Imagine: thousands of people in a grand hall holding their breath, their eyes focused on the stage.

The hosts finally open the envelope containing the winner’s name. After a pause that feels like an eternity, they finally announce, “And the award goes to…”

One more moment, and they will say your name. Get ready to step onto the stage and claim your prize. But wait… which award is it? Let’s find out in our quiz!

Bison, deer, foxes, and hares bathe, hunt, and play in his photos, living their wild lives. However, it wasn’t these animals that brought Viacheslav Mishchenko global recognition, but snails. A photograph of a snail earned him awards in two categories at the prestigious International Photography Awards in 2014, and a book featuring his snail photography was published in Japan. Japanese publishers hailed him as a brilliant Ukrainian photographer.

Viacheslav Mishchenko lives in Berdychiv, Ukraine. By day, he is a dental technician at a military hospital. Often, on the same day, he is also a wildlife photographer.

Coming home from the hospital, slightly breathless and busy, Viacheslav eagerly tells us about his passion — photography.

Immersion in the Microcosm: How Mushroom Picking Can Change a Life

— Where was your latest photoshoot?

— Yesterday, I went to the forest with my grandchildren. We found some mushrooms — honey fungus and oyster mushrooms. Oyster mushrooms are unusual, and I wanted to photograph them… and I found some! I love foraging. My father got me “hooked” on it. He was an avid mushroom picker who made me a small basket and took me along to gather mushrooms.

That’s what got me into macro photography. While mushroom-picking with my father, I’d see bugs, spiders, and snails moving about… It was so interesting for me as a child! This love for the micro-world has stayed with me ever since.

My overall love for nature also came from my father. He was a mathematician by training, but in Berdychiv, he took courses and began teaching drawing, crafts, and drafting at school. He also worked as a freelance school photographer, so I witnessed the magic of photography as a child. He bought me my first small camera, a Smena, when I was ten years old — that’s when my long journey in photography began.

Then came the era of digital photography, but I didn’t have a camera. Instead, I painted. It was a joy for me! I became the head of the Vernisazh Union of Independent Artists and Folk Craftsmen and led it for 11 years (2002–2013).

One day, a friend sent me a camera — a Fujifilm — simply as a gift. That’s when it all clicked! I began taking a lot of photos, especially macro shots. I’d go to the forest and spend hours photographing.

On Land

— How do you find wild animals to photograph?

— Whether I’m photographing a deer or a snail, I first study the area where the animal is likely to be.

Most of the time, I set up A blind is a shelter used by hunters or nature photographers. blinds made of branches or camouflage netting. Sometimes, I pitch a tent and cover it with something. Occasionally, I shoot from my car or hide in a cornfield.

For example, let me tell you how I tracked black storks. I photographed them in Bystryk, a village near Berdychiv. It’s very convenient for me to go there because I live on the edge of the city. I brew some coffee, get in the car, and by the time I reach the location, I’ve finished my coffee. There are many lakes here, each home to its own birds. Over the past 15 years, I’ve come to know their nests and feeding spots.

Black storks are very rare. They build their nests far from people. Before migrating, they feed at lakes in Bystryk to gain some strength. In the summer, I saw them in the fields. I knew they’d stay for 10–12 days before leaving, but I couldn’t find the lake where they were feeding.

Storks like to visit lakes at dawn and sunset, and then, they can spend the rest of the day in the fields. I drove around the lakes for several days until I finally found them.

One evening, I prepared a spot where I could lie down. I brought a mat and camouflage netting. It’s the kind our soldiers use to cover tanks. I added a few branches on top so I could see the birds, but they couldn’t see me. Even the slightest movement makes them flee. If they spot you, one screeches, and they’re gone.

The next morning, I left at 5 a.m., parked my car far away so they wouldn’t hear it, and made my way to the blind. Ideally, you arrive before dawn, while it’s still dark. I waited in the forest, wondering—will they come, or won’t they?

— Have you encountered any other rare animals besides storks?

