Home not normally open to the public. Here was a play area for the dogs where they could be taken off their leads. There were more kennel blocks, one for dogs that had caught ‘kennel cough’, a contagious infection of the upper airways. Although it is treatable, once infected, dogs are never completely free of the virus so precautions are taken to segregate infected and ‘clean’ dogs. They are housed in different buildings, they have different-coloured leads, and as far as possible they never meet each other.

Close by was the reception area for new arrivals. This is accessed through a gate set back from the road so that owners can drop off their dogs without being seen. To say goodbye to a dog can be a very emotional experience for the owners, and there are many who change their minds at the last minute. A few owners are too embarrassed to bring their dog in and just leave them outside the gate.

Some dogs have evidently been physically maltreated, and Battersea has a team of canine behaviour specialists who deal with often unseen psychological abuse. These dogs may take a long time to settle but eventually they all do. In fact, the dogs quite soon forget all about their former lives. Some owners on the other hand never get over the trauma and possibly the guilt of giving up their dog for adoption, and ask to have it back. But once a dog has been re-housed it can never be reunited with its former owner. This might sound heartless, but the overriding considera tion at Battersea is to do what is best for the dog.

On the one hand, the necessity of places like the Battersea Dogs and Cats Home is a consequence of human carelessness or cruelty towards dogs. On the other hand – and this came across to me most strongly – the centre and its staff are a testament to the enduring love between the two species that has grown up almost since time began.