Then I got a Bulldog.

Luna doesn’t care about my Arket overshirt or the fact that I spent forty minutes steaming a linen tablecloth. She only cares about where she can deposit the most drool in the shortest amount of time.

Being a Dog Dad in London is a specific kind of performance art. It’s trying to look “curated” in Victoria Park while carrying a bag of warm waste. This isn’t a “lifestyle guide”—it’s a support group for the men who value their Birkenstocks but have accepted that their mortgage is essentially a very expensive bed for a creature that looks like a sentient footstool.

The New “The Dog Dad” Format

Every two weeks, you’ll get:

🌀 A blunt, witty look at the reality of being a dog parent.

🎾 Six things we actually care about (3 for humans, 3 for dogs).

📸 Spotlights on the homes and lives of fellow dog dads. Apply here

We’re building a network for the gays, theys, and friends who value taste as much as the mess.

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For the Humans

Resident Dog (Vol 1 or 2) by Nicole England

High-end architecture meets “good boys.” It’s the ultimate coffee table flex.

Aesop Ptolemy Aromatique Candle

Because Luna is cute, but bulldogs aren’t exactly “fragrant.” This is cedar and smoke, not “wet dog.”

ARKET Oversized Canvas Overshirt

Heavy-duty enough for a muddy park, stylish enough for a Saturday brunch.

For the Dogs

Boo Oh ‘Ray’ Rope Leash

It’s architectural. No neon plastic in sight. It’s basically a piece of jewelry for a 25kg tank.

Mungo & Maud Bolster Dog Bed

The “Anti-Marshmallow.” It actually looks like it belongs next to a mid-century sofa.

Wild One ‘Bolt’ Bite Toy

Minimalist rubber. No squeakers, no stuffing, no “clown toy” vibes.

I’m curious…

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The Dog Dad is the home of curated finds, honest stories and network for the gays, theys, and friends of the dogs that run our lives. What you read here may be exaggerated for fun.

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There was a time, in the pre-Luna era, when I was a high-functioning member of the London fitness elite. I was a gym goer. I had the coordinated Gymshark kit. I had a ‘fitness plan’.

I used to hit the gym at 7 AM. I would crush a strength session, shower like a King, and be at my desk by 9 AM feeling like a god.

Now, I am a man who negotiates with a creature that looks like a damp breeze block and has the work ethic of a retired sloth.

The 7 AM Stalemate

The alarm goes off. The gym floor is calling. My Nikes are laced and ready by the door.

But there is a problem. Luna is currently pinned to my left leg. She isn’t just sleeping; she is occupying the bed. If you’ve never tried to move a sleeping Bulldog, imagine trying to relocate a safe that’s been filled with wet sand.

She doesn’t do “mornings.” If I try to nudge her, she emits a low, gravelly groan that sounds like a ghost expressing disappointment. She won’t open her eyes. She won’t shift her weight. She just becomes denser.

The result: I am trapped in a £25-a-month financial commitment because my dog thinks 9:30 AM is an “early start.”

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ICYMI

Everything you need to know this week.

1. The Crufts “Best in Show” Scandal 🏆 Bruin the Clumber Spaniel made history this week, but the celebration was short-lived. The community is currently divided over handler Lee Cox’s historical record. It brings up a massive “unsaid” question: in a world of high-stakes dog shows, should we be judging the person at the end of the lead as much as the dog?

2. The Rise of the “Dog-Office” 💻 If you’re a SINKWAD like me, the “Work From Home” dream can get a little lonely (for both of you). New data shows a 40% surge in dog-friendly co-working spaces this year. It’s officially the era of the “Office Dog,” and honestly, I’d rather network with a Greyhound than a middle-manager.

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The Dog Dad is a newsletter and network of dudes with dogs. No perfect pet life here, just the real, muddy, and unhinged reality.

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There is a specific feeling of optimism that only exists when you buy new garms. Last week, I bought some comfy M&S shorts. They were pristine. They were tapered. They were the kind of shorts that say, “I have my life together, even when I’m just making toast.”

Luna, a creature with the physical density of a lead pipe and the spatial awareness of a drunk toddler, had other plans.

The Greeting from Hell

I made the mistake of wearing them to breakfast. Luna, overcome with the purely irrational joy that I hadn’t died in my sleep, launched herself at my legs.