— There’s the largest butterfly in Europe — the great peacock moth (Saturnia pyri). Its wingspan is 15 centimeters. I’ve photographed it. There have also been bison. I made a special trip to Brody in the Lviv region to photograph them. Next year, I’m planning to head to the Belarusian border to photograph capercaillie, which are also rare.

— How did you photograph the fox cubs?

— It was early May. I saw the vixen once, then a second time… Sometimes she’d be carrying fish, other times she had a mouthful of mice. If she’s carrying food, it means she has cubs. So I started looking for the den. You need sandy soil and a kind of slope. And I found it! She had made her den so well that you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking carefully. But it was very close to the village… Nearby, there was a cornfield, which is a perfect hiding spot for a fox. Corn is good for hunting birds that land there. 

I arrived when she wasn’t around and spotted the cubs first. They were curious about me and started coming out of the den. If the vixen hadn’t returned, they would have approached me and cuddled up to me.

But she caught my scent, yelped, and the cubs hid in the den! They didn’t come out again until she returned and yelped once more. I spent three hours sitting there with my camera, but it was all in vain.

However, I outsmarted her. She went out hunting, and I started bringing chicken wings to the den. The cubs would come out just a little, and I photographed them.

On the Water and in the Water

— Do you often have to go into the water to take photos?

— Yes, because many birds live on the water. There’s the great crested grebe — a very photogenic bird. Their courtship rituals are fascinating. Then there are bee-eaters and kingfishers, which are so colorful! Just this November, I saw a kingfisher at a pond, even though it was cold, and they usually aren’t around by then. There are also swans here — two pairs with their young. They fight for dominance on the lake: the stronger one chases off the weaker. There’s also the night heron, or kwak, named after its call: “Kwak! Kwak!” I’ve photographed water voles, muskrats, ducks, coots, and herons — both red, white, and gray.

— I heard you have a heron friend?

— Yes, I’ve been photographing her for many years. She lets me get very close. I’ve named her Marfa.

Marfa always arrives at the same spot first, as if to say, “This is mine, and I’m not letting anyone else in!” If I get too close, Marfa scolds me too. One eye keeps an eye on the fish, the other watches me. She sets a certain boundary, and if you cross it, she flies off, returns, and just yells at you. Then you take two or three steps back and sit in a blind, chest-deep in water.

— Isn’t it cold and wet?

— That’s what waders are for! I put on my waders, get in up to my chest, and move through the water. Above me, I have a little shelter shaped like an upside-down “U.” I made myself out of foam, plywood, and aluminum poles from an old cot. On top, there’s a canvas cover. Birds are afraid of humans, but if something non-threatening moves through the water, they’re wary at first, but they get used to it.

It’s morning, it’s foggy, and you’re in your waders, chest-deep in water, waiting for about an hour for them to arrive. The camera is mounted on a tripod. You are holding it like a machine gun.

Once, I fell in. I was photographing frogs in Polovetske, a village in the Zhytomyr region. It was their mating season, and I wanted to get as close to the water as possible to make the shots more impressive. Well, I fell into the water! Thankfully, my equipment wasn’t damaged, but I got soaked. I even got a funny photo out of it, which I titled A Male Dilemma: the frogs are mating, and the male is watching a mosquito with one eye. You can almost see him thinking, “Should I keep mating or grab a snack?”

Armed with Knowledge and Lenses

— What do you need to carry when you go on a trip?

— A bunch of lenses, tripods. You can’t do without them; they’re your tools.

— Have you ever weighed all of that?

— I don’t want to scare myself! I have three standard lenses: one with a long focal length, a macro lens, and a landscape lens. I don’t use ghillie suits much. I bring a mat, sometimes a cushion for the camera. When I prepare a blind, I want it to be comfortable because you might need to sit there for 3–4 hours. Birds can fly off and come back, and you have to wait. When I was photographing black storks, a car passed by — they flew away but returned later. Sometimes they get scared of me too. They got close to me. A stork came within six meters of me. It was too close to fit in my lens. The moment I moved, all the storks took off.

— Are there any animals that seem to want to be photographed?

