SOME years ago, we spent a few nights in an English country hotel. Shortly after checking in, I began to sniffle and sneeze. Soon I was speaking as if with a clothes peg on my nose, and assumed I had come down with a cold. Oddly, it receded whenever we left the premises. It didn’t take long to realise the source of the problem was at our feet: drifts of dog hairs on the stairs, labradors and rottweilers in the bar, golden retrievers and terriers beneath tables in the restaurant. It was like dining in Crufts’ canteen.

As we paid the bill, I mentioned the problem. “I know this is a dog-friendly hotel...” “No,” the manager corrected me, “this is a very dog friendly-hotel.” It was clear that canine guests were the priority and if we had a problem, we should take a hike.

Those of us who do not have dogs are starting to feel out of step. Pet-friendly, and especially dog-friendly hotels, self-catering accommodation and B&Bs are booming. If you complain about being caught in the cross-hairs, you are viewed as a kill joy or obsessive compulsive, the kind of weirdo who does not melt at the sight of an Andrex puppy.

Lockdown saw a surge in pups, bought to keep people company, and give them something to do in the long, empty hours. If I lived alone, perhaps I would have done the same. Nothing fills the day like a dog. In fact, that’s the reason I don’t have one. If a stray spaniel appeared on the doorstep I might relent. But, barring an emotional ambush, making the clear-sighted decision to add an animal to the household is no small matter. Not just the effort but the responsibility of looking after it is a lot to contemplate: constant hoovering (house not dog), training, exercising, poop-scooping, deworming, tick-picking, bathing and towelling, brushing, feeding. Not to mention vet’s bills...

Yet it seems not only are there countless animal lovers whose day revolves around their pets, but the place of dogs in society is set to be given an even higher profile. Lucca, one of the loveliest medieval towns in Italy, is the first city in the world to become officially pet-friendly. Its council, in tandem with the veterinary science department at Pisa University and Lucca Crea, which runs the wonderful annual comics festival, is devising a five-year trial in which smart technology will be integrated into town planning measures to enhance the experience of animals and their owners.

Their vision is for a “human-animal smart city”, in which pets are part of the picture, not an afterthought or nuisance. “The idea is to transform Lucca into the first European city with an integrated policy on human-animal cohabitation,” says Francesco Di Iacovo, professor of agricultural economics at the university. Others – not me! – he hopes, will follow their lead.

The Lucca project is not focussed entirely on dogs and their owners, but includes ways in which other citizens, such as the elderly in care homes, or children in schools, could benefit from canine companionship. Another question to be solved, they say, is how animals can better use the transport system. Now, I have heard of a Morningside cat that regularly boarded a bus and travelled two stops before alighting and crossing the road when the lights turned red. But could a dog be trusted to do this?

Having often visited Lucca, I can attest that it is dog-crazy. I have photos of a dog-marathon, where animals dragged owners over the finishing line. The town is encircled by a high, wide wall, around which cyclists, joggers, dog-walkers, amblers and wheelchair users make their way all day long, beneath plane trees and horse-chestnuts. It is an Italian version of a Sempé cartoon in the Jardin de Luxembourg, a definition of civilised city life. Less charming are encounters in the narrow back streets which, dimly lit at night, are like excremental mine fields. But that is a universal problem, no worse in Lucca than Paris, Naples or London. Don’t blame the dogs.

There are about 7 million of them in Italy, while in the UK they number around 10.1 million. That’s a lot of Pedigree Chum. I recently read a vet recommending owners spend as much as they can afford on their pet’s nutrition because, just as with human health, the quality of what they consume matters.

For those with access to the countryside or a beach where they can run free, having a dog makes sense. Less so in a built-up environment, even one as attractive as Lucca. Looking at it from the animal’s perspective, what sort of life is it constantly to pad about on concrete and stone, to be forever tied at the end of a leash tugged at their master’s whim? Scents and smells are a dog’s fragrance counter or thermidor but, unless they trespass on a garden or are let loose in a park, there is nothing in a city that can compare with undergrowth, woods and scrubland, teeming with multifarious creatures designed to sharpen their appetites and wits.

There is no doubt we are losing the plot, letting the relationship between human and dog get out of hand. Nowhere is this imbalance better illustrated than in an Edinburgh park I know well. Waiting for the bus some weeks ago, I killed time by its gates. It was exercise hour, and hounds abounded, some genetically designed to pull sleighs, others to terrify intruders. This particular park is a well-kept precinct of mature trees, grass and shrubbery in the midst of upmarket villas. In its centre is a railed-off section, roughly a postage stamp to the park’s envelope. This is not reserved as a spot for dogs to do their business, as you might expect, but as a cage for children. While toddlers are kept safely away from the roving creatures beyond the rails, squeezed into a confined space, the dogs have the park to themselves. What does that tell you? Everything you need to know about who comes first, and how barking it is.

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