Least Affectionate Dogs 2025: Here are 13 less loving breeds of adorable dog that may turn down cuddles - including the Scottie 🐶
It means that dogs are, by quite distance, the most popular pet in the country (followed by cats and fish), with 221 different breeds of pedigree dog to choose from, alongside numerous crossbreeds .
When it comes to choosing on your perfect pup there are many things to factor in, opting for a small dog if you don't have much room at home, or a hypoallergenic dog if you suffer from allergies.
There's even academic guidance to seek out, with Psychologist Stanley Coren's book 'The Intelligence of Dogs' ranking breeds by instincts, obedience, and the ability to adapt.
There's also always the option of adopting a dog from a dog shelter for a minimal fee - for example from the Dogs Trust .
One thing to take into consideration is that some dogs simply aren't as affectionate towards their owners than others.
It doesn't mean that they won't make a loyal and valued pet, just that if you are looking for a dog that will happily cuddle for hours you should look elsewhere .
Here are the 13 least affectionate breeds of dog.
1 . Chow Chow
The Chow Chow may look incredibly snuggly but they are known to be almost cat-like in their behaviour - fiercely independent and largely eschewing cuddling, petting or patting. | Canva/Getty Images Photo Sales
2 . Afghan Hound
The Afghan Hound is one of the world's oldest breeds of dog - and also one of the most elegant. This is a dog that was bred to hunt though, and they are highly selective when it comes to who they offer affection to. Generally aloof, they will be completely disinterested in strangers and tend to create a bond with a single person who they will deign to tolerate. | Canva/Getty Images Photo Sales
3 . Irish Wolfhound
Despite their gentle nature, Irish Wolfhounds can be emotionally distant. The world's tallest dog is calm and tolerant but often indifferent to cuddles and pats. They tend to not cling to their owner, preferring calm companionship over touch. | Canva/Getty Images Photo Sales
4 . Alaskan Malamute
Bred to pull sleds huge distances over frozen tundra, the Alaskan Malamute has a strong work ethic and independent spirit that's not conducive to snuggling up on the sofa for an evening watching television. | Canva/Getty Images Photo Sales
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The Herald Scotland
a day ago
- The Herald Scotland
'We are f****d up creatures' How famous Scottish Bishop gave up on God
RICHARD Holloway is furious at the thought of heaven. The mere notion of an afterlife disgusts him, confounds him, terrorises him. When Holloway dies, he wants the blank quietude of nothingness. No gods, no angels, no life everlasting. It's a rather surprising position for the former head – or primus – of the Scottish Episcopal Church, one of the leading clerical positions in the land. But then everything about Holloway is contradictory. He embraces the messiness of human life. That's why he abandoned his faith and the church, after all. Today, he's preparing for death, armed not with the surety of religion and the comfort of faith, but alone as a man of 91 who knows there's not much time left. He faces the inevitable with remarkable equanimity. While many lifelong non-believers turn fearfully to God as death approaches, Holloway has gone in the opposite direction. Ever the contrarian, you suspect that if God does exist and Holloway reluctantly finds himself among the heavenly choir, he'll spend eternity disputing with the supreme being. At his home, near Edinburgh's aptly-named Holy Corner, Holloway is explaining that once his new book is published next month, he'll lay down his pen. It's called, fittingly, Last Words. 'I've written many books,' he says. 'I'm an old man. I can't have much longer. 'But I'm still intrigued by the universe, why we're here, where we came from. I spent my life wrestling with these questions – usually from a religious angle – but I've reached a stage in life where I'm no longer convinced by any of that.' The memoir charts Holloway's life from his impoverished childhood to becoming one of Britain's best-known clergymen. In the 1990s, he stirred controversy in conservative circles with his defence of minorities, and liberal views on drugs. Holloway once said he'd tried cannabis. He would eventually feel compelled to leave the church, as he wrestled with his faith. Holloway even faced a heresy trial. Today, he calls himself an 'agnostic'. His publisher calls him 'Scotland's original turbulent priest'. It's a fair comment when it comes to his life as one of Scotland's few public intellectuals, but in private he's a pussycat – bookish and prone to giggling, a loving husband, devoted dad and besotted grandad. In an age of superficiality, which values ignorance above knowledge, Holloway runs wonderfully against the grain. He launches into philosophical debate within moments of meeting you, and is ruthlessly honest about his own failings. He is, above all, kind. He may no longer believe that Jesus is the son of God, but there are few who try as hard as Holloway to live by the teachings of Christ. With the world in a constant state of hate, and cruelty seemingly everywhere, Holloway's refrain is simply: 'Love thy neighbour.' He's a man of God, who lost his faith, yet still adheres to the philosophy of Jesus. How perfectly – messily – human. (Image: Getty Images) Existence ONE of Holloway's great themes – he's written 20 books – is the question, famously posed by the philosopher Gottfried Leibniz: 'Why is there something, rather than nothing?' It's his starting point when asked about his journey from faith to loss of faith. 