Opinion
Shame, humility and tennis balls: Going to the dog park is like church, but better
Charlotte Mortlock
Journalist and political advisorAs Australians turn their back on religion, we have looked to fill the void with health, wellbeing and, for some, politics. But for me, the best stop-gap is the humble dog park.
Religion is losing its power in our society. For the past five decades, there has been a steady increase in the number of Australians who say they have no religion. In 2021, the census showed the proportion had soared to 38.9 per cent, up from 29.6 per cent just five years earlier. The collapse in religious affiliation was strongest among young adults (aged 18-25), which does not bode well for religion’s future.
Daily life at the dog park.Credit: Steven Siewart
I am not religious myself, but I am a big supporter of religion. This has less to do with spirituality and worship, and more to do with the cultural and community benefits it creates. I have a hunch religion will eventually be back in vogue, but until then, people will be looking to other things.
The health and wellbeing boom has done a pretty good job at emulating religion. We have fitness clubs and gyms for community. Mindfulness and manifesting for spirit. Ice baths, saunas and breath work for ritual. I get it, I’ve been known to sage my house occasionally, especially after a bad break-up. But the health and well-being industry is on the nose right now for its exhaustive vanity and toxic culture. Enter the humble hound.
Pets may have long been man’s best friend but right now, they are having a time. There are over 30 million pets in Australia, meaning we have one of the highest pet ownership rates in the world. And while religion is declining in younger people, according to the RSPCA, 79 per cent of Generation Z (ages 18 to 24) are pet owners.
The joy of being a dog owner is not just about the dog. It’s the changes a dog brings to your lifestyle.
Anyone with a (I’m going to say it) fur baby, knows the dread when you look outside at the rain and still have to haul yourself out of bed because your dog needs to do its business. And that ball isn’t going to throw itself. It’s this commitment that makes it church-like. Rain, hail or shine, you have to show up.
This commitment is a chore some days; on others, it is a vital reprieve. One of the few freedoms we were afforded during COVID lockdowns was taking the dog for a walk or to the park. So it’s no surprise that during the pandemic, pet ownership increased by 10 per cent, according to Animal Medicines Australia. At a time when humans were isolated, confused, scared and depleted of joy, we looked to canines for help.
Similar to a Sunday service, there is something ritualistic about the monotony of going to the same place or park every day, around the same time, to talk to roughly the same people. Most of them know your dog’s name but don’t know – or care – for yours. Which is good. Because if you are devout, you must remain humble.
A core element of religion is humility, and that’s served in spades at the dog park. Few things are more demeaning than having to walk up to a stranger and ask for a dog poo bag, apologising to a stranger when your dog races off with their dog’s ball, watching on in horror as your dog jumps all over a stranger and covers them in mud, or, worst of all, when your dog enthusiastically humps another. Ah, the shame. It’s all so good for the soul!
In the early hours, the dog park is a great neutraliser of class and wealth.Credit: Joe Armao
Like the church, the dog park is also a great neutraliser of class and wealth. While athleisure wear is increasingly trendy and expensive, dog-park attire is not. I have no idea who is rich in my ferocious oodle wolf-pack because at 6.30am, no one’s done their hair, we’re in mismatched socks and we all look like the poor cousin in our daggy, dog-bitten trackies. How refreshing.
The best thing about church was that it brought people from all walks of life, with all sorts of opinions, to one place to break bread. To acknowledge a deep human connection, despite our gaping differences.
The dog park is also a place unparalleled in its harmony. While online people are quite psychotic, in real life they’re typically more pleasant. At the dog park, we sometimes discuss politics or things in the news. When we disagree, we don’t scream at each other, do vicious emojis and run around the park gathering more people to point, laugh and ridicule. No. We say, “Right. That’s interesting”, and move on. Mind-blowing stuff.
Having a dog, and having the lifestyle of a dog owner is a joyous, medicinal substance. Perhaps that’s why it’s so rapidly on the rise. In a religious setting, God is God. At the park, God is a ball. Priests are dog groomers or walkers. Holy bread is chicken, unless you’re an oodle with an allergy. There are some differences, but the important stuff is the same: community, connection, ritual and (puppy) love.
Charlotte Mortlock is the founder of Hilma’s Network and a former Sky News anchor.
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