— There aren’t. If you’re photographing a snail, it doesn’t care where it’s crawling. Though snails also have character. In good weather, they sleep, in damp weather, they crawl — early in the morning or late in the evening when the dew is heavy. But even then, it’s not always guaranteed you’ll catch them out.

— How do you entice a snail to pose?

— That’s a secret. I share those nuances during workshops. These are discoveries I’ve made through work, dreams, and curiosity.

— Have you learned anything about animals that you didn’t know before?

— Everything was new to me. I’ve photographed bugs whose names I didn’t even know at first.

I’m not a biologist! I didn’t know all the birds either. But when you photograph something for the first time, you get curious about what it is.

Whether it’s a ladybug or a praying mantis, it’s good to read up on them. It helps with photography. The same goes for mammals — deer, foxes.

— Do you have favorite locations?

— Over 15 years, I’ve explored various places. I know where to go for dragonflies, snails, grebes, or where a heron is waiting for me. It makes photographing easier.

Last fall, I went to Dzembronya. I wanted to photograph a bird that lives only by mountain rivers (the white-throated dipper, Cinclus cinclus). I took plenty of shots, but not the ones I wanted. You walk along the mountain river searching… but it’s fruitless. That’s what happens when the area is unfamiliar.

— What makes a photo stand out?

— The first thing that draws attention to a photo is the story. When there’s some action happening. It’s not just a snail — it’s a snail reaching for a droplet of water, or with a spiderweb in the background, or with an insect or a frog. And if the shot also has beautiful light and a captivating color palette, then you get a masterpiece.

— Do you follow any principles when photographing wild animals?

— The main thing is not to harm or disturb the animals. Nature is so fragile, it needs to be protected.

I’m against any kind of hunting. These animals — they’re miracles created by nature.

By the way, hunting is banned during martial law. And there are more wild animals now! I’ve never seen so many as I do now. In Bystryk, I’ve seen roe deer, even though there’s no large forest there. But I think that once the war ends, they’ll all be killed.

— Have you encountered poachers?

— It happened in Brody. We saw a car in the forest. I took a picture of the license plate and gave it to the forester. They investigated it, but I don’t know the final result.

Life Full of Adventures

— What are the most interesting moments you’ve witnessed?

— So many! This year, I captured a fox trying to hunt a hare. That area was also frequented by marsh harriers, particularly young birds. The harriers hunt and then land in the fields to eat. But foxes can smell food from half a kilometer away, so this one liked to drive the harriers off and take their meal.

A marsh harrier, a fox, and a hare — all in one photo. It’s incredibly rare for everything to align like that: the weather, the presence of these birds and animals in the same spot, and me being there! In 15 years, it’s the first time I’ve gotten such lucky shots.

There are plenty of failures too. My dream is to photograph a capercaillie and a crane. I’ve already made two trips near the Belarusian border to capture the capercaillie but haven’t succeeded yet. In spring, during their mating season, I traveled over 200 kilometers, spent two days there, and came back empty-handed.

— Don’t you feel like saying, “Forget it!” and giving up?

— Haha, that’s what makes it fun. It’s wonderful to have a dream.

I have so many photos of the white heron Marfa — a million of them! Yet every time she comes, I dream of capturing a shot I haven’t taken before. The fog, the splash of her wings…

— Which animal was the hardest to photograph?

— Deer in June in Bilokorovychi (Korosten District, Zhytomyr region). That shoot was tough. The area is swampy, and there were so many horseflies and mosquitoes, and they were huge! I thought they’d eat me alive. I brought repellent, but you can’t use too much because deer can smell it from afar. And if the wind blows their way… So you just lie there in the swamp, not moving.

Last spring, I had a similar experience photographing buzzards. There were lots of mosquitoes, and it was very hot. Inside the tent, I was sweating buckets!!!

Then the bird comes closer — five or ten meters away. Mosquitoes are sitting on your fingers, on your nose. But you can’t move. You just endure for the sake of a successful shot! Afterwards, you’re so bitten up it’s hard to look at yourself in the mirror.