The Result: A sharp, audible rip. One perfectly manicured bulldog claw found its way through the premium organic cotton and straight into my thigh.

It wasn’t just a scratch on my leg; it was a scratch on my soul. And my bank balance.

The Financial Breakdown

• The Shorts: £20 (Rest in peace).

• The Antiseptic Cream: £8 (Because biological weapons are attached to those paws).

• The Replacement Pair: £20.

• The Professional Pedicure: £20 (Vet-grade nail clip for the Bulldog, because I can’t do it myself).

Total Cost of a 5-second greeting: £68.

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Just For Laughs

@dailyauthority

Daily Authority on Instagram: "Two dogs are standing on their h…

Enjoy this newsletter? Forward to a friend, hit the ❤️ button or comment to share your thoughts. It tells the robots we’re still here. 🤖

Join the Dog Dad Hall of Fame! If you want to feature in our upcoming posts and share the absolute state of your sofa with the community, apply below.

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Today I’m launching something that’s been missing: The Dog Dad subscriber chat.

This is the “group chat” for men who find dog ownership beautifully inconvenient. Think of it as Reddit but for non-anonymous folks—a place where we actually know each other.

Join chat

How to get started

1. Get the Substack app by clicking this link or the button below. New chat threads won’t be sent sent via email, so turn on push notifications so you don’t miss conversation as it happens. You can also access chat on the web.

Get app

2. Open the app and tap the Chat icon. It looks like two bubbles in the bottom bar, and you’ll see a row for my chat inside.

3. That’s it! Jump into my thread to say hi, and if you have any issues, check out Substack’s FAQ.

We were all fooled. For two glorious days this week, London pretended it was the Amalfi Coast. We saw 18.7°C at Kew Gardens. I saw men wearing shorts without irony. I almost considered buying a portable fan.

But the universe has corrected itself just in time for the final day of the month. Tomorrow, 28 February, we are back to a high of 10°C and a 35% chance of light rain. It is once again damp, muddy, and smelling of wet wool.

The Saturday Survival Guide: Spitalfields Edition

If you’re looking to maintain the “Dog Dad” brand while the weather regresses, there is a Pop-Up Paw-trait session at Nagare Coffee in Spitalfields tomorrow.

It’s the perfect opportunity to pay £50 to have a professional capture the exact moment your dog looks at you with utter betrayal because you’ve dragged them into the E1 drizzle.

Pro-tip: The “blood rain” (Saharan dust) from earlier this week has left a fine orange film on everything. If you haven’t washed your car or your windows, it now looks like you live in a Mad Max sequel. Embrace the grit.

The “Unlimited” Headache (Coming Soon)

A quick PSA for the Dog Dads: New laws are looming for March. If your dog has a high prey drive and zero respect for authority, stay away from the sheep.

The government is upping the ante on livestock “worrying” (which apparently includes just “looking a bit keen” near a lamb). The fines are moving from £1,000 to unlimited.

Official Legislation: Dogs (Protection of Livestock) (Amendment) Act 2024

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Luna had her birthday the other day. In a rational world, it would have been a minor event, perhaps a longer walk and an extra sausage. But we don’t live in a rational world. We live in a world where I am a Dog Dad, which meant I spent the better part of last week planning a celebration for a creature that would leave me for a stranger with a single slice of ham.

Before Luna, my Februarys were quiet affairs of Netflix and waiting for spring. This year, it was a high-stakes production. I found myself in the “dog bakery” aisle of Pets at Home — a sentence I never thought I’d utter — buying a “pupcake” that cost more than my own lunch. I stood there inspecting the peanut butter frosting on a biscuit, wondering at what point I had completely lost the plot.

The gifts were the real kicker. I told myself I’d be sensible. Then I saw a “memory foam, orthopaedic throne” in a shade of grey that perfectly matched my bedroom. I told myself she’s getting older; she needs the joint support. The reality? I bought a £100 bed for a dog who still prefers to sleep on my bed.

I’m now sitting at my kitchen table, looking at a video of her demolishing the pupcake in 0.4 seconds. She’s officially one year older, and I am several hundred pounds poorer. I am a grown man who just celebrated the birth of a roommate who pays her rent in snores and biological warfare. Happy birthday, Luna. I hope you liked the bed. I’ll be over here eating beans on toast until March.