'We humans, unlike animals who accept their existence, developed questioning intellects. With our life comes the question: where did it come from? So we invented answers.' That's where it all goes wrong, he believes. The answers that religions offer clash with each other, 'provoking disagreements and sometimes violence – because one of the characteristics of religion is that they keep falling out with the each other. 'Looking back, I just don't know the answer – except that while you're here be decent and reasonable, care for your neighbour, love one another, then say goodbye. That's where I'm at.' He pauses, and adds: 'But something else happened to me. One characteristic of most religions is that they tell us very confidently that when we die something of us goes on forever. The thought of that actually appalls me now. 'If I wake up on the other side after I die and I'm ushered into some form of eternal lie, I'm going to be very unhappy. The thought of going on and on – even if I meet all my dead relatives and dear friends – makes me seriously fed up. 'When it's over, I want it over. I don't want to go on forever. That would be eternal boredom. After a lifetime of religion, that's the position I've reached. I hope I've the grace to die well, but I'm going to be seriously pissed off if I wake up on the other side. Here I am, facing the end. I'll be sad to leave, but I want an ending. I believe in endings. I've had a long, interesting life, I've done some good, some bad but, please, don't make me start all over again.' Holloway remains horrified at humanity's capacity for cruelty. The 'invention of hell' is, he feels, the great symbol of our appetite for sadism. 'The unending torment,' he says, talking of the burning and boiling set aside for sinners. 'Where does that poison come from?' He sees belief in hell as a 'terrible disease'. Although much of Holloway's life runs contrary to the spirit of these times, his spiritual journey very much accords with recent social changes. 'One of the things that's happened in my life,' he says, 'is the fading of religion. It's melting away like snow on a hot day in Scotland. The same is true in Europe. 'It still prospers in America, but not happily. The invention of religion, while it brought some good into the world, brought an awful lot of evil as well.' The problem is that religion is 'intrinsically competitive'. Churches teach their followers that 'ours is the right religion, therefore yours must be wrong'. He sighs: 'Looking back, it's all a lot of nonsense.' Rather than seeking dogmatic certainty, Holloway believes we should ask ourselves: 'Why are we here? Where did it all come from? What can I do while I'm here?' Conflict INSTEAD, religions turn people against each other. 'Look at the Middle East. Much of what's happening is due to rival religions knocking hell out of each other. I'm grateful for much of what religion has brought us – art and music – but it brought lethal competitiveness into human existence and I mourn that in my old age. I've had enough of the conflict and the beating up. 'I just wish we could say to one another 'this is how I see it? How do you see it? Oh, that's interesting, well let's be kind to each other while we're here'. It should be as simple as that. You're not here forever. While you are, love your neighbour as yourself. What else do you need?' Holloway deploys the Latin phrase 'odium theologicum' – 'theological hatred' – to explain what he thinks ails religion. 'Religions which at heart express compassion, all end up hating each other as they think they're right. If we loved our neighbour, that would be enough – wouldn't it?' He insists that he didn't reject religion. 'It left me.' Why? 'Because humans are questioning creatures. If you ask where the universe came from, and the answer is 'God created it', then the next question must be 'where did God come from?'. 'In theology, they say 'God just is that which is'. But to that I still have to ask the question, 'if God is the uncreated, infallible, omnipotent one, then why did he come up with such a shitty universe? Why did it make such a messy job of the universe?' After all these years, Holloway is now what he calls 'a compassionate agnostic'. Just to add to the complexity of the man, though, he still sometimes attends church as he enjoys the sense of community. 'I just don't like over-confident sermons telling me what the universe is up to.' Christianity, he says, 'still holds many lessons for me'. He separates the teachings of Jesus from the 'doctrinal system that it evolved'. He compares religious doctrine to political ideology. Born in 1933 – 'when Hitler became Chancellor' – Holloway lived through the Second World War, and saw what competing ideologies could do. He wants to 'milk what's best' from religion – the love and charity – and leave the extremism behind. 