
To me, my rescue dog Judy is perfect. She’s like a spaniel-sized, four-legged Sabrina Carpenter, all big eyes and floppy blonde hair. To other Londoners, she’s not so perfect. I was prepared for that (not everybody can have good taste, I get it) but open antagonism? Really?
Let me explain. There’s something of a turf war breaking out on the mean streets of London over Judy and her kind. In Tower Hamlets, where I live, I’ve been literally yelled at simply for walking next to people on the pavement. I’ve been chased out of actual dog parks by neighbours claiming they weren’t for dogs. Nor is it unusual for full-on arguments to break out on Nextdoor over dogs in the area.