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I used to be a man of style. I had a wardrobe full of Topman denim, delicate knits, and a collection of white trainers that were actually white. I used to care about “layering” for aesthetics. Now, I layer for survival.

As we hit mid-February, I’ve officially reached the final stage of grief: acceptance. I have accepted that my daily look now begins and ends with The North Face Uniform. It’s a specific kind of uniform. It says, “I have given up on being attractive, but I am very unlikely to get hypothermia in a waterlogged park.”

This isn’t just about a jacket; it’s about a total personality collapse. I walked past a mirror in a pub last night and didn’t recognise the man staring back. Who is this bloke in the muddy shell and the “sensible” waterproof boots? When did my trousers start making a swishing sound when I walk?

The tragedy is that you don’t even notice it happening. It starts with one “practical” purchase because the rain in London has been relentless. Then, you realise your nice wool coat smells like wet dog, so you bench it. Then, your Sambas get ruined in a muddy puddle, so you buy something with “traction.” Suddenly, you’re standing in Waitrose looking like you’re about to summit Everest, when you’re actually just trying to find a specific brand of organic blueberries for a Bulldog.

I am no longer a “man about town.” I am a human utility belt. My pockets are no longer for my phone and wallet; they are filled with crumpled poo bags, high-value liver treats, and a tennis ball that is 40% saliva. I have become the very person I used to mock. I am a Dog Dad, and my only fashion requirement is that my clothes can be hosed down in the shower.

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In the world of urban dog ownership, “privacy” is a relic of the past. You can’t even head to the loo for five minutes without a cold nose nudging the door open or a pair of judgmental eyes watching you from the bathmat.

While it feels like a weird quirk of your particular “Dog Dad” life, it is actually one of the most common behaviours searched for on Google. Here is the science behind why your dog thinks your bathroom time is a team sport.

1. The “Vulnerable Pack” Instinct

Dogs are ancestral pack animals. In the wild, doing your business is a moment of extreme vulnerability; you’re stationary and distracted, making you a prime target for predators.

• The Logic: Your dog isn’t just being a creep; they are acting as your bodyguard. They follow you to “watch your back” while you’re “vulnerable” on the porcelain throne. You’re welcome.

2. Sensory Information Gathering

The bathroom is a goldmine of sensory data. Dogs possess a vomeronasal organ (or Jacobson’s organ) located in the roof of their mouth.

• The Science: This organ allows them to “taste” pheromones and chemical signals in the air. To a dog, the bathroom is essentially a high-tech laboratory filled with scents of soap, shampoo, and... well, you. They follow you to keep their “dossier” on your health and mood updated.

3. Positive Reinforcement (The Reward Trap)

Let’s be honest: when your dog follows you into the bathroom, what do you do? You probably talk to them, scratch their ears, or give them a “What are you doing in here?” smile.

• The Trap: Dogs are masters of operant conditioning. They’ve learned that the bathroom is one of the few places where you are stationary, don’t have a laptop, and are “trapped” into giving them attention.

4. Separation Anxiety vs. Curiosity

For many dogs, it’s simply FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). They see a door closing and assume something incredible is happening on the other side that doesn’t involve them.

• The Warning Sign: However, if your dog whines, scratches, or displays destructive behavior the moment the door clicks shut, it might be a sign of Separation Anxiety rather than just curiosity.

FAQ

How do I get five minutes of peace?

Teaching a solid “Stay” or “Wait” command outside the door is the only way. Or, invest in a baby gate—it’s the only border a determined Bulldog actually respects.

Is it “velcro dog” behaviour?

Breeds like Vizslas, Labradors, and GSP’s are often called “Velcro dogs” because they are genetically predisposed to stay within a few feet of their human at all times.

Why does he stare at me while I’m on the toilet?

He’s waiting for a cue. In his mind, you’re the pack leader, and he’s waiting to see if your “private time” is going to transition into something better, like a walk or dinner.

It’s the ultimate Dog Dad nightmare. You’re enjoying a crisp morning walk in Hampstead Heath, your dog looks adorable, and then—in a split second—he’s tucked into a “snack” he found in the bushes.

The technical term is coprophagia, but we just call it “The Reason I’m Not Letting You Lick My Face Today.” While it feels like a personal failing on your part as an owner, it is one of the top five things owners ask Google about their dogs.

