Russian President Vladimir Putin is a well-known dog lover. It is not uncommon to see an official photo of him in his Kremlin office, meeting with some high official, and there, in the foreground, a black Labrador retriever – Connie – reclines on the floor.
In 2004, the children’s book Connie’s Stories was published. But it was not a salacious, ground’s eye view of Kremlin life. In fact, the word “Putin” does not appear in the book; usually the dog Connie refers simply to his хоз≈яин (master).
In Russia, long before Putin came to power, dogs roamed the halls of power and the alleyways of slums. But everywhere they were considered loyal friends. In the movie Diamond Arm, when the boorish Upravdom [head of the house committee] blames a dog owner for letting his pet “do his thing” on the courtyard grass, the hapless Semyon Semyonovich Gorbunkov recalls his experience in London, where dogs are allowed everywhere – because, he insists, “соб≈ака друг челов≈ека” (dog is man’s friend). To which the lady retorts, “Не зн≈аю, как там в Л≈ондоне, не был≈а. М≈ожет, там соб≈ака друг челов≈ека. А у нас – управд≈ом друг челов≈ека.” (“I don’t know how things are in London – never been there. Maybe there, the dog is man’s friend. But here it is the Upravdom who is man’s friend.”) The famous exchange from this 1970s movie, suggested what a hard life – cоб≈ачья жизнь – Soviets had, if their best friend is really the Upravdom. (Yet, if you have walked through enough Russian courtyards, you may well agree that Gorbunkov’s Upravdom had a point about dogs leaving their mark.)
The classic Russian dog story, however (which has an even more obnoxious Upravdom, named Shvonder), is Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel, Heart of the Dog. In that story, a Professor Preobrazhensky turns the брод≈ячая соб≈ака (stray dog) Ш≈арик (Sharik) into a man named Sharikov. Alas, the transformation is a bust. The professor made dog into man by transplanting into him the pituitary and testes of a drunken worker, so Sharikov turns into a boorish Bolshevik, forcing Preobrazhensky to eventually turn Sharikov back into Sharik. To this day, a rude primitive with base proletarian instincts is called Ш≈ариков. The phenomenon is known as ш≈ариковщина. Unfortunately, this species is not yet extinct here – you can still meet many on the metro. They are the ones who elbow you like an NHL defenseman.
Not surprisingly, dog proverbs and sayings abound in local culture and folklore. When a wound heals quickly, you can say – “зажив≈ает как на соб≈аке” (it heals like on a dog). If someone is holding onto something (or someone) he doesn’t need – he is behaving like “a dog in the manger” – “как соб≈ака на с≈ене.” If a person is short and has a childlike appearance, even in his forties, you can say “м≈аленькая соб≈ачка – до ст≈арости щен≈ок” (“a small dog is a puppy even into his old age”). In a situation that results from poor management without advanced planning, when you are doing everything at the very last moment and putting out fires, you can highlight the absurdity of the situation by saying, “на ох≈оту ≈ехать – соб≈ак корм≈ить” (“it’s time to go hunting, feed the dogs” – which no smart hunter would do). Of something superfluous or redundant, you can suggest that you need it “как соб≈аке п≈ятая ног≈а” (“like a dog needs a fifth leg”). And when, after thinking long and hard, or, after a lengthy discussion, you finally get the hidden meaning of something, you can utter, “Ах, вот где соб≈ака зар≈ыта” (“Ah, this is where the dog is buried.”)
It would be impossible to list all dog-related idioms in one short column. So better to finish things up with a joke. It is also an appropriate commentary on safety of the mail in Russia...
A wife tells her husband:
– У нас так≈ой ≈умный пёсик! К≈аждое ≈утpо бежи≈т к почт≈овому ≈ящику и забиp≈ает в дом газ≈еты. (“We have such a smart doggy. Every morning he runs to the mailbox and picks up the newspapers and brings them home.”)
– Hу и что, мн≈огие соб≈аки так ум≈еют... (“Well, many dogs do that.”)
– Hо мы ни на как≈ие газ≈еты не подп≈исывались! (“Yes, but we don’t subscribe to any newspapers!”)
Certainly, Putin’s Connie doesn’t have to resort to such tricks. But Connie does complain that her хоз≈яин reads the papers too much: “He reads a lot of papers every day. Is it important? Is reading papers more important than a walk? It cannot be more important than romping, can it?”
Clearly, Connie needs newspapers just like a п≈ятая ног≈а... After all, she can get all the information she needs straight from the source. One can’t help wondering what kind of stories Connie could tell if a modern-day Preobrazhensky were to turn her into a human being. It would make any publisher a millionaire. But surely Connie would not be better off.
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