Dog whisperers to the super-rich

To get a feel for how they interact with different types of dogs, Williamson has brought along Prince, a black teacup poodle rescue whom she looks after and trains for another family. When I pat him in the passenger seat of Williamson’s Tesla on the drive over, he shakes violently, but Williamson is not worried. “Ignore it. That’s a learnt behaviour, he’ll stop once he’s not getting rewarded for it,” she says.

When Prince arrives at the Mullins household, the couple are smitten instantly. Reno sits on the floor with him, while Mullins tries to curry favour by bringing out a doll-sized leather sofa. All of Williamson’s recommendations – including having a smaller dog, maybe a poodle mix – are met with nods. When she leaves with Prince, they are studying a book of breeds she’s lent them so they can discuss prospective pets in the next session.

Williamson started working with dogs when, aged ten, she took her black labrador, Kaerry, to her local dog-training centre in southwest London. They had become particularly attached because Williamson believed her attic bedroom in her family home in Clapham was haunted – and the dog, she says, would growl when “anything came in at night”. It was then that she knew that animals could sense energy. “It sounds a bit hocus-pocus,” she says, “but that’s where I learnt about the vibration of the energetic field that connects animals and humans.”

The training techniques she was taught, however, were fairly aggressive. What she felt was needed was a gentler, more holistic approach – one that she developed instinctively. Each training method is individual because the energies of every dog and client are different, she says. “Every situation is different, every client is different, every dog is different.” Clearly it is an approach that works. Today, after 30 years in the business, Williamson is one of the capital’s most in-demand canine trainers, earning up to £1,000 per session from dog-lovers including Mullins and James Palumbo, the Ministry of Sound boss.

High-end dog services such as Williamson’s have become increasingly popular over the past decade. In 2021, according to the Office for National Statistics, British pet owners spent close to £9.66 million on their animals – almost 12 times more than they did in the Eighties.

From left: a sound bath healing session for dogs and humans with Siobhan Swider; master trainer Dilly Williamson

CHRIS ISON

While much of that goes on dog food and training, an increasing proportion is spent on the kinds of treats once reserved for humans.

Aysha Bell, a reiki and yoga instructor who works with humans and animals, witnessed this shift firsthand when her dog-walking business transformed into a dog-party business to meet demand. Seemingly overnight, she found herself inundated with requests to host fancy-dress discos for dogs, source dog beer and co-ordinate with dog chauffeurs. She was even asked to use her certification as an ordained minister to conduct a wedding for two of the animals. She has clients willing to spend as much as £20,000 on a single event, many of whom, like her, will be attending the Goodwoof festival at Goodwood House, in West Sussex, this month. The event will offer everything from dog house creations by the former Apple designer Jony Ive (Barkitecture), to a contest to find the coolest dog and human pairing (Chien Charmant) and a canine Literary Corner with celebrity readers. Now in its second year, the festival will also host holistic healing activities, including Paw Readings with Diane Stanton (a mindfulness coach who specialises in canine tarot), and sound-bath therapy by Siobhan Swider, for dogs and humans.

What these practitioners have in common is their belief that a dog’s happiness depends on the energies around it. Bell says that she can see the positive energy transfer between humans and dogs creating happier pets. Williamson agrees: “Dogs can absorb energies. If there is drama, an illness or something going on in the house, I can see that the dog will be affected by that.”

A client’s energy is also hugely important – it’s part of why Williamson works only with people with whom she has a rapport. She will even go on holiday with some of her clients, and hosts events and fundraisers with others, for charities including Jai Dog Rescue, which supports Thailand’s estimated eight million stray or semi-roaming dogs.

I accompany Williamson to her next appointment, which is with Audrey Manes, owner of the fashion wholesaler Place Rouge, and her seven-month-old Australian shepherd puppy, Roxy – both of whom clearly love the dog trainer. And although Roxy misbehaves early on in the session, within 15 minutes she is happily walking on the lead. It’s about communication, Williamson says, telling Manes to “be intentional with your tone of voice. Dogs don’t understand language – they understand tone, body language and facial expressions.”

After two hours in Hyde Park (where Williamson looks nothing like a hands-on trainer in her diamonds, camo-print jacket and matching Valentino trainers), we head off to a glamorous little Italian restaurant nearby. Over a glass of pink champagne, the women’s talk covers everything except dogs, from the trainer’s 50-year marriage and Manes’ new suitors to a psychic reading Williamson’s daughter has done for Manes.

What Williamson offers, it soon becomes clear, is therapy not only for dogs, but for their owners too. She offers some clients reduced rates if they are in need; she sometimes sleeps alongside the dogs if they are unwell. “Dogs are like sponges, they will absorb your mood,” she says. So the success of her programme demands an environment where everyone is growing and learning together.