The haunting presence of street dogs on my journey through the Anatolian heartland

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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter. From afar, Turkey’s stray dogs can resemble stuffed animals: big, harmless, furry creatures with a penchant for basking in the hot sun. I thought little of them when my wife and I embarked on an odyssey to move our 12-year-old greyhound mix Ricardo from London to Ankara after my appointment last year as Turkey correspondent. The journey across Europe involved sleeper trains and cars. Ricardo had the time of his life, eating schnitzel in Vienna and pizza in Rome. A hotel in Patras even laid out a dog bed filled with treats. When we finally crossed the Turkish frontier on a small ferry that glided across the glittering Aegean Sea from the Greek island of Kos to Bodrum in southern Turkey, our spirits were high.

But it took less than 24 hours in the country to dispel my fantastical image of Turkish street dogs as gentle giants. Walking through a small town on Bodrum’s outskirts to try midye dolma, a delicious dish of rice-stuffed mussels, three or four huge dogs appeared on the sidewalk and charged at us, barking and snarling. My wife Victoria and I chalked it up to a freak incident in a remote location but we were wrong: stray dogs haunted our trip through Turkey’s Anatolian heartland. Every petrol stop involved being chased by packs of dogs, some of whom escorted our car out as we drove from the forecourt. There was little reprieve when we eventually reached Turkey’s capital Ankara. Our hotel was next to a park that was home to a particularly aggressive pack. It was heartwarming to see residents feed them each day. But it was less heartwarming when they gave chase to us as we took Ricardo out for his daily walks.

The 4mn-strong street dog crisis divides Turkish society. Harrowing stories in local newspapers show children being hit by cars while running away from stray packs and public health officials worry about the spread of disease. But others say the dogs have been a beloved part of life here for centuries. It is common to see people leave dog food, chicken bones and even pasta out for strays — something Ricardo regularly tries to avail himself of in our neighbourhood.

For the past two decades, Turkey has implemented a policy of catching street dogs, sterilising them and returning them to where they were found. But patchy implementation meant the dog population boomed. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan this spring called for sweeping changes to Turkey’s street dog policy, saying the crisis was holding back the country he has led since the turn of the millennium from becoming more developed. His Justice and Development party (AKP) stoked furious debate when it floated a plan to round up street dogs into shelters and kill those not adopted within 30 days.

Turkish state television bolstered the president’s case by continuously showing reels of hulking street dogs attacking people across the country. But animal rights activists countered with protests, labelling the mooted legislation a “massacre” law. The AKP eventually backtracked on the plan to kill dogs that are not adopted within 30 days. Parliament, which is controlled by the AKP and its coalition partners, late last month passed legislation that will require municipalities to collect stray dogs. It clears the way for them to kill dogs that are aggressive, sick or pose a risk to public health.

Many worry the new rules will give local governments and those who hate animals the green light to start a cull. “There is no doubt that we will witness mass killings in a very short time,” said Kerem Turunç an Istanbul-based attorney. Surveys show a consensus in Turkey that stray dogs should be removed from the streets, but few want to see widescale culls. A Turkish friend said she was scarred as a child watching garbage men collecting dead dogs that had been poisoned as part of previous population control measures. Many worry that even if Turkey attempts to kill unwanted animals humanely, the scale of such an operation could lead to savage practices.

Turkey’s main opposition party, which controls the country’s biggest cities, has vowed to fight the new rules in court and said it would not implement them. For now, like many Turkish residents, I am anxiously hoping that animal lovers’ worst fears won’t come to fruition, while also keeping up with my strategy of keeping Ricardo far away from any roaming street dog clans.

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