'Religion brought a lot of evil and strife into the world,' he says. Holloway prefers 'living with questions, rather than answers'. Given he clearly lives by the teachings of Jesus, how does he view Christ? As a philosopher rather than supernatural figure? 'As a spiritual artist,' Holloway replies. Jesus was a man with 'imaginative insights into the nature of the universe'. Says Holloway: 'He was a storyteller, he taught in parables, he didn't teach doctrine. His most profound parable was the Good Samaritan.' The story isn't just about helping strangers in need. In Jesus's time, Samaritans weren't popular. So the parable warns against factionalism. It depicts the outsider as kind and decent. Imagine a movie today in which an immigrant who crosses the Channel in a small boat is portrayed as heroic. 'The essence of Jesus's parables is: beware what religion can do to your compassion for fellow humans,' says Holloway. 'It can lead you to persecute them, to believe it gives you the right to kill those who disagree with you.' Heretic WHEN Holloway was a vicar in Oxford, outside his church stood Martyrs' Memorial commemorating the execution of Protestant 'heretics'. 'Imagine the insecure hatred that would lead you to put people on piles of wood and burn them to death. The insecurity which prompts that kind of hatred is what I dislike about religion. It prompts you to hate your neighbour unless they bow to the gods you've invented.' Jesus, however, taught only 'radical compassion'. Christ wanted others to be 'lovers not haters of mankind. That's what Jesus brought into the world. His stories are about the confusion of the human intellect. The resolution always lies in accepting your neighbour even though your neighbour disagrees with you. It's a simple yet radical message. But we're such flawed creatures we find loving simplicity hard to live with'. Atheism, for Holloway, is just another form of ideological control. 'The warning is in the last three letters 'I, S, M'. Isms always seem intrinsically totalitarian. I've explained the universe and that's it, and if you disagree with me then I'll either ex-communicate you, bump you off, or burn you in a fire. 'The more confident your religious position, the more likely it'll give you permission to persecute those who disagree with you. I'd rather have loving puzzlement than absolute belief. Beliefs kill each other.' There is, Holloway says, 'a fundamental insecurity about humans, because in us the universe has started thinking about itself. My wee cat doesn't think about 'catness', but in us something happened: we ask questions about the universe.' He adds: 'Humans are thrown into this universe, unsure where we came from, and we seek explanations, we invent isms. Isms fall out with each other. I've reached the stage where I suspect all isms.' The only 'ism' he'd like to see is 'one that laughs and loves. The things that destroyed humanity in my lifetime were all isms. I'm wary of isms, especially religious isms'. It was hatred of minorities which was the final straw for Holloway when it came to breaking with the church. In 1998, as primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church, he attended what's known as the Lambeth Conference. It sees all Anglican bishops – the Episcopal Church is part of the Anglican Communion – gather every 10 years to debate church matters. The 1998 event, says Holloway, 'ended up a hate-fest against gay people'. That year, bishops voted that 'homosexual practice' was 'incompatible with scripture'. Holloway drove back to Scotland and spent time wandering the Pentland hills in religious turmoil. 'I realised I couldn't cope with this kind of organised religion any more as it was telling me that gay men would burn in hell. Some of the people who taught me most about compassionate Christianity were gay – very often frightened because their religion told them they'd be punished eternally. The uncertainty and danger they lived with made them compassionate.' Roaming the Scottish hills helped him come up with what would be his most famous – or in some eyes notorious – book: Godless Morality, subtitled Keeping Religion Out Of Ethics. 'I argued that if you bring religion into morality it becomes hateful. Religion is a human construct.' Holloway says of those who hate others: 'I will oppose you even unto death.' (Image: Richard at his ordination as Bishop of Edinburgh) Sadness
New Statesman
2 days ago
- New Statesman
'I blame Maggie!' How sewage radicalised England
Photo by Andy Soloman/UCG/Universal Images Group via Getty Images In classic English style, it was raining on the first day of the hosepipe ban in the Wiltshire market town of Marlborough. But this isn't classic England any more. Residents are furious – and not just about the prospect of their yellowing lawns. Hosepipe bans used to cause a disgruntled ripple across the Tory shires. Today, they open the floodgates to a torrent of rage against environmental vandalism and corporate greed that makes the middle-aged of Middle England sound like radical socialists. 'It goes far deeper now,' said one lifelong local. 