Contribution
My Lords, what is a pet? That is a central question to everything that we are discussing. Some noble Lords will remember that there once was a parrot—a Norwegian Blue, to be precise—that was very sick. In fact, he was so sick, he was a deceased parrot—at least, that is how his new owner perceived it—and no amount of nailing that dead polly’s feet to the perch could change that. How we miss Monty Python.
Perceptions, rather like recollections, may differ, yet this Bill’s definition of a pet depends almost entirely on perception, and I suspect it is likely to cause quite a few ruffled feathers. Therefore, I have put down two amendments—Amendment 131 and the consequential Amendment 132—to prod and probe a little.
First, as the Chief Whip instructed, I declare my interest as a pet owner. Percy is our rescue cat—a very happy puss that has trained my family exceptionally well. So well that, if ever I were to ask my family who they love more, me or Percy, I would soon be looking for lodgings.
As the Explanatory Notes set out:
“The Bill requires landlords not to unreasonably withhold consent”
for tenants to have pets. Despite the split infinitive, I would have thought that that was the right target area: legislation based on what is reasonable. But the Bill goes further and howls at the moon in trying to define a pet. It does this in a very peculiar manner, by defining a pet not by what it is, but by how it is perceived. It offers three definitions, as my noble friend has already pointed out. A pet is defined as an animal kept, first, for mainly personal interest, secondly, for companionship, and thirdly—it is this that my amendment mostly concerns—mainly for ornamental purposes. That is a definition we should consider getting rid of.
What is a pet kept for ornamental purposes? I will take a calf as an example. Currently, the beautiful pastures around my home in Wylye are filled with any number of calves. They are so cute and cuddly, and my grandchildren always want to take one home. But I think we can agree that a calf is not really a pet; it is a would-be cow. Except, it would seem to fall directly under the Bill’s definition of a pet: first, it is personally interesting to my grandchildren; secondly, it is companionable, particularly so long as one has a bottle of milk handy; and thirdly, it is ornamental. A triple whammy.
I remember Margaret Thatcher once cuddled a calf. I was with her in Suffolk on the election trail in 1979 when she picked up this terrified young animal and embraced it. Did the fact that she found it personally interesting or exceptionally ornamental—and, as it happened, amazingly photogenic—make it a protected pet? Could she have taken it home? Apparently, the Daily Mirror paid the farmer £50 to let it know if the poor thing died before polling day. Can you imagine the headlines? “Maggie Thatcher, calf basher”—but I digress. The problem is that once we try to define what a pet is or is not in the way the Bill attempts, we start with a cat’s cradle of confusion and end up with a dog’s dinner. People nowadays get very protective about their pets, and very litigious; we need to take care.
Traditionally, working animals and pets have been regarded as separate categories, but it is not always clear cut. Take Larry, the Downing Street cat: is he not a working animal that is supposed to keep the place free of vermin? Good luck with that. Ever since the Prime Minister’s claim at his party conference that his main mission in life was to free the sausages—Remember that? It was a magical moment—I suspect that Larry has been working even harder to try to track down all those missing sausages.
However, it is the third category that really has me wondering. Clause 12 defines a pet as an animal that is kept for “mainly … ornamental purposes”. Forgive me, but what on earth does that mean? I am confused. Does it mean, for instance, an XL bully dog? I am told that many owners regard them as extremely attractive. It must be the way they smile, or drool. But does that give a tenant an unequivocal right to keep them? I ask the Minister: does the landlord have no grounds to refuse—even if keeping such animals might well cause fear for others, such their neighbours who have children or who own a small dog or cat? As my noble friend Lord Howard of Rising so eloquently pointed out, one pet owner’s rights can become another pet owner’s nightmare.
I should perhaps whimsically point out that for, the purposes of the discussion, I have decided this week to self-identify as a Chihuahua. So, hand on heart and paw on prostate, I say: these definitions are barking mad. I really do not want to end up as breakfast for next door’s bully dog, no matter how cute he looks.
Would it not be enough simply to require both tenant and landlord to be reasonable in the specific circumstances? The Minister keeps coming back to the concept of people being reasonable. That is a much stronger concept, it seems to me, than tying ourselves in knots trying to define what a pet is in the ways that the Bill currently attempts.
Our laws should offer clarity, not confusion. But, no matter how hard we try to nail these definitions to the perch, they will make about as much sense as a dead parrot. So their proper place is not in the Bill but in that great parliamentary litter tray in the sky. I request the Minister to go back and have a much closer look at the definition of a pet.