1. The Ancestral Cleanup Crew

Believe it or not, eating poop was once a survival strategy. In the wild, mother dogs lick their puppies to keep them clean and eat their waste to hide the scent from predators and keep the den hygienic. This “den cleaning” instinct is hardwired into their DNA. Your dog isn’t being gross; he’s just being a very thorough, very confused janitor.

2. The “Missing Ingredient” Myth

While many owners think their dog is lacking a specific vitamin, a major study published in Veterinary Medicine and Science suggests that for most healthy dogs, it’s not about nutrition—in fact, researchers found no link between a dog's diet and their tendency to eat poop.

However, if your dog is on a low-quality kibble, they might be looking for undigested enzymes or B-vitamins in their own (or others’) waste. If you shop at Lidl for their food, they might be “supplementing” elsewhere.

3. Boredom and The “Chasing” Game

If you live in a small flat and your dog isn’t getting enough mental stimulation, poop can unfortunately become a toy. Even worse, if you react by screaming and chasing them, the dog thinks: “Brilliant, every time I pick this up, my human plays a game of tag with me.” By overreacting, you are unintentionally reinforcing the behavior with the undivided attention they crave.

4. The “Cat Poop” Delicacy

If you have a cat at home, you know the struggle. Dog owners often refer to the litter box as the “Snack Bar.” This is because cat food is significantly higher in protein than dog food, making cat waste smell—and apparently taste—like a high-protein treat to a dog.

FAQ

Is it dangerous for my dog to eat poop?

While eating their own poop is generally harmless, eating "wild" poop (fox or horse) is a financial trap. Up to 75% of London foxes carry lungworm, and eating contaminated waste can lead to parasites like Giardia or roundworm.

How do I stop it?

• The “Leave It” Command: This is the most important tool in your arsenal.

• Pick it up immediately: Don’t give them the opportunity.

• Taste deterrents: There are “coprophagia stools” or pineapple chunks (which supposedly makes poop taste terrible to them), though the evidence is mixed.

Does it mean my dog is sick?

If a dog who has never done this before suddenly starts, it could be a sign of malabsorption or parasites. A quick check-up at the vet is the only way to be sure.

If you’ve ever had to pry a "mystery snack" out of a dog's mouth with your bare hands, subscribe. We’re all in this together.

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It’s a fresh morning in London. You’ve finally found a patch of grass that isn’t covered in litter, and instead of chasing the ball, your dog is grazing like a confused sheep.

The immediate thought is: “Oh great, he’s going to be sick on the rug.” But while many owners believe dogs eat grass to self-medicate, the science tells a different story.

1. The “Vomit Theory” is Mostly a Myth

Contrary to popular belief, most dogs aren’t actually sick before they start munching on the lawn.

• The Data: Studies show that less than 25% of dogs vomit after eating grass, and only about 10% show signs of illness beforehand.1

• The Reality: While long blades of grass can tickle the throat and cause a gag reflex, most dogs eat it simply because they want to, not because they’re trying to induce a “system reboot”.

2. They Need the Roughage (Fibre)

Dogs are scavengers by nature, and like us, they need fibre to keep things moving.

• Digestive Aid: Grass is a natural source of insoluble fibre (roughage), which helps support digestion and stool formation.

• Nutritional Gap: If your dog is a habitual grazer, it might be a sign their diet is lacking in fibre or specific nutrients.

3. Boredom and Psychological “Tics”

If you’re standing in a park checking your emails while the dog has nothing to do, he might start eating grass just to pass the time.

• Attention Seeking: Some dogs learn that eating grass is a great way to get their owner to stop looking at their phone and start looking at them.

• The Comfort Factor: Similar to humans biting their nails, some anxious dogs graze as a self-soothing mechanism.

4. They Simply Like the Taste

Sometimes the answer isn’t deep—it’s just delicious.

• Seasonal Snacking: Many dogs prefer fresh, vibrant spring grass because it’s tender and sweet.

• Instinct: Wild canids have been observed eating grass for centuries; it’s a normal, instinctive behavior that predates luxury kibble.

FAQ

Is it dangerous for my dog to eat grass?

The grass itself is usually fine, but the chemicals on it aren’t. In London, be wary of pesticides, herbicides, and “slug slime” which can carry lungworm.

When should I call the vet?

If the grazing is followed by repeated vomiting, lethargy, or a sudden loss of appetite, it’s time to book an appointment.

How can I stop the grazing?

