Dennis is having a little holiday with a sitter in Kent because I’m in Italy, a meandering trip from Rome to Florence and then Venice via Chianti. Unfortunately, I realise on day one that I’ve become the sort of unhinged tourist who accosts people with dogs. In Rome’s Piazza Navona, I spot an elderly Parson terrier ambling stiffly over the cobbles and hurry over to its middle-aged owner, chic in her silk neck scarf and quilted jacket.

‘I have the same in London,’ I say, thrusting my phone at her and pointing at the screen. She’s very gracious and we have a faltering conversation in which I learn that her rough-coated Parson is called Lola and she’s ten years old. In a Montepulciano wine bar, I meet a Boxer called Evie. In San Gimignano, I watch in awe as a terrifically fat Basset hound heaves himself up the cathedral steps. In Florence, I meet yet another terrier, Lily, adopted from Bosnia.

I didn’t know that the Italians were as doggy as us Brits. Perhaps a touch imperially, I’ve long assumed that we were the most devoted nation, more able to form close relationships with our dogs than our children. And yet there seem to be more dogs in Italy than churches. So many dogs, in fact, and such a declining birthrate (Italy has the lowest in Europe), that earlier this year there were calls for dogs to be taxed.

Well, sort of. In June, Claudio Ruggeri, the mayor of a small town 20 miles north of Milan, suggested an annual contribution of €20 per pet to help fund local child support services. ‘In Italy, putting a child on this planet has become an act of courage, but also of altruism,’ Ruggeri declared in a newspaper article defending his controversial idea. ‘Everyone is, of course, free to do as they please. That goes without saying, but I doubt your family’s labrador will ever be able to pay your pension.’

Are children now expected to cover their parents’ pension? That seems to be a tiny flaw in Mayor Ruggeri’s argument to me, although he’s probably right about the labrador. They can clean a dishwasher in under a minute but they’re certainly not going to cure cancer any time soon. At the time of writing, Ruggeri’s suggestion is yet to be formally implemented.

His pronouncement followed that of Pope Francis who, in 2022, lamented the rise of Italy’s dog population and declared those who chose pets over children were ‘selfish’. Being Pope, of course, famously gives you an absolute understanding of pregnancy, childbirth and the demands of getting a baby to adulthood without imploding your life or theirs. I don’t know much about that either, but I don’t pretend to. Also, I’m not celibate. Not unless it’s a really bad year, anyway.

In Florence one evening, I meander past a small boutique and am drawn in by the sight of two small dogs in the window. Love Tedici, the shop is called, and inside I find its American owner, Amy, who explains that the name is a nod to her small Maltipoo, Ted, and also the Medici family. Tedici, geddit?

Bored of that ugly dog bowl on your kitchen floor? Why not buy a Murano glass version – yours for just €145

Amy used to work in finance in New York but met an Italian man and moved here during the pandemic along with Ted, one of the alluring dogs in the window. The other dog, Ted’s best friend, explains Amy, is a Pomeranian called Leo and owned by her colleague. No relation to the current Pope, I assume.

I gaze around the shop at the tiny little dog outfits. Dog coats, little dog ‘capelets’, dog ‘dressing gowns’ made from towelling, which apparently ‘fly out’ as fast as they can make them. I finger a striped ‘shirt’ which, Amy tells me, comes with vintage Chanel buttons. Cannily, she sources offcuts from nearby fashion houses and, together with her designer, Alli, turns them into outfits for dogs instead of humans, from around €90. She points out a tweed coat that looks vaguely Sherlock Holmes. It’s made from Loro Piana fabric, apparently. A small cape is made from Valentino lace.

Bored of your ugly old dog bowl sitting on the kitchen floor? Why not treat your spaniel to a Murano glass dog bowl this Christmas? Amy flogs them too, hand-blown yet dishwasher proof. Yours for €145. Such is demand that, next year, another Love Tedici will open in Milan.

I profess astonishment that Italy is so dog-mad, even more dog-mad than Britain, and Amy nods solemnly. At Coop, an Italian supermarket chain, shoppers can apparently make use of special trolleys with in-built seats specifically for dogs. ‘Because shame on you if you go grocery shopping and don’t take your dog with you.’ Florence’s Hotel Lungarno, she adds, does a particularly good dog à la carte menu.

Some people may think the late Pope had a point. I step back into the Florentine street thinking: ‘Hmm, would Dennis look better in Valentino or Prada?’