There’s no such thing as a ‘dog person’ – as I found out when I got a dog

With its cliques, politics and social “petiquette”, Michael Hogan reveals why your local park has become the new schoolgates and how peoples pooches are the best indicator for their personalities. Forget Motherland – welcome to Mutt-land

Michael’s novel was inspired by his walks with his dog Ivy (Michael Hogan)

A disparate group of people get thrown together on a daily basis. They’re laden down with toys, bags, brollies, snacks and other assorted paraphernalia. They watch their cheeky little charges scamper off to play together and breathe a sigh of relief, before heading off for coffee and a good gossip.

Except this isn’t the school drop-off. This is dog walking. Yes, your local park has become the new schoolgates. Forget Motherland, welcome to Mutt-land. The waggy-tailed, wet-nosed world of dog walking is a whole distinct universe, operating with its own separate rules. And you’d be barking mad to break them.

Those without canine companions of their own tend to regard us as “dog people”, lumping us all together in a sort of Barbour-jacketed, Hunter welly-wearing amorphous blob. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Often the only thing dog walkers have in common is that there’s a four-legged furry creature trotting alongside us. Otherwise we’re as different as, well, cats and dogs.

Dog walkers come in more flavours than pet food. There are over-protective owners who clutch their cosseted canine like it’s a newborn baby. Some even wheel it in a stroller. I know. There are sporty types, who run with their panting pooch beside them or wield a ball-chucker like it’s an instrument of torture, giving doggo its strict daily cardio workout. There are laidback ones who plonk themselves on a park bench and let their animal amuse itself. There are families and fashionistas, goths and grannies, gossipers and grunters. Most feared of all, there are macho types with dangerous breeds. I swear that sometimes, man and dog have matching tattoos.

As millions of us worked from home, Covid lockdowns saw a dramatic leap in UK dog ownership, rising by 40 per cent to an estimated 12 million. All of them need fresh air and exercise. Britain’s parks, pavements and beaches have never been denser with dogs. While out and about with my own dog Ivy (a rescue Staffy, if you’re asking, brindle with white paws and one sticky-up ear), we meet walkers of infinite variety.

It’s a cliche that people grow to resemble their dogs, but there’s some truth in it. I often spot a scruffy wire-haired terrier with a bushy-bearded owner, an elegant Afghan hound with a glossily glamorous walker, or woman and beast with matching poodle perms. People’s dogs also say a lot about their personality. When you warm to a dog, you’re predisposed to like the human at the other end of its lead. If a dog’s an irritant, you usually take against its owner too. Bad behaviour isn’t the animal’s fault, it’s the handler’s. You start to see fellow walkers as half-human, half-dog. If you bump into them without their dog in tow, you struggle to recognise them.

Similarly to the school gates, you might judge someone by the name they give their little one. I’ve met Gatsby, Jagger, Prada, Onyx and Tarquin. Each time, I’ve looked askance at its owner. Likewise with dogs in diamanté collars or designer clothing. A warm coat in winter, fine. But boots, knitwear or onesies? Where’s the dignity? Or should that be “dognity”?

Like any sector of society, there are unwritten rules and no-nos. The laws of “petiquette”, if you will. Is your dog on or off a lead? If it’s one of those long retractable leads, does it risk tripping people over? Does your dog “play nicely” or snap, snarl, bark and bite? Does it share toys, steal other dogs’ favourite balls or get territorial over sticks? Does it have decent recall, so you can stop it bothering the dog-phobic? Does it chase joggers, pinch food from picnics, hump legs or worry sheep? It all determines who’s a pedigree pal and who’s a metaphorical mongrel.

Bagging and binning your dog’s “business” is a must. Failing to notice (possibly deliberately) or claiming not to have a poo bag on you are no excuses. Not dumping it in the nearest bin is almost as unforgivable. You’ve probably seen parcels of poop left on walls, benches, or even dangling from bushes, like a Christmas tree with aromatic brown baubles. It literally looks like a dog’s dinner.

‘When you warm to a dog, you’re predisposed to like the human at the other end of its lead’ (Michael Hogan)

You soon find your tribe – who’s your kind of dog person and who definitely isn’t. In canine terms, you have a quick sniff of each other’s backsides (I don’t advise doing this at cocktail parties), before swiftly moving on. Certain walkers you might arrange to meet or be delighted to run into. Others make you mutter under your breath and desperately dodge. Beware of male owners “mansplaining” mutt-related matters to long-suffering women who didn’t invite it.