Try introducing more fibre-rich foods or a high-fibre kibble. More importantly, keep them mentally stimulated during walks with toys or training so the grass isn’t the only entertainment.

If your dog thinks he’s an herbivore, you aren’t alone. Subscribe for more guides on surviving the urban dog life.

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If you’ve ever walked through the door after a long shift at work only to be greeted by a creature that wants to treat your face like a postage stamp, you’re not alone. According to global search data, “Why do dogs lick?” is the single most popular question humans ask Google about their pets.

Whether they’re licking your legs, your feet, or the sofa, there is a method to the madness. Here is the breakdown of why your dog is currently trying to marinate you in saliva.

1. The “I Love You” (Affection)

The most common reason is also the most sentimental. Licking is a natural instinct dogs inherited from their wolf ancestors. Mothers lick their puppies to groom them and show affection, and adult dogs continue this to strengthen their bond with you. It releases endorphins and dopamine in their brains, making them feel calm and happy.

2. You Taste Like a Snack

Let’s be honest: sometimes it isn’t love; it’s the salt. Human skin is covered in sweat, oils, and pheromones that are fascinating to a dog’s sense of smell, which is up to 100,000 times better than ours. Your feet, in particular, are like a detailed book for your dog, telling them exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.

3. The “Kiss to Dismiss” (Anxiety)

Sometimes, licking isn’t a greeting; it’s a request for space. Known by trainers as a “kiss to dismiss,” a dog might lick your face or hands if they are feeling anxious or crowded during a hug or play. If the licking is accompanied by lip-licking or looking away, your dog might be asking for a bit of room.

4. Seeking Information

When your dog licks you, they are essentially “smelling you with their mouth”. They use their tongue to gather sensory data about your mood and health. This is why they are particularly obsessed with licking legs and feet—it’s where the most interesting scent information lives.

FAQ

Why does my dog lick the air?

While it can look funny—like they’re daydreaming about ice cream—excessive air licking can sometimes be a sign of nausea or a gastrointestinal issue. If it’s constant, a quick trip to the vet is worth it.

Is it safe to let my dog lick my face?

While generally harmless, experts warn that dog mouths contain bacteria that can pose minor health risks. If you’ve just applied expensive moisturiser, maybe keep the tongue at bay for your skin’s sake.

Why do dogs lick the sofa or furniture?

This often stems from boredom or a self-soothing habit. Some dogs find the texture of fabric or metal interesting to taste, while others do it as a way to wind down after a busy day.

If you enjoyed this deep dive into the wet-tongue mystery, subscribe.

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We are approaching that time of year where the shops are full of overpriced roses and the pressure to be “romantic” reaches a fever pitch. But for those of us living with a dog, Valentine’s Day isn’t about candlelight and intimacy. It’s about a hostage situation involving a 25kg Bulldog and your duvet.

There is no “mood” that a Bulldog cannot instantly kill. You can dim the lights, put on a playlist, and pour the expensive wine, but the moment things start to move in a promising direction, the “Third Wheel” arrives. In my flat, that looks like Luna.

Luna has a sixth sense for intimacy. The second there is a shift in the atmosphere, she’s there. She doesn’t just watch; she participates via a series of heavy sighs, judgmental stares, and the occasional, room-clearing fart. It is physically impossible to feel sexy when a creature with a visible underbite is staring at you like you’ve stolen her seat.

I’ve had dates come over to the flat only to have the “romance” derailed because the dog decided to wedge herself directly between us on the sofa. If I try to move her, she becomes a dead weight. If I put her in the hallway, she performs a scratch-and-whine routine that sounds like a Victorian ghost haunting a radiator.

The “Dog Dad” dating life is a minefield. You aren’t just selling yourself; you’re selling a package deal that includes a snoring, flatulent roommate who will almost certainly try to lick the face of anyone you attempt to kiss. I am essentially paying a mortgage for a flat where I am the secondary character in my own love life. Happy Valentine’s to everyone else. I’ll be over here, sharing a bed with a Bulldog who thinks my pillows are her personal nesting ground.

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@sukkatheiggy

Sukka & Uni on Instagram: "Holding on to it.. 🧠✨

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•
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#ital…

If this sounded familiar, hit the ❤️ button or comment to share your thoughts. It’s the digital equivalent of a belly rub, and frankly, I need the validation today.