'The trust is broken.' Why, residents ask, should we save water when the water companies have been frittering our money away? With sewage in the local River Kennet, rising water bills (the same local produces a letter informing him his water bill is going up £19 a month), and flooding in the town centre earlier this year, Thames Water is a dirty word in this once clean and pleasant land. I'm told children in some local schools have even been asked to bring in a spare pair of shoes – one pair to walk through the sewage-splattered ground outside, and another for indoors. The golf club put their own water tank in two years ago, bypassing a reliance on Thames Water. 'There's definitely been a change in mood,' says Charlotte Hitchmough, 56, who has been campaigning against sewage overflows in the River Kennet for two decades. 'It's a critical part of living here – the river defines the landscape, and because the water's quite mobile it's really different month-to-month: people here talk about the river like they talk about the weather.' A new government plan to streamline and strengthen regulation of the water industry hasn't quelled the anger. Locals I hear from feel they've been lumped with Thames Water's debt and believe 'they're cruising around the world on superyachts'. The proposed changes also don't cover the consequences of road run-off into rivers, which is environmentally damaging and visibly so. 'You can see the river change colour,' says Hitchmough. 'That's probably going to get worse, not better – it's the next big, scary thing.' Having started her career as a consultant for the newly privatised water industry, she now – like some other fellow residents – sees greater state oversight as the answer. 'Profit shouldn't be part of it because, fundamentally, water is not a resource that belongs to anyone. Water is a source that none of us can live without. It was like privatising air.' It should no longer come as a surprise that even in Marlborough – whose constituencies have never been anything but Conservative for a century – you hear support for renationalisation and the conclusion, as worded by one local: 'I blame Maggie!' This year, the Lib Dems and independent councillors took control of Wiltshire Council from the Conservatives. From seats in the south-west to the Blue Wall (where affluent commuter-belt and suburban seats are turning away from the Conservatives), voters are deeply concerned about the sewage spills, suggest new focus groups and polling released in May by More in Common, a research agency specialising in public attitudes towards politics and policy. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Sixty-one per cent of those polled say reducing sewage pollution should be the government's highest priority or a high priority. They still just about blame the Tories: half of voters say the previous Conservative government did a bad job on tackling sewage pollution, and 43 per cent say the same of the current Labour administration. Pollution of rivers and seas was a particularly motivating issue for people who voted Lib Dem in 2024. Asked for the top reasons why they voted for the party last July, more than one third (34 per cent) chose at least one environmental reason – the most popular being the party's campaign against sewage pollution. Local Lib Dem leaflets accusing Tory MPs of voting to pump sewage into their constituency rivers still haunt the Conservative Party – blamed in part for electoral losses in their former heartlands in the south. But it's not just Lib Dem/Tory marginals. Even Nigel Farage's Reform UK has a policy to take half the industry back into public ownership. 'In focus groups from Worthing to Clacton to Ilford North, people were bringing up sewage last year in the run-up to the election and in some since,' revealed Luke Tryl of More in Common. 'You get this with every type of voter, because it's such a visible example of state failure – it is up there with failing to stop the boats, because people can't understand why government is allowing it to happen and isn't able to stop it. That's what makes it such a potent force.' For years, polling has indicated growing public appetite for state intervention and left-economic solutions – a trend exacerbated by the pandemic. Voters of every party support more regulation of water companies, for example, and a majority feels water should be publicly owned. While these sentiments may have benefited Labour in opposition, they aren't necessarily good news for the party in government as it pursues cautious, incremental fixes to broken bits of the state. Whether you were a Conservative voter fearing a Labour government, or a supporter who backed it, you see Labour as the party most likely to stick it to bonus-hungry executives and asset-stripping investors. Ministers' arguments about fiscal rectitude and balancing books fail to resonate because they 'go against the grain' of the party's traditional brand, according to one polling analyst. All the while, voters watch dirty rivers wriggling through their towns and grow impatient for change. If Labour's plan to regulate water better doesn't bring tangible results before the next election, the confused politics of England will – like its weather – become less and less predictable. Thames Water has been contacted for comment. [See also: Who is accountable in privatised Britain?] Related
The Guardian
3 days ago
- The Guardian
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