Friendships form fast in the dog walking world. It always starts via the animals, akin to how schoolgates bonds are forged via kids. You might ask one another the names of your respective pooches, then make a fuss of them. You might admire its big brown eyes, wet nose or fluffy coat (warning: this looks odd if you do this with children). Before you know it, you’re strolling along happily together. It doesn’t take much to break the ice. “Borrow” a poo bag and you’re away.

There’s something about dog walking that encourages easy intimacy too. A lack of eye contact puts people at their ease. Walking along side-by-side, people soon open up. Dogs foster instant trust. Two dog walkers already have something in common. They assume dog people are good people.

Chatting about their dog often touches on their domestic arrangements. I’ve found myself listening to unexpected intimacies about work worries, health concerns or dating woes. Discussion of dog-breeding – see phrases like “spayed”, “neutered”, “on heat”, “in season” – means you essentially end up talking about sex with strangers. Since pets have shorter lifespans, there are inevitable stories of death, which might lead onto other bereavements. Few topics are off limits. All human and animal life is here.

Its a dogs life for Michael Hogan (Michael Hogan)

It’s this weird little world which inspired my debut novel, a cosy crime mystery called The Dogwalkers’ Detective Agency (tagline: “They’ve got a lot of leads but can they collar a killer?”). The idea came during a dog walk, naturally, when I stumbled upon a comatose drunk in the bushes. He was alive and breathing, if not terribly fragrant, but it got me thinking: what if he’d been murdered?

I soon learned the astonishing statistic that 40 per cent of unexpected dead bodies are discovered by dog walkers. There’s nothing like fact to inspire fiction.

Because dog walking throws unlikely people together, I created a ragtag group of friends who decide to investigate the murder themselves – it all made the perfect set-up for a waggish whodunnit.

Of course, dog walking isn’t really murder. Despite the odd clique or antisocial annoyance, it’s a warm, welcoming community. A refreshingly old-fashioned corner of our culture where dogs are loyally life-enhancing and strangers still say hello with a smile. I wouldn’t change my canine crew for the world. You never know. Maybe someday we’ll solve a crime together.

Michael’s new book was inspired by his walks in the park (Michael Hogan)

The six tribes of dog walker. Which one are you?

The gossipy posse

Two or more women, walking in Boden-clad tandem, while exchanging local intel and setting the world to rights. Their bumbags are full of tasty treats but they barely acknowledge their dogs because they’re too busy gassing. When they do, it’s in the same long-suffering tone that they likely use for their husbands.

The parents-in-training

This doting couple got a lockdown pup – probably a pug, Pomeranian or Frenchie – which has grown into a pampered pooch with its own Instagram account. It’s practice for having a baby, of course. Lo and behold, they’ll soon be dog walking with a papoose or pram.

The worthy rescuer

No pedigree pups or designer breeds for this virtue signaller. They only believe in adopting hounds in need, thus giving them the moral high ground. Usually escorting a retired greyhound, elderly Staffy or nervous mongrel from a rescue shelter, they’re recognisable from their smug expression and imperviousness to humour.

The pros among amateurs

These pooch-wrangling professionals make a living off it. Sensibly attired in walking boots and a stinky old fleece, they’re dragged around by a chaotic pack in all shapes and sizes, somehow holding half a dozen leads at once and keeping track of all their names/habits/treat requirements.

The mute with a mutt

They might be a monosyllabic millennial with a giant pair of headphones perma-clamped to their head. They might be a mildly embarrassed bloke, walking his girlfriend’s dinky handbag dog. Either way, they definitely aren’t up for chatting. Don’t take it paw-sonally. They blank everyone.

The stylish stroller

You don’t know how they do it but this debonair dog walker makes it look effortlessly chic. Their coat game is strong. Their pristine boots never get muddy. Their darling doggo – most likely a spaniel, Bedlington or Schnauzer – is impeccably groomed and well-behaved. They’re probably from Paris or something.

The antisocial scourge

This irresponsible idiot gives dogs a bad name. Their scary-looking hellhound lollops around, off the lead and out of control, leaving a trail of traumatised pedestrians, terrified children and unpicked-up poos in its wake. Their oblivious owner is normally on the phone or too aggressive to tackle, so tutting has to suffice.

Michael Hogan’s novel The Dogwalkers’ Detective Agency is out now, published by Penguin Michael Joseph