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Apparently, someone decided we needed a designated day to celebrate “Dudes with Dogs.” It falls on the day before Father’s Day, which feels appropriate. We’re the warm-up act. The “lite” version of parenthood where the kid never learns to talk back but does occasionally eat your AirPods.

If you were expecting a lie-in, a card, or a breakfast in bed that doesn’t involve a cold nose in your ear at 6 AM, you’ve fundamentally misunderstood the power dynamic in this house.

How to “Celebrate” Like a Pro

1. The Luxury Walk

Today is the day you go to the “good” park. The one that requires a 20-minute drive or a stressful trip on the Overground. You’ll spend the whole time worrying about her recall while she spends the whole time trying to find a dead squirrel. Happy holidays to you.

2. The Financial “Gift”

In honour of the day, you will likely find yourself at a boutique pet shop in Marylebone or Hackney buying a “special” treat that costs more than your own lunch. You’ll tell yourself it’s a gift for her, but we all know it’s just a bribe for five minutes of peace. You are literally paying for your own celebration.

3. The “Park Face” Peak

Today, the performative ownership goes into overdrive. You’ll see other blokes in the park wearing their cleanest “Dog Dad” gear, trying to look like they’ve got it all figured out. Give them a nod. We’re all just one fox-poo-rolling incident away from a total breakdown.

FAQ

When is National Dog Dad Day 2026?

In the UK, National Dog Dad Day is celebrated on Saturday, June 20, 2026, the day before Father’s Day. It’s a strategic buffer day so you can focus on the dog before your own dad demands a phone call.

What do you get a Dog Dad for Father’s Day?

Most of us just want a walk where the dog doesn’t try to fight a swan. If you must buy a gift, skip the “Best Dog Dad” mugs. Go for high-end waterproof gear, a subscription to a high-quality kibble, or a voucher for a dog-friendly pub in East London.

Is Dog Dad Day a real holiday?

It’s as real as your dog’s “anxiety” when you open a bag of crisps. While it started as a social media trend, it has become a genuine fixture for the Dudes with Dogs community to acknowledge the chaos of urban pet ownership.

If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

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If you walk through Soho, Victoria Park, or along the South Bank on a Saturday morning, you’ll see us. We are the men looking slightly weathered, holding a flat white in one hand and a retractable lead in the other.

“Dudes with dogs” isn’t just a demographic; it’s a survival pact. We are a specific tribe of Londoners who have collectively agreed that having our expensive rugs ruined is a fair price to pay for a creature that thinks we’re the Second Coming of Christ every time we walk through the front door.

The Unspoken Rules

The “Proper” Greeting

When two dudes with dogs pass each other, we don’t do small talk. We don’t ask about careers or the property market. We look at the dogs, give a slight, weary nod of mutual respect, and ask: “How old?” and “Is he friendly?”. We are basically just accessories for our pets’ social lives.

The Pub Selection Process

A “good pub” is no longer defined by the craft beer selection or the lack of tourists. It is defined solely by whether or not they have a jar of treats on the bar and enough floor space for a Bulldog to collapse without being stepped on by a hen do. If the dog isn’t welcome, we aren’t drinking there.

The Masculinity Shift

There is nothing that humbles a man faster than standing in the middle of a crowded street, dressed in your best gear, while your dog decides to do a “protest sit” because he wants to go to the park instead of the post office. Your dignity is gone. The dog is the captain now.

Why We Do It

Despite the ruined trainers, the 6 AM alarms, and the fact that our dating profiles are now 90% “must love dogs,” we wouldn’t change it. There is a specific kind of peace in coming home after a terrible day in the city to a wagging tail that doesn’t care about your KPIs or your rent hike.

It’s a beautiful, chaotic, hairy trade-off.

If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

Join the secret club. Get the unfiltered truth delivered to your inbox before the dog ruins your morning.

January is 471 days long. I’ve checked the math, and it’s a scientific fact.

By the 30th, the “New Year, New Me” optimism has been well and truly battered out of me by a combination of horizontal rain and the smell of damp Bulldog fur. We have reached the final stretch of January Purgatory. It is that grim overlap where the festive joy is a distant memory, the bank account is a crime scene, and the dog has decided that 6 AM is the ideal time to wake me up.

