Golden Retrievers have never been particularly interested in exclusivity.
They like their families, their neighbours, other dogs, children, delivery drivers and the person installing the dishwasher. They are also perfectly willing to reconsider their relationship with someone they met briefly three years ago if that person happens to reappear carrying a tennis ball.
So when we started imagining what kind of house a Golden Retriever might design if given complete control of the plans, one thing became obvious fairly quickly.
He would need a very large guest list.
This isn’t a house designed to impress people from the street. It is a house designed around the considerably more complicated business of getting everyone through the front door, feeding them, entertaining them and, ideally, convincing them never to leave.
The architecture is beautiful, because even Golden Retrievers can have excellent taste.
The priorities, however, are unmistakably his.
The Front Door
Most architects think of an entrance as a transition between outside and in. Our Golden Retriever thinks of it as the place where friends appear.
Consequently, considerably more thought has gone into the front door than might ordinarily be necessary.
There is room for people to arrive with dogs, children, bags, coats and whatever else they have brought with them. The floor can tolerate wet paws, the doors open generously, and nothing particularly fragile has been positioned within range of a tail operating at full speed.
Beside the entrance is a handsome built-in cabinet containing what his person refers to as the greeting collection.
There are tennis balls, a stuffed duck, one slipper, a length of rope and a tea towel whose original purpose has long since been forgotten.
Guests are traditionally presented with one of these objects upon arrival.
They aren’t expected to keep it.
In fact, he will need it back almost immediately.
The Mudroom
A beautiful house occupied by a Golden Retriever requires a certain amount of realism.
Eventually, something wet is coming inside.
The mudroom therefore isn’t a secondary space hidden behind the kitchen, but one of the hardest-working rooms in the house. Stone floors, generous storage, a proper dog wash and an almost unreasonable supply of towels allow several muddy guests to arrive simultaneously without creating a domestic emergency.
There are hooks for leads, shelves for outdoor gear and enough space to deal with the peculiar transformation that occurs when a perfectly elegant Golden Retriever discovers a body of water.
He has never met a puddle he considered beneath him.
The room was originally designed for one dog.
This was optimistic.
The Kitchen
Unlike certain French Bulldogs who, after a sudden change in financial circumstances, might commission an entire Barkery, the Golden Retriever’s requirements for the kitchen are surprisingly straightforward.
There should be food.
Preferably quite a lot of it.
The kitchen itself is expansive and beautifully detailed, with warm timber cabinetry, stone surfaces and an island large enough for a crowd to gather around without interfering with whoever is cooking.
This last point is important because crowds gather here frequently.
Opening the refrigerator can cause one.
The architect has included an elegant feeding area, thoughtfully positioned away from the main circulation route and designed to sit comfortably within the room rather than looking like pet equipment was added after the fact.
Our Golden Retriever appreciates the effort.
He remains convinced, however, that the most promising feeding station is the end of the kitchen island, where probability suggests something will eventually fall.
Patience is one of his many qualities.
The Great Room
The brief for the great room originally called for enough seating to accommodate fourteen people comfortably.
The finished room does exactly that, although the definition of comfortably becomes somewhat flexible once the dog joins them.
A deep sectional stretches toward the fireplace, supplemented by generous chairs and occasional seating that can move when the house fills with friends. The materials are sophisticated without being precious, because there is little point owning a sofa that causes panic every time someone climbs onto it with damp feet.
The Golden Retriever has no assigned seat.
This is because every seat is his assigned seat.
He moves between guests according to a system nobody fully understands, occasionally sitting beside them and occasionally attempting to occupy the same space they are already using.
Nobody has had the heart to explain the distinction.
The Collection
Every serious house deserves at least one collection.
Some people collect wine. Others collect contemporary art, rare books, watches or objects acquired during years of travel.
Our Golden Retriever collects tennis balls.
The architect resisted the temptation to make this ridiculous.
Instead, an exquisitely detailed wall of timber cabinetry treats the collection with exactly the seriousness its owner believes it deserves. Old favourites sit beside newer acquisitions, swimming balls are kept separately, and a small section has been reserved for objects that are technically not tennis balls but perform substantially the same function.
There is even one battered example recovered from a hedge months after it disappeared.
