My Chunky Norwich Meets Big Tech: Adventures in Smart Collar Tracking

It seems odd to think just how discombobulated we all were in those early days of Covid. Children running rampant, my husband and I trying to settle into some kind of working “normalcy”—even though nothing felt very normal at that moment, and we were trying to figure out how to get the children off their video game screens in order for them to look at their Zoom School screens.

Into this slightly upside down moment came our Norwich Terrier, Eevee. Norwichs are rare because they have small litters—and we were lucky to get her. My husband went to collect Eevee from Pennsylvania, delicately managing the handover so the elderly breeder wasn’t put in danger of catching Covid.

Later, he told me he was nervous as I had been reluctant to take on any more responsibility. And if Eevee and I didn’t click, he didn’t think he could bear to return our new pet. He needn’t have worried. From the moment he deposited that small brown fuzz into my arms and she licked my nose, I was a goner. She’s our family glue. If the boys are arguing, unhappy at school or we’re unhappy at work, “Eevee medicine” is deployed and after giving her a good squeeze, all ills quickly fade. There is actual science behind this—hugging a dog helps release dopamine in your brain.

Initially, she was supposed to be named Whiskey, as her light brown scruff reminded my husband of his favorite drink, but then my Pokemon-obsessed five-year-old said, “She looks like Eevee!” The name stuck and we’ve never looked back since.

After a blissful puppyhood spent frolicking in the long grass of those Virginia fields she returned with us to New York City. Eevee became rather more sedentary—although if we noticed her physique going from cylinder-shaped to more water balloon, all was forgotten once she rolled over and let us scratch her (rather tubby) middle.

Finally, my husband took her to the vet and came back with a very worried look, “The dog needs to lose two pounds.” While two pounds might seem like nothing worth getting alarmed about, dogs like Eevee are more in danger from heart attacks and other early onset problems if their weight gets out of control. We vowed to put her on a diet and walk her more.

And then Fi came into our lives. A smart collar that was initially created to help dog owners track their pets—like a geo tag you might stash in your child’s backpack—it has since grown into so much more. Partnering with Strava in February 2024 created a community of dog owners who could track and rate their pooch’s performance.

When I first strapped the Fi collar onto Eevee I wasn’t prepared for the brutal honesty of pet fitness tracking.

Eevee’s every movement was on display—and there wasn’t much of it. Her jaunts around the park—only about 0.37 of a mile!—were very small compared to her closest competitors. Shockingly little compared to Cosmo, who was clocking 1.4 miles, and Django, 1.7. (There are 56 Norwich listed at the moment. Eevee is currently coasting at #17, but she’s been as high as #10, my younger son loyally points out.)

In my defense, Eevee is built for comfort, not speed. Her idea of vigorous exercise is rotating between sunbathing spots on the couch and making strategic appearances in the kitchen when there’s a chance of a dropped snack. The Fi app, however, doesn’t count “hopeful food surveillance” as a legitimate form of exercise.

I’ve become slightly obsessed with checking how other Norwich Terriers are doing on the app. (Fi cleverly tapping into my New York attributes of anxiety and competition.) Our breakfast table has become a war room—of sorts. “Watch out, Mr. Watson!” I’ll declare over my coffee, “Eevee’s coming for you!” (Only to immediately melt into a chorus of, “Awww, look at him snoozing in his bow tie!”) Or, “Finnegan, you’re going down today. (Oh my goodness, look how cute with that mini Santa hat on him!)” So much for our fierce competitive spirit.

Every notification feels like a personal attack: “Eevee has been less active than 90 percent of Norwich Terriers today!” Thanks, Fi. I can see Eevee’s perfectly round silhouette without the digital reminder. The app suggests daily goals, but Eevee’s giving me the same look she used to guilt me into giving her two breakfasts—a mix of adorable defiance and total disinterest in self-improvement.

My children, who are typically not thrilled with the idea of chores, will readily volunteer to take her on a walk, only to find themselves wrestling with, and losing to, a 15-pound fuzzball, “Mom,” says my 13-year-old with a plea of consternation in his voice, “I can’t just drag her in the street.” And truth be told, if that little brown hedgehog doesn’t want to move, she can be surprisingly stubborn about it.

So, I’ve started taking longer walks with her from time to time, if only to silence the judgmental buzz.

Maybe the Fi collar isn’t just tracking Eevee’s fitness journey—it’s documenting my transformation into that person who obsesses over their dog’s daily metrics and has swiftly become “that” crazy dog mom. At least she’s still got her sunny disposition, and her harness is definitely less snug. Not sure I can say the same of my jeans! (And hey, between you and me, I think that Comos’s activity—#1 on Norwich Terriers with 1,156,310 step counters— is definitely rigged.)