Over the last few weeks, there’s been a great deal of noise about the Dogs (Protection of Livestock) Act 1953 undergoing long-awaited updates.
The amendment bill has now passed through the House of Lords and is waiting only for Royal Assent before it becomes law in England and Wales.
On the surface, the changes look decisive. They broaden the definition of “livestock,” widen the places where an offence can occur, grant police new investigative powers, and remove the outdated £1,000 limit on fines. Livestock worrying will no longer be judged solely on physical injury; causing stress, panic or harassment — even without any physical contact — is now considered harm.
On paper, it appears to be a modernised and strengthened piece of legislation reflecting the realities of contemporary farming and the sheer number of dogs walked in rural areas. But as is so often the case, the appearance of progress does not automatically translate into meaningful protection. And when you look even slightly beyond the surface, the same fundamental flaw remains: nothing in these changes actually prevents livestock attacks from happening in the first place.
Before getting to that crucial point, it’s worth briefly laying out what has changed, because people deserve clarity. The definition of “livestock” is being extended to cover animals such as alpacas and llamas which were not included before. The offence is no longer confined to enclosed agricultural land; it now applies on public rights of way, farm tracks, country lanes and any other area where livestock might be present or being moved. Police will be able to seize suspected dogs, take DNA samples or dental impressions, apply for warrants, and — in the most serious cases — pursue owners with unlimited fines. Emotional harm caused to livestock, such as fear and stress, is now formally recognised, which many farmers will understandably welcome.
So far, it all sounds reasonable enough. But an uncomfortable truth sits right in the centre of all this legislative movement, and it’s something I’ve raised consistently for more than a decade. These offences are, and always have been, reliant on self-reporting. And that hasn’t changed. Scotland demonstrates exactly why this matters. Around five years ago, Scotland dramatically toughened its livestock worrying laws, introducing fines of up to £40,000 and potential custodial sentences.
Predictably, politicians later held up declining reported offences as evidence that the legislation was working. Police Scotland figures show a drop from 350 recorded incidents in 2023 to 216 more recently — a statistically impressive decline on paper.
But the paper version bears very little resemblance to the lived experience of farmers. NFU Scotland has repeatedly stated that incidents continue “weekly, if not daily” across rural areas. Scottish Land & Estates described the previous year’s increase — from 290 to 350 — as “disturbing,” and far removed from what farmers were experiencing on the ground. In other words, what the statistics are suggesting and what farmers are facing are two different realities entirely.
This is the danger of basing your understanding of a problem on reporting rates rather than occurrence rates. The tougher the penalties, the less likely people are to come forward. A drop in reports becomes politically convenient because it can be spun as a drop in offences. But what it actually reflects is a drop in honesty — not a drop in harm. Scotland proved that. The law got stronger. The attacks didn’t stop. The reporting did.
This problem is magnified by the practical realities of policing. As a former police officer of twenty years, I know firsthand the importance of adopting a motivational approach when you need the public to come forward and report crimes. Where offences occur in isolated rural locations with few police officers available to attend, reporting is everything. And livestock worrying almost always occurs out of sight. Officers are not patrolling fields. They are not sitting on hilltops waiting for a dog to break into a chase. The only way these incidents come to light is when the owner of the dog voluntarily admits what has happened, or when a farmer is fortunate enough to identify the animal and trace the owner.
Over the past decade I have worked with hundreds, if not thousands, of dog owners whose dogs have chased, attacked or killed livestock. I know the circumstances under which these incidents occur, the emotional panic that follows, the regret, and the fear of consequences. And I can say with absolute certainty that people are far more deterred by the thought of their dog being shot — which a farmer already has a legal defence to do if the dog cannot otherwise be brought under control — than they are by the threat of large fines or even potential imprisonment.The principle deterrent already exists, and it is immediate, understood, and deeply felt: the fear of losing a dog.
But more importantly, I am not approaching this from a financial perspective. Many insurers, politicians, and even some farming bodies focus heavily on the monetary loss attached to livestock worrying — and understandably so. People deserve compensation when their animals are injured or killed. But my principal driving force has always been animal welfare. My interest is in reducing the number of attacks because I want to see a reduction in unnecessary suffering. Suffering of livestock, yes, but also suffering of dogs whose instinctive behaviour leads to outcomes that nobody wants and which could have been prevented.
If you view this issue through a welfare lens rather than a political or financial one, the limitations of the amended legislation become obvious. Increasing penalties does not train dogs. It does not teach people how to establish reliable recall. It does not stop a young, energetic dog with strong predatory instincts from breaking into a chase. Prevention is not something that emerges from parliamentary chambers; it emerges from education, support, early training, and consistent reinforcement of good behaviour — ideally from puppyhood or adolescence long before a dog ever sets foot near livestock.
Yet prevention is almost entirely absent from this legislation. No mention of how to train dogs safely around livestock. No initiatives to encourage owners to take up livestock avoidance training. No programmes to motivate better recall training. No discussion of how these offences actually occur or how they can realistically be prevented. Instead, we have a louder, harsher version of the same after-the-fact remedy.
Farmers may welcome increased investigative powers and the recognition of stress as harm. But many have not yet recognised the trade-off: the harsher the penalties become, the less likely dog owners are to come forward. And without the owner, there is no compensation. So while politicians applaud themselves for tightening the law, farmers may find themselves with fewer reported incidents, fewer chances of identifying offenders, and the same or greater number of actual attacks.
This is why, despite looking robust on paper, the amendments fall short of achieving real change. They expand reach, not understanding. They intensify consequences, not competence. And in doing so, they risk worsening the silence that already surrounds livestock worrying.
The real protection — the kind that actually prevents livestock from being chased, injured, or killed — comes from equipping owners with knowledge, training and motivation. Teaching them how to interrupt instinctive behaviours, how to condition strong recall, how to read their dog, how to anticipate risk, and how to build stable, reliable responses even under pressure. That is what reduces harm. That is what spares farmers and animals needless suffering. And that is the piece missing from this legislation.
Once the Bill receives Royal Assent, dog owners will be held to a higher standard of responsibility, and many will be shocked by how broad that responsibility has become. But if policymakers were truly committed to reducing livestock worrying, their focus would be on education and prevention long before the dog reaches the field. Because by the time the law becomes relevant, the harm has already happened.