Its provenance is impeccable.
Visitors occasionally mistake the cabinetry for a wine cellar.
He considers this amusing.
The Pool
The French Bulldog might regard a swimming pool as somewhere to recline beside while wearing sunglasses.
The Golden Retriever regards it as a launching opportunity.
From an architectural perspective, the pool is spectacular, stretching toward the landscape with broad stone terraces, shaded seating and enough room around it for an afternoon that could reasonably be described as civilized.
That description usually survives until the first dog arrives.
Within minutes there are tennis balls in the water, towels on the lawn and several wet dogs moving through the landscape at speeds the architect did not model during the design process. Someone inevitably shakes beside a person who has just become comfortable, and at least one object that was never intended to enter the pool will be retrieved from the bottom before the afternoon is over.
The Golden Retriever is delighted.
This, apparently, is what the pool was for.
The Guest Rooms
A house with this social calendar requires proper guest accommodation.
Several bedrooms are therefore set aside for overnight visitors, each designed with the same warmth and attention as the rest of the house. The rooms are beautiful enough for adults, durable enough for children and include comfortable sleeping arrangements for four-legged guests as a matter of course rather than an afterthought.
His dog friends are always welcome to stay.
Their people can usually be accommodated as well.
There are extra blankets, water bowls and places for leads and bags, along with direct access to the garden from the rooms used most frequently by visiting dogs.
The arrangement has proved popular.
Perhaps too popular.
There are now friends who appear on Friday afternoon carrying overnight bags despite nobody remembering a formal invitation.
The Golden Retriever sees no problem with this whatsoever.
The Backyard
If the house belongs to everyone, the backyard is where that philosophy becomes impossible to miss.
There is a broad lawn intended to survive actual running rather than merely look impressive from inside, along with shade for hot afternoons, places to explore, water for swimming and enough outdoor seating that nobody has to leave because the table is full.
Paths wander through the property without becoming precious garden features. There are places where digging is tolerated, areas where wet dogs can dry in the sun and an outdoor shower positioned where it is useful rather than where it photographs best.
It is still an exceptionally beautiful landscape.
It simply isn’t a landscape everyone is afraid to touch.
On summer afternoons the lawn fills with dogs while their people gather around the table, food moves between the kitchen and terrace, somebody throws a ball and somebody else immediately regrets throwing it because the Golden Retriever has returned with the expectation that this arrangement will continue indefinitely.
This is probably the closest the house comes to revealing what its owner actually wanted.
He didn’t ask for a large property because he needed more space for himself.
He wanted enough room for everyone else.
The Bedroom
After a house designed around entertaining, the primary bedroom is unexpectedly restrained.
There is no enormous collection of toys, no elaborate display of collars and no attempt to turn the room into another destination. The materials are quiet, the lighting is warm and the windows catch the first light in the morning.
His bed sits beside his person’s.
Very closely beside his person’s.
The architect initially suggested placing it elsewhere in the room, where there was considerably more space and a better view.
The proposal was rejected.
Apparently, after designing a house large enough to accommodate almost everyone he has ever met, the Golden Retriever considers six feet of separation at bedtime excessive.
There are limits to independence.
The Open Door Policy
There are animals that, given the opportunity to design a dream house, might create somewhere to retreat from the world.
A Golden Retriever would probably install another door.
Because when you look closely at everything he asked for—the enormous kitchen, the pool, the guest rooms, the mudroom, the sprawling lawn and the frankly excessive amount of seating—it becomes apparent that very little of it was intended for him alone.
He wanted somewhere his friends could swim, somewhere his family could stay, somewhere everyone could eat and somewhere there would always be room for one more person, one more dog or one more visitor who hadn’t technically been invited but had somehow ended up staying for dinner.
By the end of a good weekend, the towels would be piled in the mudroom, half the tennis balls would be missing, the kitchen would need attention and someone would eventually discover a wet stuffed duck in a location nobody could adequately explain.
The Golden Retriever would be exhausted.
He would also be completely satisfied.
Because if a Golden Retriever ever designed the perfect house, its most important feature probably wouldn’t be the architecture, the kitchen, the swimming pool or even the enormous backyard.
It would be something considerably simpler.
The door would always be open.
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