Talking about dogs means talking first about people, about our inner selves we carefully hide behind all those reasons and circumstances of our lives; about our lacking ethical thinking and our perverted attitude toward the world of living things and inanimate objects. This essence is in relationships, rather than objects, animals, and human beings as such. Not everything is understood by comparison, although comparison is a universal model of image-bearing logic harbored by people representing different ethnic groups and races, formed by the mythopoetic thinking of our ancestors.
The similarity of comparisons with animals in different languages is based on the commonness of human observations of the animals’ character, appearance, and habits; on the commonness of the animal world. Our distant ancestors related to the animal world before they became Home sapiens, so plants received animal names (e.g., lysychka, — literally, vixen, meaning chanterelle; vovchets, lit., little wolf, meaning thistle; vovcha yahoda, lit., wolf’s berry, being actually dogberry, etc.), and the same applies to certain inanimate object (e.g., mushka, lit., small fly, meaning gun sight; zhuravel, lit., crane, meaning shadoof; byk lit., bull, meaning a pier as in a bridge). Or take the word gazette, an Italian coinage originating from gaza, magpie.
Animals were used as yardsticks of human physical and moral properties (goose meaning a cagey man; turkey cock meaning what it does today; rooster, ditto; crow, a gawk; swan, a beautiful woman), yet more emphasis was on the negative traits observed in animals, although humans often turned out to possess them to a far greater degree. By making animals such yardsticks, our ancestors also attributed their own qualities to them. A drunk was called a swine, monkey, or son of a bitch. People are described as barking, yapping, growling, murmuring, chirping, grunting, howling, bleating, and so on.
The first Slavic pagan nicknames originated from comparisons “like a hare,” “like a wolf,” “like a tooth,” “like a mushroom,” subsequently transforming into surnames (especially in Ukraine).
One often reads about dogs allegedly having different destinies (like people); some live comfortably, surrounded by loving care (getting manicure, ribbons, etc.), others have to earn their living by haunting garbage heaps and city dumps. Yet their destinies are determined by us humans, not by Providence, because we domesticated them and often take them, play with them for a while, and then throw them out on the street.
Dogs are often said to resemble their masters (or vice versa). Indeed, they are very clever and adopt our lifestyle, even habits.
When I was a little girl we always had two or three hunting dogs, but only Siberian huskies. It is a very interesting species, full of dignity, avoiding excessive shows of human affection. One could not ride them or yell at them. They taught their puppies to hunt; they were all-purpose pros and my father could always tell what they were chasing by their barking, a hare, fox, wolf, bear, sable, lynx, or even duck or grouse. They would bring their catch from the forest and leave it on the porch, never touching it until my father told them to go ahead (of course, they were waiting for the command). Of medium size, the husky enjoyed everybody’s respect in Siberia and those we kept would live all their lives in our home, but when it came time to die they would always leave to find a place to die in the forest, away from the human eye. Those that got killed by lynx claws or wolf fangs were buried by my father, and he would mourn them long after (dogs were the only animals we had in our household).
Until I got married I had a German shepherd named Zhuk (after the surname of the man who had brought the puppy from a dog farm), but then I had to give him to a militiaman, as I had to leave Ukraine; in the “humane” Soviet Union transporting dog by air or by rail was prohibited. Several years later my husband visited Zhuk and instead of a kind and strong animal he found an aggressive watchdog on a chain; he recognized my husband but would not forgive him for turning traitor — we still feel guilty before that dog. Worst of all, there is nothing we can do about it now.
