Study Says Lockdown Pets Didn’t Make Us Happier – Mine Prove Otherwise

Prosecco in hand, I grinned at the newlywed groom as he read out his speech, his new husband beside him. As he listed all the people he wanted to thank, my ears pricked up at one particular line: “...and the Norwood Dog Crew”.

Although our dogs were the catalyst for our friendship, I wasn’t expecting our little group of neighbourhood dog parents to be acknowledged in such a touching way. But the joy, friendship and community that dogs bring is definitely worthy of a line in a speech. In fact, had I not joined the ranks of spur-of-the-moment pet parents during the Covid lockdown, I wouldn’t even have been at that wedding. 

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A study on the long-term effects of spontaneous pet ownership, where lockdown pet parents were surveyed on their feelings five years down the line, was released this summer by Eötvös Loránd University in Hungary. It found:

“Little support for the romanticised view we hold of pet owners and their emotional well-being. A short-lived boost in cheerfulness appeared after acquiring a dog, however, in the long run, dog owners’ calmness, life-satisfaction, cheerfulness, and activity had gone down.”

Really?!

One of the researchers did say that they were surprised to find that “a new pet in the household had no effect on the respondents’ loneliness”. I’m also surprised to hear that, as my experience has been exactly the opposite. Not only did my dogs make my single-person household feel infinitely less empty, they also introduced me to friends I’d never have met if I didn’t have them, including those whose wedding I recently attended. Yes, there are days when it’s raining, or I’m not feeling my best, that I groan at having to take them out. But a dog walk never fails to make me feel a little more lively, and I’ve discovered London parks and beauty spots I didn’t even know existed. 

Let’s rewind a little. Just two weeks into the first lockdown, I was dumped. Back in my flat with no prospect of human company on the horizon, I decided my chubby seal plush would no longer cut it: it was time to finally get the dog I’d wanted since I was a child. Well, not the exact dog. My childhood dream pet was an Old English Sheepdog or a Husky, and both were far too big and hairy for a one-bedroom apartment in London. I decided to look for a small breed. 

Several dog rescues had closed due to the pandemic, and weren’t allowing visitors. Rescuing would have been my preference, but my desire to have some company sooner rather than later won out. I started browsing puppies for sale, but lots of adverts had red flags: asking for money upfront, or no photos of the puppies’ parents. I’d never intentionally buy a pet from an unethical breeder, and I was about to give up when I came to ad for a Chihuahua puppy, bred in the family home. The breeder was parent to the puppy’s whole family except the dad. Happily, the mum, uncle, grandma and great grandma all lived there and looked happy and healthy in the photos. To cut a long story (and a lockdown-breaking bus ride across London to visit the breeder and the dogs) short, I became the proud dog mum of Sausage three months later. 

Not much bigger than a guinea pig when I first brought him home, Sausage had some serious attitude for a tiny guy. For the first time since the break-up, my tears of misery became tears of laughter as I watched him attempt to climb inside my sneakers and drag them around by the laces, have bursts of zoomies around my flat and learn his first commands, rewarded by a tiny piece of cheese. When restrictions eased, I jumped on a train to my parents’ house. Even my dad, who’s never been a pet person, was soon cradling Sausage like a baby and telling his ‘grand-dog’ how cute he was. Browsing the local Facebook group for my parents’ town one day, I was stopped in my tracks by a sad, floppy face gazing at me from the screen. A local man was moving abroad and getting rid of his Pug. To cut a short story short, I left the house that day with one dog, and returned with two. 

Snacks, as I named him, was five years old, and seemed to have endless tolerance for Sausage’s favourite sport: chewing on the floppy skin folds, or ‘flup-flups’, as I call them, around Snacks’ face. There was no denying the tiny ball of energy was the boss, and I realised as I watched them together that he was also teaching Snacks how to play. There were several signs that Snacks hadn’t had a great life before I took him on, and hadn’t socialised much with other dogs. To watch him tentatively swipe a playful paw at Sausage, even at the ripe old dog-age of 35 warmed my heart. 

Every day, I’d chatter away to the dogs like they were my flatmates, laughing at Snacks’ delighted twirls every time I fed him, and at Sausage’s impressive ability to repeatedly pull over my potted palm, despite it being about 20 times his size. When we walked in the local park, there were always other dog parents around to shout socially-distanced conversation to. The man in the coffee shop below my flat always greeted me and the pooches; the men in the pub next door stopped mid-pint to remark on their cuteness. Anyone who says London is unfriendly has obviously never had a dog. 

When I moved to my current neighbourhood, I was apprehensive about leaving my newfound community behind, but I needn’t have worried: the Norwood Dog Crew, as it turned out, was even better than the previous one. Within months, we graduated from talking in the park to going to the pub together, having dinner parties (the newlyweds I mentioned earlier are also incredible hosts) and looking after each other’s dogs. Many times, I’ve walked to the local park on a Sunday when I have no other plans, feeling a little flat and bored, and come home five hours later, because I bumped into a dog-parent pal and ended up spending the afternoon with them. In one local pub, regulars ask where Sausage and Snacks are if I go in without them. This is one of the biggest benefits of dog parenting for me, beyond the warmth and cosiness of their presence: community. 

As for the Hungarian study saying people were not “significantly affected” by losing a pet – Snacks is now 11, and I get teary just thinking about him not being here any more. I won’t deny that sometimes having dogs can be limiting: arranging care if I want to go on holiday, for example, or clock-watching if I go out without them to make sure they’re not alone for more than four hours. But I can’t imagine life without them. Even when I’m on holiday, sleeping in a luxurious hotel bed, it starts feeling empty without a snoring loaf of Pug at the end of the bed and a Chihuahua curled up behind my knees. If I could have them around forever, I would. As that’s impossible, I got the next best thing: a tattoo of them on my calf. I don’t regret a thing – not the tattoo, and definitely not becoming a lockdown dog mum.