Glenn Dwight is the studio creative director - regional at NZME and sometimes writer for The Country. Here, he worries dog-lovers everywhere by trying to find an alternative to everyone’s best friend.
I’ve always thought of dogs as loyal, drooling little legends.
Ever since Iwas a kid, they’ve been there, chasing sticks, barking at absolutely nothing, and occasionally vomiting up a Lego man previously presumed missing in action beneath the couch.
And I’d just accepted, without question, that they are man’s — and woman’s — best friend.
But recently, while stacking firewood — a job that, in theory, your best mate might lend a paw with — I started to question that status.
I love their dopey grins, their tireless commitment to returning sticks, and their unshakeable belief that every visitor is an assassin — and they are John Wick.
But after the wood-stacking incident, perhaps it’s time to ask the question: is the dog still top dog?
I hate to say it, but there’s some moral flexibility at play.
One minute, they’re your shadow - the next, they’re in Carol’s kitchen, hoovering up ham and pretending they’ve never met you.
Turns out loyalty has a price — and it’s about 150 grams of shaved ham.
And then there’s the uncomfortable truth, recently pointed out by a rather smug-looking cat meme: dogs work for the police.
And that is unsettling.
If you get pulled over for doing 55 in a 50 zone, the last thing you need is a German shepherd giving you the side-eye like you’ve got 14 kilos of illicit Tux biscuits on — or worse, in — your person.
So, if dogs are starting to slip… who’s next in line for the title of man’s — and woman’s — best friend?
Watching you sleep? Or plotting your demise? Photo / 123RF
Maybe it’s the smartphone. Always close. There for us at 3am when we need to scroll our insomnia away or urgently Google how many eggs a chicken lays.
But let’s be honest — it’s always listening.
The other day, I mentioned out loud that I might need a new pair of gumboots… next minute, I’m being bombarded with ads for orthopaedic insoles, survivalist footwear, and something called a “tactical toe separator”.
I didn’t even know I had tactical toes.
And when it’s not eavesdropping, it’s pocket-dialling your ex, live-streaming your double chin, or somehow turning on the torch at the worst possible moment — like mid-conversation with a stranger in the public toilet block.
Next contender? The ute. Barry Crump’s trusty sidekick — ‘Lux’.
Dependable. Rugged. Carries all your gear — and if you’re running a pre-2000s model, you’ve still got a cassette deck; so you can crank your mixtape of Crowded House, Chilli Peppers, and that one mystery song that cuts off because you accidentally taped the weather forecast off Classic Hits.
But unlike the farmer’s huntaway, who comes with an endless woof and a side-eye sharper than a shearing blade, the ute needs a WOF.
And that means tyres, brakes, rust in the sills, wiper blades - you know the drill.
So at the end of the day, I’ll take the one that runs on biscuits and blind devotion.
Which means… despite the competition, dogs still have a few things going for them that no cat, gadget, or vehicle does: personality, charm, and the kind of blind enthusiasm you just can’t train into a ute.
They might not help you stack wood or tell you how many eggs a hen lays.
And yes — they snore, they shed, and they have a knack for rolling in things that smell like trouble.
But they’ll stick by your side long after the cat’s vanished into the sunset, the ute’s failed its WOF, and your phone’s gone flat.
