By Lisa Smith

When I hear someone refer to their dog as a “fur baby” I cringe. Apparently, I’m not alone. I recently came across a reddit thread titled r/Dog-free, where someone posted, “There is no such thing as a dog ‘parent.’” Another user said, “Anyone who thinks owning a chihuahua is the equivalent of being a father or mother is mentally ill and should be shunned by polite society.”

As a parent of two human children and an owner of one dog, I can attest that parenting and dog owning are not the same thing. I don’t know if the extreme social sanctions proposed by this disgruntled poster are quite in line with the offense. That said, it got me thinking about the ways we work out what human and dog relations mean through social interaction—online and off.

As I mentioned, I own a dog. Her name is Loula, and she is a very barky sheltie-Aussie mix (in case you were wondering). See image below for the puppy version.

Today, Loula is fully grown; see image below.

While I grew up with dogs in the home and in my community, I wasn’t an owner until recently. It always amazes me how our lived experiences, including our relations with other beings, can shift our perspective of the spaces we walk through every day. When I walk down the street by myself, I notice different things than when I walk down the same street with my dog. I am more aware of other dogs, navigating around small children, debris on the street, as well as stray pieces of glass (to protect her paws). I encourage you to give it a try and really pay attention. If you don’t have a dog, try it with another human or your cat if they’ll follow you.

Dogs also impact the ways we perform social roles, often in negotiation with others. For example, introducing a dog into my home required discussions with my partner and two children about how pet care work would be distributed, including daily walks, feeding, and brushing (teeth and fur). I tend to handle vet appointments, afternoon walks, purchasing supplies, and food. My partner handles the big morning walk and ball play. My two children trade off on shorter walks after school and help with teeth brushing. Our performance of these tasks, and negotiation about who does what, is just one of many examples of how daily interaction in families that establish social roles in context—mother, father, or child.

Thinking beyond private spaces, in North American society, communities are designed to factor in dogs, reflecting social norms and values around human and dog interactions. This is not surprising given that in 2024 there were over 8.3 million dogs in Canada; there are approximately 55,000 dogs in Vancouver, where I live. In 2020, Vancouver was ranked one of the best cities in the world for dogs based on several criteria: dog-friendly restaurants and hotels, as well as access to dog parks.

Of course, this dog paradise is not without tensions or problems. Social rules are a key feature of human societies telling us what we can and can’t do, and they apply to dog and human interactions as well. For example, navigating around my neighborhood with my dog, I encounter many signs aimed at shaping human behavior, particularly in relation to dog urination and feces. It’s true that poop and pee (regardless of who it comes from) and where it doesn’t belong is a health issue. Attempts to enforce social rules around dog waste can come from people in the community, as the signs in the image below illustrate.

There are also many examples of formal initiatives–policies and by-laws–from local governments that seek to manage human behavior in relation to dog waste. Signs encourage appropriate conduct; poop bag dispensers are placed in key sites, like park entrances. In some cases, signs notify dog owners about fines if policies are not followed.

Despite the best efforts of city officials, many dog owners continue to misbehave and break social norms and expectations.

One violation which really puzzles me is the rogue filled poop bags I cross everyday–they are left on the sidewalk, next to a tree, or even more strangely on the ground right next to a garbage bin. I have never once seen a person drop these bags!

It puzzles me: the person is following the expectation of picking up poop and placing it in a designated bag. The person, however, violates the rule that waste be placed in an appropriate receptacle, a waste bin. They do so when no one is looking to avoid social censure when violating a norm. Of course, my theory would need to be tested through research, which I imagine would involve a poop bag stake-out or anonymous surveys of rule violators.

When all is said and done, my own transition into owning a dog has gone relatively smoothly and I enjoy the many benefits, such as walks around my neighborhood or the surrounding forests in the Lower Mainland of Vancouver. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover how owning a dog would expand my social circle. Indeed, as soon as I ventured out into the world with my dog, I gained entry into a secret neighborhood society—the “dog people”.

Vancouver is known for being an unfriendly and even lonely city, so I was pleased to find that at least with a dog in tow you can meet other people with their canine companions and hang out. While the dogs are sniffing or sometimes playing, the humans talk to each other. I learned the rules of conversation quite quickly. Acceptable questions include–What is your dog’s name? How old is your dog? Which other dog(s) does your dog like? If you want it, advice abounds (some helpful, some not) and I leave at least remembering the name of the dog. At the end of the day, while the mystery of the rogue poop bags remains unsolved, exploring the world with your dog can lift the veil on many facets of human society and then some.

What social rules govern human and dog interactions in the place you live? Are these rules governed through sanctions? And what do you think explains the poop bags left outside of trash cans?