Is that dog real or a soft toy? What would it do if confronted by a rat? Is it a rat? Karl Du Fresne ponders these questions.

OPINION: The Nazi propaganda chief Joseph Goebbels reputedly said that when he heard the word culture, he reached for his revolver.

I get much the same urge when I hear the phrase "fur babies". I don't own a revolver, or indeed any type of gun, but in my mind I reach for one nonetheless.

A fur baby, in case you've spent the past decade on the dark side of the moon, is a cute term for a pet – usually a dog or cat.

I know people will say it's just a harmless figure of speech and not to be taken too seriously, but its usage indicates a type of infantilism not far removed from the goo-goo gibberish and cooing that some people indulge in when they encounter a real baby.

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In fact it's worse than that, because to call your pet a fur baby denotes more than mere cloying sentimentality. It indicates a degree of childlike self-delusion about the nature of animals – which are, after all, just that: animals. They can never be human.

Granted, it's natural to become deeply attached to a pet. Dogs, especially, can provide their owners with unswerving loyalty, affection and companionship. They can give lonely people a reason to get up each day.

I've owned a dog and grieved when she died. I even devoted a newspaper column to her.

I'm fond of cats too, as they seem to be of me. I feebly remonstrate with my wife whenever she shouts at the neighbourhood cats that crap in her garden. I want them to feel at home around our place, notwithstanding their malodorous defecations.

But the term "fur babies" crosses a threshold. It endows animals with human qualities they can never possess.

And the problem goes further than that. Increasingly, a certain type of dog owner seems drawn to breeds with almost humanlike features.

There's clearly a big market for dogs bred for cuteness. Small dogs with big, imploring eyes are especially popular. They are but one step removed from the cuddly toys that some children can't bear to be separated from.

These dogs would probably have no idea what to do if confronted by a rat, which is supposed to be their natural prey. They would most likely yap with fright and rush to the safety of their human protector.

Some even give the impression of being incapable of independent movement, preferring to be carried around in the arms of their doting owners or wheeled in little prams.

Their sole purpose, it seems, is to look appealing. It's hard to believe these fragile, mollycoddled creatures are descended from wolves, as all domestic dogs are.

They are often yappy and bad-tempered, and who can blame them? The dogs often appear neurotic and I wonder whether some of their human "parents" – yes, that's how some owners refer to themselves – are similarly afflicted.

Perhaps it's a case of pets functioning as substitutes for humans. There may be a type of person for whom relationships with other people are just too complicated to bother with.

Far easier, perhaps, to invest your energy and affection in an animal that will give you its unconditional devotion just as long as you feed it and cuddle it. Pets don't make demands the way humans can, after all, and can be relied on to repay their owners' devotion in a way that isn't guaranteed with children.

All of this leads me to another contemporary phenomenon: dog cafes. These take the indulgence of pets to another level.

Dog cafes don't stop at placing bowls of water outside. Today's fussy urban dog lovers demand much more. They want their dogs to be allowed inside with the humans.

Moreover, to be considered truly dog-friendly, cafes are expected to serve their pampered canine clientele with such treats as gourmet mince, bone-broth pupsicles, tomato juice and fish stock over ice, home-made dog biscuits – vegan, no doubt – and puppacino, whatever that is.

Dog cafes attract people for whom pets seem to function as a type of fashion accessory. I imagine there's a certain status to be gained by being the first to show off some unimaginably adorable, but previously unknown, hybrid animal. Better still if it has an irresistible name such as the Yorkipoo or the Bernedoodle. Yes, such cross-breeds exist.

You wonder where all this might lead. A simpering cavoodle snuggled on its owner's lap is one thing, but what would a dog-friendly cafe owner say if my farmer nephew turned up with half a dozen hungry, scruffy working dogs and demanded they be fed chicken popsicles and "wagging tale ale" – beef stock with soda water?

Admittedly the prospect of that happening is as improbable as Winston Peters giving a straight answer in a TV interview, but it's something I'd love to see.

Karl Du Fresne is a Stuff columnist