— Do your colleagues and patients at the hospital know you’re a photographer?

— Most people at the hospital know. Although, earlier, I was better known abroad than in Ukraine.

In 2014, my photo of a snail won the International Photography Awards in the “Wildlife” and “Discovery of the Year” categories. That same year, a book featuring my snail photos was published in Japan. Japanese author Hisui Kotaro wrote Haiku is a genre of Japanese poetry.haiku to accompany each of my images.

“This warm photo book reminds those of us who rush and bustle daily of the importance of pausing for a moment and feeling gratitude for every day,” reads the book’s description.

In 2015, I attended the International Nature Festival in Namur, Belgium. Filmmakers, amateur naturalists, foresters, and photographers from various countries gather there. That year, King Philippe of Belgium also attended the festival!

— Don’t people ask, “How can you be both a dental technician and an artist?”

— They say, “How do you find the time? Here you are photographing animals and insects, and here you’re off to work.” Almost every day, I leave at 5 a.m. to catch the sunrise. By 7 a.m., I’m back home, because at 7:45 I head to the hospital.

I really dig it! When the sun rises, everything awakens, birds sing… Once, a herd was passing by… Mornings are great. I’ve been living this way for many years.

— Do you still paint?

— Painting is in another life now. But I’ll return to it because I’ve taken so many beautiful landscape photos of the Zhytomyr region, Dzembronya. It’s the highest-altitude village! There’s an enchanting forest there. I visited it in the fog — it was magical! I’m setting aside photos that I want to turn into paintings. There are so many amazing places, and I want to immortalize them on canvas.

One of the most pervasive myths about the Middle Ages is the claim that cats were treated horribly during that era. Of course, the image of black cats suffering in the flames alongside their witch owners provides a compelling representation of the so-called “Dark Ages.” However, like many other myths, the idea that medieval people universally hated cats does not hold up under the scrutiny of historical sources. These sources, in fact, reveal evidence of tenderness, care, and genuine curiosity with which Europeans treated cats of all breeds and colors. Through these sources, I aim to demonstrate that the notion of widespread demonization of cats in the Middle Ages doesn’t hold any more water than the contemporary belief in a flat Earth.

But first, let’s take a closer look into the demonization itself: it was during the medieval period that black cats began to be associated with evil forces. The most well-known example of such superstition is Pope Gregory IX’s Papal Bull Vox in Rama, issued in June 1233, which was aimed against the heresy of Luciferianism. The bull described an initiation ritual that involved kissing a giant black cat under its tail—a variation on the theme of worshipping Lucifer, with whom the cat was identified.

Due to this association of black cats with demonic influence, historian Donald W. Engels concluded that the spread of the plague in Europe was caused by the mass killing of cats. Supposedly, many cats were put to death, leaving no one to catch the rats that were considered the main carriers of the plague.

Indeed, from the late 15th century, after the publication of Malleus Maleficarum (The Hammer of Witches), large-scale witch hunts began, with cats (particularly black ones) being considered their essential companions. This belief was likely fueled by cats’ nocturnal lifestyle. Nighttime activity, as with owls and frogs, was seen by medieval theologians as evidence of connections to evil forces, which were believed to manifest primarily at night.

However, there was no widespread mass killing of cats in the Middle Ages. The closest historical event to the myth of a “great cat massacre” actually occurred in the early modern period, not the medieval one, as described by historian Robert Darnton. In Paris, on the Rue Saint-Séverin in the late 1730s, printing apprentices, furious at the appalling conditions of their lives, captured, beat, and eventually hanged their masters’ cats. The cats suffered because their owners had provided them with a much better standard of living than the poor apprentices had. This “great massacre” was confined to a single street and, as far as I know, was the largest such event recorded by historians.

The “cruel” Middle Ages are often contrasted with cat-loving ancient Egypt, where the goddess Bastet, with her feline head, and cat mummies, now showcased in the great halls of museums, are commonly cited.