Before I had the dog, I was a man with a savings account. I had “diversified assets” and a Monzo pot specifically for a week in Mykonos. Now, my primary asset is a half-chewed rubber chicken and a bag of Hypoallergenic kibble that costs more than my weekly shop at Sainsbury’s.

I am currently subsidising the lifestyle of a 25kg animal who thinks a designer sofa is an acceptable place to store a half eaten yak chew. Earlier this week, I found myself standing in the kitchen, staring at a bag of “air-dried beef treats.” They cost £12. I was eating a piece of toast that was 20% crust and 80% regret. I looked at the dog, and she looked at me with that classic Bulldog underbite—a look that says, “I know you’re broke, but I still expect the good stuff.”

I’ve spent more on “skin fold wipes” and “hypoallergenic nose balm” this month than I have on my own skincare. I’m currently using a 3-in-1 shower gel I found in the back of the bathroom cupboard while Luna gets a pH-balanced bath that smells of sandalwood and expensive shame.

This is the reality of the “Dudes with Dogs” club. You start the month promising to be frugal, and you end it wondering if you can claim the dog’s “therapeutic toys” as a business expense. I am a grown man living on Pot Noodles so my dog can eat better than a Victorian orphan. We’re nearly at the finish line, lads. Payday is almost here. Just try not to check your balance until then.

Poll

Last Laugh

@ipetjaxon

Jip Jip The Talking Frenchie on Instagram: "My dog is broken 😅…

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It happens slowly. One day you’re a bloke with a career, a skincare routine, and a social life. The next, you’re standing in a damp park in Hackney, debating the merits of grain-free kibble with a stranger whose name you don’t even know.

You didn’t choose the Dog Dad life. It hijacked you. If you’re wondering if you’ve crossed the line, check your pockets. If there’s a crumpled plastic bag and a half-eaten liver treat in there, it’s already too late.

The Evidence

1. The Wardrobe Pivot

You used to buy clothes because they looked good. Now, you buy them based on “wipeability.” You own a high-spec waterproof jacket that cost more than your first car, specifically so you can stand in a field at dawn looking like an off-duty North Face model while the dog stares at a bush for twenty minutes. Your expensive trainers are now reserved for weddings and funerals.

2. The Great Poop Inspection

You’ve reached a level of intimacy with another living creature that would be illegal with a human. You spend a significant portion of your morning judging the “structural integrity” of a bowel movement. If it’s firm, you feel a genuine sense of pride. Your Google search history is a horror show of digestive health queries.

3. The Social Death Spiral

You’ve started turning down Friday night drinks because “the dog has been alone all day.” You tell your mates it’s because she gets anxious, but the truth is you’d rather watch Netflix with a bulldog snoring on your feet than pay £8 for a lukewarm pint. Your Instagram is no longer your face; it’s just 400 photos of the dog sleeping.

4. The Financial Ruin

You used to shop at Waitrose for yourself. Now, you buy the “Essential” range for your own dinner so you can afford the bespoke, cold-pressed, organic venison sausages for the dog. You have a spreadsheet for the vet bills but “guess” if you can afford your own rent.

5. The Bed Situation

You pay for a king-size mattress, but you live on a six-inch sliver of the edge. The dog, despite being significantly smaller than you, has mastered the art of becoming a heavy, immovable anchor in the exact centre of the bed. You wake up with back pain and an apology in your heart.

If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

If this sounded familiar, hit the ❤️ button. It’s the digital equivalent of a belly rub, and frankly, I need the validation today.

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There is a specific stage in every London man’s life where he looks at a pair of £90 rubber boots and thinks, “Yes, this is a sensible investment.”

Usually, this happens about three days after you’ve ruined your favourite Nike trainers because the dog decided a flooded ditch in the local park was actually a portal to another dimension.

I bought the wellies. I went for the “Arisocrat on a Weekend in the Cotswolds” look. I thought I’d look like a rugged, outdoorsy version of myself. Instead, I look like a man who’s lost his tractor and is looking for it in a Peckham side street.

The Squelch of Sadness

The problem with wellies is the False Sense of Security. You think you’re invincible. You see a puddle that looks like the Atlantic and you think, “I have the technology.”

You don’t.

I took Luna out this morning. I stepped into what I thought was a shallow bit of mud. It wasn’t. It was a geological trap. The mud didn’t just cover the boot; it created a vacuum. I pulled my leg up, but the boot stayed. I spent three minutes hopping on one foot in the freezing rain, while a French Bulldog owner watched me with pure, unadulterated pity.

