Dogs & Coastal Management

Came across Ben Goldfarb's essay in The Atlantic that opined 'dogs are a beach's worst nightmare'; it was titled 'We're in Denial About Our Dogs', published on April 16, 2023. It was first published in Hakai Magazine on April 4, 2023, and titled 'Gone to the Dogs'.

The writer is an environmental journalist. He flagged that while many dogs are happiest at the beach, they are also a menace to shorelines and its inhabitants. Dogs also crush eggs, dig up nests and maul sea pups and chicks. 

These are just the packs of feral dogs that roam shorelines. But the culprits are also domesticated dogs whose owners allow them to run amok, or if the humans can't stop them in time while sprinting off the leash. 

In response to these harms, coastal managers have implemented leash laws, seasonal restrictions, and even outright dog bans. But limiting when and where our mutts can move invites controversy. After politicians enacted a partial dog ban on one Australian beach, aggrieved pet owners claimed that they’d become “criminals in [their] own backyards.” Other people gripe that even strict laws are rarely enforced: In San Diego, where beach dogs are subject to a passel of regulations, vigilantes seem to take perverse pleasure in videotaping scofflaws. But although our pets are the nominal causes of these conflicts, the real culprits aren’t Akitas or Airedales. They’re us—and our mastiff-size blind spots around our furry family members. The dogs, of course, are just being dogs.

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In fairness, coastal managers aren’t blind to dogs’ impacts. Not long after I visited Tasmania, the state government raised the fines for owners whose dogs entered penguin colonies up to $5,040, a measure that was intended to dramatically reduce the rate of attacks. Still other beaches require dogs to be leashed, restrict the hours when they’re permitted to run loose, or are altogether dog free. Oregon, for instance, bars even leashed dogs from snowy-plover nesting grounds from March 15 to September 15. After an off-leash dog killed a young piping plover in Scarborough, Maine, in 2013, the town hired plover police to post signs and educate beachgoers about leash laws. “I was expecting to be getting a lot more negativity,” a plover cop cheerfully told reporters.

Many countries have banned dogs along certain stretches of beaches, and along certain seasons of the year. That's to protect wildlife as they nest or hibernate or simply resting while on their migration route. Singapore doesn't have a beach ban on dogs. I'm not so sure about the wildlife destruction since our beaches are way polluted or artificial. It's the dirt, glass, garbage, et cetera that I'm concerned about, and of course stepping on dog poop and pee in the sand. This is why I never go barefooted on sand anymore. 

Our Singapore dogs have no endangered or nesting migration birds or penguins to chase, or even turtle eggs to disturb with their penchant for digging. Coastal management doesn't seem to be a thing here when it comes to dogs and beach wildlife. Many a crow and a mynah have been mauled or maimed by the dogs. I don't feel very sympathetic towards flying rats. 

I like how the writer ends this piece. For many domesticated dogs, it's up to us — owners, the humans who should know better, and not fail our dogs.

Ultimately, it’s hard not to conclude that the furor over dogs is a red herring—the real problem isn’t our mutts but our cognitive dissonance. Just as we forgive the foibles of our human relatives, we ignore the casual harm wrought by our four-legged children. (“Sure, those other dogs might chase birds, but my Duke would never hurt a fly.”) Perhaps because our dogs’ behaviors are a direct reflection of us, we harbor the delusion that they’re under our control; I recently saw an off-leash collie take a healthy bite of a jogger’s butt even as the animal’s owner yelled at her to stand down. We rationalize their misdeeds, overrate their training, prioritize their pleasure over other beings’ right to exist. Love is not only blind; it’s blinding. 

As much as I believe in protecting the natural world from our pets, I’m as guilty of this myopia as anyone. Earlier this winter, a year after Kit experienced the Pacific Ocean, I took her skiing near our new home in Colorado—unleashed. For a few minutes, she trotted beside me, sniffing scat and eyeing squirrels; as always, I felt joy to see her happy and stimulated. Then she veered into a jumble of windblown logs and scrabbled at the snow with her paws. I slogged over and dragged her away, but it was too late: She’d unearthed and killed a hibernating vole, soft and warm as a newborn’s cheek. I felt grief, then momentary anger at Kit, but it wasn’t her fault—she was merely doing what her ancestors had been bred to do. The responsibility was entirely mine.