8 1GT Tuesday October 20 2020 | the times
times
And walking Louis every week is
proving to be quite a tonic for all that
my student life was lacking because of
Covid — be it social interaction, lack
of physical activity or mutual
motivation, Louis provides it all.
Walking with Louis has been a way
to avoid all talk of the pandemic.
Coming across fellow dog walkers is
a joy. The delight of a quick greeting
and not having to talk about anything
except how majestic each other’s dog
is. Even if it’s just for one hour in the
morning, I feel part of a community
I’d never engaged with before.
Also, I make sure I dress for
the part. I dig out my most “dad”
jumper and put on my walking boots
(although it was hard to give out
a strong dog-owner vibe when, last
week, Louis sent me careering into
a deceptively deep pool of mud in
front of a group of freshers). This
sensible outfit acts as a catalyst for the
rest of the day, and I’ve found myself
far more able to settle down to study
after a morning’s exercise with Louis
than I would were I still in my PJs.
In 2009 a study by Miho Nagasawa
of Azabu University in Japan found
that the level of oxytocin, a hormone
that provides feelings of happiness
and excitement, was heightened
considerably after being around dogs.
Walking with Louis means being able
to see the world from his perspective
(what ethologists call umwelt).
Although he’s not quite White Fang,
to see my surroundings as gleefully
and eagerly as he does is a refreshing
break from the grey aesthetic that
we have grown used to in the past
few months.
When I took Louis on his first walk,
I sent Sofia a reassuring photo of him
having a wonderful time barrelling
into a pile of leaves. She replied: “You
will be his new best friend.” Well, he
might just be mine too.
borrowmydoggy.comturns out that there’s much less
pressure on swiping right when you’re
doing so on a dog you’d like to walk.
Originally, I joined with the free basic
package, which means you can view
the pictures of the dogs but not walk
them. Granted, I could have just typed
“dog” into Google and received a very
similar result, but what’s done is done.
At the time it suited me just fine; the
website states that 98 per cent of users
find that just looking at the dogs on
the site puts them in a better mood.
Yet since moving back to university,
just looking at pictures of admittedly
beautiful dogs hasn’t been enough.
After such a long period of time at
home with family, I do feel somewhat
isolated here. Yesterday I found a
football downstairs in the communal
hallway that I am dangerously close to
taking a Sharpie to and calling Wilson.
Looking ahead, the prime minister’s
pledge that he will “get students home
safely for Christmas” feels like a fairly
distant dream.
I’ve come to rue what’s missing from
the student experience: the lack of the
energising morning walk to a lecture,
or the friendly passing nod to that
classmate it’s now too late to ask the
name of. In its place is the strange
feeling of having a seminar sitting at
the foot of my bed three times a week.
Even before Covid-19, dog walking
was a remedy for struggling students
across the UK. In my first year the
vice-principal of Grey College,
Durham would invite students to
walk his greyhounds with him in the
run-up to exam season. At Sussex the
dog-walking society quickly became
its biggest club upon its founding, with
more than 300 students signing up as
a way to manage their mental health.
At Cardiff and Chester their student
dog-walking groups have reconvened
to help those students who are away
from home for the first time in such
unprecedented circumstances.next to her, I come and wave through
the window. I see Louis gently wag his
tail against the leather and we go out
for our stroll.
All of this is only possible thanks to
the dog-sharing service Borrow My
Doggy. It was founded in 2012 by
Danish-born Rikke Rosenlund, has
750,000 members across the UK, and
has boomed since lockdown began.
After all, with dog owners at home
more, they don’t need dog walkers;
suddenly the opportunity to walk
a dog is in more demand, while the
need to have them walked for you is
waning. By phone Rosenlund tells me
that “literally thousands more people
are signing up every single week,
borrowers and owners, across the
whole country, and Ireland as well”.
Its mission is to connect dog owners
with trusted locals who may not have
a dog of their own, “people who may
have that dog-shaped hole in their
life”, as Rosenlund puts it. It may also
prove to be a vital service to those who
bought dogs at the height of lockdown.
“In the last few months, since we’ve
seen lots of people getting dogs, dogs
which now need to socialise and mix
with other dogs and other people, the
number of owners signing up has
really increased,” Rosenlund says.
As a borrower, I am paying £12.
a year for my subscription, while Sofia
pays £44.99 as a dog owner.
Whenever Sofia is too busy in
the salon to entertain Louis, and if
I have a spare hour or two in the
morning (and right now I do), I take
him for a jaunt. All in a Covid-secure
way, of course: the website
recommends washing all leads and
collars, connecting with the owner
over the phone before meeting and
wearing masks during the handover.
When I signed up for Borrow My
Doggy in March, I had never
downloaded Tinder. I’d never got the
hang of modern dating apps. Yet itWhy I pay
£12.99 a year
to walk
someone
else’s dog
Back at university in Durham, but with
fun in short supply, the Bake Off star
Henry Bird joined a canine rental service
and made a new friend: Louis the bulldog
I
t’s been incredibly quiet up here
in Durham. Out of about 20,
students, 1,209 (and counting)
have tested positive for Covid-19.
Everything is gradually moving
fully online, so it’s a godsend to
have Louis. A beautiful eight-
month-old French bulldog, he
is proving to be an absolute lifeline.
Taking him for his morning walk —
an hour and a half up one length of
the River Wear — we gallop across
the playing fields and dart around
woodland patches, coming to rest on
a bench just past one of the college
rowing clubs. From there you can see
the cathedral and the castle in all their
splendour. With Louis sitting calmly
next to me, barking gently at the
rowers that drift past, I feel
immediately calm, almost cleansed.
Last Wednesday an elderly couple
with a doleful basset hound passed
as we got up from the bench and
engaged in polite conversation, as dog
owners do. “Oh, he’s beautiful!” they
cooed. “Where did you get him from?”
“Honestly I couldn’t tell you,”
I replied. “He’s not mine.”
At this point I should come clean.
No, I have not started a new career as
a dognapper, but it’s true that Louis is
not my dog. Indeed, up until recently
the closest bond I’ve had with a hound
is via the medium of Gardeners’ World,
where my love for Monty Don’s Nellie
knows no bounds. My three cats at
home would suggest I am of a more
feline persuasion, but spending time
with Louis has made me empathise
with words often attributed to
Winston Churchill: “Dogs look
up to us; cats look down on us.”
Louis actually belongs to Sofia,
a lovely 34-year-old woman who
works just round the corner from
my flat. Every Tuesday, Wednesday
and Friday, when Louis would
otherwise be sitting and howling
impatiently in the hairdresser’s chairThere’s
much less
pressure
on swiping
right on a
dog you’d
like to
walk
Henry Bird walking
Louis in DurhamBETHANY CLARKE FOR THE TIMES