Adrian Barich: Somehow, walking my dog has become less about caring for them, and more about my own self-care

I have a confession to make, and to be honest, I never really thought I’d be one of these people. OK . . . are you ready? Drum roll please — one of my favourite things to do these days is walk my dog.

A bit anticlimactic I know, however I’ve changed. I used to think walking the pugs (normally all three of them at once) was a little bit of a chore.

Bean the black pug had zero interest in anything but himself and being black was often almost impossible to find at night, if he got off the leash.

And the two fawn pugs, Lilly and Hattie mostly just snuffled around on their own too. They were all loveable but definitely clowns of the Subi dog world.

But now I’m older and hopefully wiser, I know better. I’ve evolved I think and suddenly walking a dog isn’t for the dog. It’s for the boofhead holding the leash.

Behavioural psychologists call it a low-resistance routine. Repetition that’s almost mindless but quietly transformative.

Stress drops. Mood lifts. Discipline strengthens. What starts as care for another life quietly becomes care for your own.

Now I know that sounds a bit airy-fairy but sometimes growth doesn’t roar. Sometimes it shows up like a leash in your hand, fresh air on your face, and the stubborn decision to turn up, even on the days you really don’t want to.

But some research shows that owning a dog can reduce loneliness and provide emotional support. Dog owners could also have increased serotonin and lower cortisol. No pills. No side effects. Just fur, slobber, and insistence and joy that we’re outside.

Now I don’t even know what cortisol is but apparently in my job I’m 90 per cent coffee, 10 per cent cortisol.

My body’s stress response is very efficient. As soon as I start overthinking things, my cortisol levels go from zero to fight or flight in under three seconds.

So bring on Frankie the cavalier French bulldog cross. This week I learnt often called a Frenchel or Frugalier (who makes up these names?).

Yes Frank, the best-looking redhead in Subi is a living antidepressant.

People with depression sometimes can be inclined to isolate. Dogs won’t let you. They drag you outside. Make you move. Make you interact. Fifteen minutes of play is apparently worth an hour of exercise in dopamine release.

But it gets better.

Dogs “scan” your mood like an emotional radar. Like a little cyborg. Sad? They lie next to you. Happy? They bounce, wag and want to play. Anxious? They shadow you, silent and steady. It’s therapy without the couch, without the waiting times.

Then there’s my favourite, the unconditional love effect. A dog doesn’t care if you’re a bit of a battler, had a bad day, look rough, or feel like a failure. They love you just for being you. That simple, unwavering presence is one of the most powerful antidepressants there is.

At my house we almost fight over our little furry stress reliever, often taking him out of his own bed at 2am . . . and plonking him next to us.

A dog is literally a happiness pill with a tail, and you can hug it.

I know not everyone can own a dog for various reasons, but it’s worth knowing about the emotional regulation they bring.

It’s growth that doesn’t roar but it does bark. And it wags its tail and teaches you how to live better, one step at a time.