In Chekhov’s famous story,“The Lady with the Dog,” Dmitri Gurov, a rich Muscovite and married serial philanderer on vacation in Yalta, becomes infatuated with a young woman he sees strolling the seaside town in a béret, trailed by her white Pomeranian dog. Gurov has had many affairs and what drives this love story is his mystification with what makes this woman different: why has she so smitten him that her memory haunts his every step even after he returns home to wife and family?
I have my own tale about another lady and her dog.
For at least ten years I have walked my dogs along a particular route through the neighborhood and onto a path in a nearby wood. No matter what time I set out, I’ve usually passed the same young, Southeast Asian woman coming from the opposite direction, dog at her heels. Does this odd coincidence count as a mystery? Wait, there’s more!
For all this time, this woman has marched past me without a hitch in her step, eyes downcast to avoid contact, her face like stone. Once or twice I have offered an amiable hello; after all, though strangers, we have brushed shoulders for years. But my attempts at congeniality elicited at best a nod and a blink; she has never stopped to chat, met my eyes or raised her lips in a smile.
As a writer, my fiction-making brain has invented a story: the solemnity of her behavior, her silence, her aura of mystery and sadness provoke an imagined drama including trauma, exile, displacement, possibly war, certainly loneliness. This of course represents my desire to bring meaning and order to an inexplicable experience by shaping a narrative out of shards of reality. I know nothing about the woman and probably never will. But that’s another story.
This past June, with my new dog – and I must point out, a quite adorable Golden Retriever puppy – I was strolling the familiar track from my house through the woods when I again met the lady with her dog. I hadn’t seen her for a while and had been wondering if her dog had died and left her bereft, or if she had moved. Just as I was thinking about her, almost as if I’d conjured her out of the brightness of the summer day, I looked up to see her coming toward me on the path.
As we were about to come face to face, I held puppy Maisie on a short leash to let the woman and her older dog pass. To my astonishment the woman stopped short, a huge smile on her face, and knelt to pet my puppy. A flurry of questions followed: What was my dog’s name? Was Maisie my new dog? How long had I had her? What had happened to my older dog? I answered the woman’s questions eagerly, and then we again went our separate ways. I have been pondering this episode since.
There is no shortage of research on dogs and their relationship to humans. The Canine Cognition Center at Yale is one place to look for the newest research on how dogs can influence our lives. Having evolved from wolves 11,000 to 16,000 years ago, domestic dogs, Canis familiaris, are truly part of our pack, loyalty as well as jealousy and empathy being a few of the traits we share in common. We know that dogs are used in speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical rehabilitation; they aid the blind, the disabled, the anxious and autistic. In lab research, the bond between human and dog has been shown to lower blood pressure, lower cholesterol, ease muscle tension, slow heart rate. To dog lovers, none of this is news. But here is something to consider: how is it that dogs, or perhaps any pet, can seemingly open our hearts?
I’m brought back to my lady on the path, her explosion of warmth, tenderness, connectedness, that occurred when she saw Maisie. Is it that animals offer us love free of judgments and conditions – and we mirror their uncomplicated love in return? Does their exuberance for living awaken our own élan vital?
Our connection to our pets is not only practical and utilitarian, but also has a spiritual dimension. Perhaps it is this spiritual dimension that is responsible for our deep love for our critters. In Nepal, an entire day is set aside for a festival, Kukur Tihar, that honors dogs for their loyalty and friendship.
The Greek goddess Artemis, Diana in the Roman tradition, travels with a hound at her side. Dogs feature in Native American lore, and guard the doors to heaven and hell in the Hindu tradition. Dogs have been celebrated in myth, fairy tale, poetry and fiction. The poet Mary Oliver has written Dog Songs, an entire book of poems and essays celebrating her beloved four-leggeds.
Or could the woman’s reaction have more to do with the irresistibility of puppies? And of Golden Retriever puppies, in particular? In their profile of Golden Retrievers, Modern Dog calls out their special appeal:
“Yes, all puppies are cute and adorable, but when it comes to Goldens, they’re in a class of their own. There’s something particularly heart-melting about these bundles of wriggling blond fur, with their oversized paws, soft brown eyes, alert tails and, of course, velvet floppy ears.”
Shall we ever understand our sudden attraction to someone? Or some dog? What is the moral of my dog story? There is no moral. There is only this: expect life to flummox you. Love may be blossoming where you least expect it.
“A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.”—Mary Oliver, Dog Songs
This post appeared in a slightly different form on Dale’s blog on Psychology Today. You can find all of Dale’s blog posts for Psychology Today at