There were no dogs in my home for many years after Zhuk. Once I received a small white fluff of a puppy as a birthday present. It was so small I could hold it on a palm. We called him Mathieu (for a French friend of ours). It turned out to be a lap dog and a born circus acrobat (you should see him dance on hind legs for a candy!). At the same time, he was more than a dog, not because he was so white and beautiful, but because he started copying our every habit. Returning from a walk, he would head for the bathroom to have his paws washed, keeping away from the rugs and knowing his towel on the rack. In the morning, as soon as my husband got out of bed, he would take his place, lying on his back, his head on the pillow, and we could make him drop this bad habit only after he received his own custom-made blanket, sheet, and pillow. In fact, the pillow was the crux of the matter. It became his special pride and now he always drags it into the living room to show it to our guests as his greatest asset. He also takes pride in his fur coat which he wears in winter and in which he traveled with us to Siberia where the temperature often drops to 45 o C (our amazed relatives said they were happy we did not keep a cow). When we had to leave for some time we would lure a tenant by free room and board, lest we give the dog to anyone to look after him in our absence; we would regularly call to know how Mathieu was faring, let him hear our voices and be sure that he was not disowned (otherwise he would stop eating). He is always with us in the car and he does not like accidental passengers making him surrender his rightful place. Before taking his seat at the table, he rises on his hind legs to check what we have on our plates and if there is the slightest difference with his, he leaves the room offended. When it comes time to eat and his plate is empty, he turns it over to remind us of our duty. When someone is ill in the family, he is very sad and turns into a volunteer nurse. In a word, he causes a host of worries, but without him my family would look incomplete. With him a routine fishing trip turns into a special event, because he is a devout fisherman, his eyes glued to the bob, and if nothing happens for a long time he starts whining, touching the unlucky fisherman with a paw. He makes us all more natural, sincere, and kind.
One problem: Mathieu refuses to stay home alone and if we have to leave for several days he falls ill. In fact, we have long discarded the practice, because leaving your dog at home, even if you have to go to a party, let alone off on holidays, is quiet murder.
Dogs are jealous, and if and when we pick a wounded dog and bring it home for treatment Mathieu is always in attendance, watching us dress the wound, and even sharing his morsels with the victim. But when the dog recovers he enters in a state of quiet panic (he cannot bear the sight of any of us patting the other dog). Of course, after treatment we try to find someone to keep the dog. With mongrels this is quite problem, but even purebred well- trained dogs that cannot survive in the street are increasing in number. This is another form of quiet murder, because they are all domesticated and they keep searching for their masters, day in and day out, hungry, their noses running, their eyes full of despair; they run up to passers by, pushing their noses in their hands. Some pat them, others shove them aside, but they follow them, because they know only people to turn to for help; they know that they have got lost and refuse to believe that they were simply thrown out. Despite all hardships, man can take care of himself. A domesticated animal cannot. Saint-Exupery wrote that you must answer for all those you domesticated. These words are an ethical verdict on all us unreasonable humans.
The dog has long turned into a yardstick of morality and humaneness in a given society. There are special asylums for dogs, but most those wishing to rid themselves of their pets, for whatever reasons, are ashamed to take them there (what people will say?), yet they are not ashamed to throw them out, leaving them in a deserted place, lest anyone they know find out. And phrases about a dog’s life are man’s attempt justify his own, proceeding from the assumption that man’s fate does not depend on he himself.
COMMENTARY
The Day’s Tetiana AKIMOVA asked Tamara Tarnavska, chairperson of the SOS Society for the Protection of Animals, to comment on the situation with dog asylums in Kyiv. She said that the one at Pyrohove, set up in place of a knacker’s yard, is currently the only one kept according to European standards. It is run by SOS and there is another one, called a quasiasylum, in Borodianka, plus private asylums (where middle-aged women look after the animals at their own meager expense or by passing the hat, and in unsanitary conditions). Still, such places deserve the appellation, for asylum is where you find refuge, treatment, protection, food, etc.
Most of the inmates are pets wounded or maimed and noticed by kind-hearted people who call SOS. Also, gravely ill ones, brought by their owners refusing to comply with the vet’s verdict of putting them to sleep. Often, people bring pets they can no longer sustain themselves. Ms. Tarnavska states that the asylum, accommodating over 350 animals, is constantly packed with mongrels and purebreds (Great Danes, German shepherds, Shar-Peis, boxers, etc.). When signed in, a dog is always examined and treated, inoculated, and disinfected. The next stage is looking for a prospective owner. 20-30 dogs are thus accommodated every month. Not long ago, new US Ambassador Carlos Pascual took a mongrel. Attached to the society is an SOS relief committee made up of officials from most embassies and international organizations. They are all volunteers, of course, bringing medications and dog food from abroad. The SOS chairperson believes that the foreigners’ interest in our dogs is explained by the humane attitude toward unprotected creatures cultivated in their societies. “These animals are completely dependent on us; besides, we breed them and then throw them out or give them to other people. And then they get killed due to our indifference and irresponsibility,” says Tamara Tarnavska (Call 229-4295, 11 a. m.-6 p. m. on workdays).