The Thermal Leak

Also, can we talk about the temperature? Wellies aren’t shoes; they are heat-conduction chambers designed to turn your toes into ice cubes. Within ten minutes, my feet weren’t just damp from the “breathable” lining—they were functionally dead.

I came home, peeled the rubber off my frozen shins, and realised my socks were still wet. How? Science can’t explain it. Only dog dads understand the physics of “The Seepage.”

Now, the £90 boots are sitting in the hallway, dripping onto the laminate floor, looking at me with the same smug expression as the dog.

The Poll

This Week’s Laugh

If this sounded familiar, hit the ❤️ button. It’s the digital equivalent of a belly rub, and frankly, I need the validation today.

Are you a Dog Dad? If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

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On the first of January, we all suffer from a collective delusion. We tell ourselves that this is the year we finally become “That Guy.” You know the one—the man in the park whose dog heels without a lead, ignoring the siren call of a discarded kebab wrap.

I bought the long-line leads. I filled my pockets with dried liver treats that smell like a Victorian morgue. I told everyone who would listen that by March, Luna wouldn’t be jumping on guests. It was a new era of discipline.

It isn’t. It’s just the same dog with a slightly more optimistic (and poorer) owner.

The “Perfect Walker” Fantasy

The goal was simple: A brisk, disciplined walk. No pulling. No lunging at the postman. Just two sophisticated beings navigating the urban landscape in perfect harmony.

The reality? Within four minutes, Luna had anchored herself to a patch of frozen mud. I stood there, clicking my tongue and whispering “heel” like a man who has lost his mind, while she looked at me with the vacant stare of someone who has zero intention of moving until she’s finished inhaling a scent from 2024.

The Cost of Professional Silence

January is also the month we browse “Behavioural Specialists.” I found a woman online who charges £85 an hour to tell me that my dog is “spiritually misaligned” or “under-stimulated.”

She showed up. Luna behaved perfectly for her because the woman smelled like a walking sausage factory. The moment the specialist left—taking my dignity and my grocery budget with her—the creature looked at me, looked at the rug she was about to chew, and reminded me who truly pays the mortgage in this house.

Why do we bother?

Because despite the failed recalls and the “selective deafness” when there’s a squirrel involved, that small, irrational spark of devotion kicks in.

She’s not “New Year, New Dog” material. She’s the same chaotic roommate who snores like a freight train and refuses to sit on command unless there’s high-grade cheddar involved. But she’s my roommate. And let’s be honest—I haven’t been to the gym since 2024, so I’m hardly in a position to lecture a Bulldog on self-improvement.

If this sounded familiar, hit the ❤️ button. It’s the digital equivalent of a belly rub, and frankly, I need the validation today.

Are you a Dog Dad? If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

Join the support group. Get the unfiltered truth delivered to your inbox before the dog ruins your morning.

The Friday night text arrives at 8:15 PM.

The group is at a pub in Soho. You are on the sofa in South London. You have already committed to the evening’s primary lie: that you are “just finishing a long walk” and will be there in forty minutes.

In reality, the dog is asleep on your shins. You are eating toast over a paper towel to avoid getting crumbs on the cushion. You have no intention of moving.

You wait twelve minutes to make the timing feel authentic. You then send a second text claiming the dog has “done a tactical sick” or is “acting strange,” and you need to keep an eye on him.

It is a fabrication. The dog is fine. You are using a healthy animal as a social shield because you lack the courage to admit you prefer the silence of your living room to a crowded bar.

You feel a brief flash of guilt, followed immediately by the deep, private joy of a cancelled plan. You put the phone face down and stay exactly where you are.

If this sounded familiar, hit the ❤️ button. It’s the digital equivalent of a belly rub, and frankly, I need the validation today.

Are you a Dog Dad? If you’re tired of the “pawsome” clichés and want the no-BS reality of raising a dog, you’re in the right place.

Join the support group. Get the unfiltered truth delivered to your inbox before the dog ruins your morning.

There are two types of dog dads in London this week.

One is in full technical gear—headtorch, and waterproof hiking boots—marching through the dark as if on a mission. The other is in an oversized dressing gown or hoodie, standing on the edge of the pavement in slippers, begging a terrier to pee.

Are you the hiker or the slipper-man?