The New Year, New Dog Lie
Deconstructing the "I’ll train him this year" myth.
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.