I am often asked about the lives of medieval people: what they ate and drank, how they treated illnesses, what made them happy, how they loved, and what they sought for happiness. However, no one has ever asked about the lives of medieval dogs. Did they buy them soft cushions and toys? Did they search for unknown delicacies to feed them? In short, was the life of medieval dogs significantly harder than that of modern dogs?

In my opinion, the answer to this question can reveal as much about medieval society as the study of exclusively “human” history. A society’s attitude towards animals reflects its core values. Therefore, I propose delving into the complex history of medieval dogs.

This history is complicated not by a lack of sources—there are many, and they are very diverse. The complexity arises when we try to separate the symbolic from the real. Dogs in medieval records appear not only as real flesh-and-blood animals but also as symbols of friendship, loyalty, civilization, and even savagery and envy.

Dogs were an integral part of medieval households. Ancient Romans also kept dogs for protection and companionship. Numerous mosaics bearing the inscription “Cave Canem” (Latin for “beware of the dog”) at the entrances of homes indicate this constant presence of dogs in the ancient world.

Mosaic Cave canem in the House of the Tragic Poet, Pompeii, І c. AD, Pompeii, Italy. Source: Wikimedia Commons

In the Middle Ages, however, guarding was only a secondary task compared to hunting. All feudal nobility had to participate in regular hunts, during which dogs were essential helpers. Detailed accounts of hunts and hunting dogs can be found in Gaston III de Foix’s treatise The Book of the Hunt. The count began writing this treatise on May 1, 1387, a few days before the Feast of the True Cross, which marked the beginning of the hunting season. Gaston III de Foix spent two years writing this unique treatise. The book contains 85 chapters and magnificent miniature illustrations. In one miniature, the artist depicts scenes of everyday care for hunting dogs: washing paws and bodies, trimming nails, checking teeth, and so on. The author discusses the animals hunted and those used in hunting, not limiting himself to formal descriptions but also addressing their psychology.

Illustration from the manuscript on hunting dogs, Gaston III, Count of Foix. Source: Bibliothèque Nationale de France

Hunting dogs were much more than just hunting aides; they were friends in life and death. This is confirmed by medieval tombstones—gisants. Rarely were they without dogs curled up at the feet of their owners. For example, on the tombstone of the Archbishop of Canterbury (1381–1396), a dog with a precious collar sits faithfully at the feet of the master. Its eyes are open, and its head raised as if still guarding the peace of the archbishop.

A dog from a tombstone in the Canterbury cathedral. Author's photo

Collars in the Middle Ages were not just items of material culture or decoration. They had symbolic meaning. In the miniature “The Restrained and the Unrestrained” from the Dutch manuscript “Deeds and Sayings of the Ancient Romans,” peasants and aristocracy feast at two tables. Although the miniature adorned an ancient treatise, it illustrates the realities of the late Middle Ages. Peasants drink, eat, and embrace unrestrainedly, while the nobility dines decorously and nobly. Observing this instructive scene is a dog standing between the two different tables as if comparing the two life strategies. The fact that the dog wears a collar symbolizes the tamed human nature rising above instincts.

The Restrained and the Unrestrained from the Dutch manuscript Deeds and Sayings of the Ancient Romans. Source: The J. Paul Getty Museum, California, USA

In comparison, just look at the dogs fighting over a bone in numerous late medieval and Renaissance “Last Suppers.” In the “Last Supper” of 1527 by Dutch master Pieter Coecke van Aelst, two dogs fight over a bone at Judas’ feet. One has white and red fur, reminiscent of Judas’ red hair in the painting (red-haired people were often considered traitors in the Middle Ages). These dogs symbolize the “low” and “animal” nature, including that of Judas, and thus wear no collars.

In the Middle Ages, a hunting dog could even become a saint, albeit inadvertently. This was the fate of a greyhound who, after a tragic death, was transformed into Saint Guinefort. The Dominican monk Stephen of Bourbon recounts this story with evident disapproval in his treatise On Superstitions. Once, parents and a nurse left an infant unattended. During this time, a giant snake slithered towards the cradle, intending to kill the child. The faithful dog guarding the heir attacked and killed the snake. When the nurse returned, she saw blood on the floor, the dog’s muzzle, the cradle, and the child. So she made a hasty conclusion and began yelling that the dog had killed the child. The enraged master rushed in and immediately killed the dog. Only afterward did they realize that the baby was peacefully sleeping in the cradle, and the remains of the snake were on the floor.

“Realizing then the true circumstances and deeply regretting the unjust killing of such a useful dog, they threw him into a well in front of the estate, piled a large heap of stones on top, and planted trees to commemorate the event. Now, by God’s will,” wrote Stephen of Bourbon with righteous satisfaction, “the estate is destroyed, its inhabitants have left, and the area has become desolate. But the peasants, having heard about the dog’s behavior and how he was killed for a praiseworthy deed, visited this place, honored the dog as a martyr, prayed to him when they were ill or in need, and many fell victim to the temptations and illusions of the devil, who thus misled people. But above all, women with sick or weak children would come to this place.” Despite the Catholic Church’s efforts to eradicate this superstition, it was unsuccessful. The custom of coming and praying to “Saint Guinefort” for health and recovery for oneself or one’s child persisted until the late 20th century.

While men preferred hunting breeds like greyhounds, alaunts, mastiffs, and spaniels, women often kept Maltese lapdogs. Unlike hunting dogs that lived outside under the care of designated servants, lapdogs (and, from the 16th century, pugs and Pekingese) lived in the private spaces of their mistresses. Sometimes they were so close that the ladies suffered from fleas as much as the dogs themselves.

Such pets appear in contemporary art as symbols of marital fidelity. Perhaps the most famous is Jan van Eyck’s The Arnolfini Portrait, where a Maltese lapdog stands between the husband and wife in the foreground, symbolizing fidelity as the foremost marital virtue. Its fur is almost the same color as Giovanni Arnolfini’s woolen cloak, but the dog stands closer to the woman, linking them together.

Ladies cared for their pets. Geoffrey Chaucer humorously criticizes an abbess in The Canterbury Tales who fed her dogs roast meat and white bread—products that were inaccessible to most medieval people.

Thus, not much has changed since medieval times in the attitude towards dogs. They accompanied their owners everywhere; they were given beautiful collars and fed the tastiest food. Gaston III de Foix boasted, like other dog owners throughout the centuries, “I speak to my dogs as I would to a person […], and they understand and fulfill my will better than any man in my household.” Today, we no longer expect our will to be carried out by servants, but we still believe that no one will understand us better than our canine friends.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.