But recently, I came across a record from 899, widely shared online, from the diary of the 17-year-old Japanese Emperor Uda, who wrote about his black cat. “My cat,” Uda wrote, “moves silently, without making a sound, like a black dragon above the clouds.” On one occasion, the emperor addressed his beloved pet with these words, “You possess the forces of yin and yang and have a body that is the way it should be. I suspect that in your heart, you may even know all about me!” To this, Uda noted, “The cat heaved a sigh, raised his head, and stared fixedly at my face, seeming so choked with emotion, his heart so full of feeling, that he could not say a thing in reply.”

These words are filled with love and gentle irony. They show that in the Middle Ages, the emotional bond between cats and their owners was not so different from today, even though this example comes from an Asian source. Moreover, evidence of affection for cats can also be found in European texts from that period.

Let’s start with encyclopedias, whose authors attempted to organize and explain the world around them. In his multi-volume Etymologies, Isidore of Seville sought to explain the nature of things through their names. He links different names for cats to certain traits, “Common people call it the cat (cattus) from ‘catching’ (captura). Others say it so named because cattat, that is, ‘it sees’ — for it can see so keenly (acute) that with the gleam of its eyes it overcomes the darkness of the night. Hence ‘cat’ comes from Greek, that is. ‘clever’“

Thomas of Cantimpré, in his encyclopedia De Natura Rerum, describes cats as follows: “It is very easy for people to provoke them to play; they delight in flattery. They love warm places, where they sometimes burn their fur out of sheer laziness. They have long fur on the sides, and its removal leads to a loss of courage. They are happy when touched by a human hand, and they express their joy by singing… The cat is spoiled by such an amount of love for it.”

Bestiaries—medieval collections of stories and legends about animals, birds, plants, and even stones—visualize the descriptions from encyclopedias. They depict cats with mice in their paws, grooming themselves and even wearing crowns. All these depictions are not much different from modern Instagram photos.

As we can see, much of what was written about cats was based on observations of their natural behavior. Unlike lions, cheetahs, dragons, or unicorns, cats were an integral part of everyday medieval life. The same monks who wrote encyclopedias and adorned manuscripts also kept cats, even allowing them near their most precious possessions—books. There is ample evidence of this, the most striking being the paw prints left in manuscripts.

In an English copy of the aforementioned Etymologies by Isidore of Seville, one can see the prints of dirty cat paws. Judging by their placement, the cat walked onto the page (the first print is very clear) and then made itself comfortable there—this is evident from the subsequent smudged prints on the page. Interestingly, the material of the manuscript allowed for these marks to be erased, but the monk chose not to—perhaps leaving them as a fond memory of his beloved pet.

In contrast, a 15th-century treatise from the Dubrovnik State Archive bears traces of how a cat first stepped into ink and then walked confidently across the pages of the manuscript. This confirmation of cats’ love for interrupting our work was discovered by historian Emir O. Filipović. He didn’t expect his finding to cause such a stir, but mentions of the cat’s paw prints in the treatise quickly spread across the internet—from Twitter to personal blogs. The story was even picked up by well-known online publications, including The Guardian, The Atlantic, and Smithsonian Magazine. For some, this discovery was a revelation: the cats lying on keyboards in today’s photos have direct predecessors in the Middle Ages!

Cats were not only physically present in manuscripts but also appeared in miniatures (illustrations) and marginalia (drawings on the edges of pages). The most popular motif of cat “iconography” in marginalia was a scene where a monkey feeds a cat. Artists often depicted these scenes as a parody of nativity images: a kitten swaddled in a manger while one or a pair of monkeys hover above it.

Cats also made their way into the workspaces of saints. In a 16th-century Book of Hours from Bruges, while Saint Matthew is writing the Gospel, a cat sits behind him with a silent reproach in its eyes, evidently waiting patiently for the work to end so that its owner might finally feed it.

The love for cats among monks and nuns was sometimes so intense that it provoked criticism. The Dominican friar John Bromyard, in his 14th-century sermon, addressed the monastic elite, reproaching them for their excessive fondness for cats. He wrote, “Cats, as the learned doctor says, can indeed rid our homes of parasites, but as life has shown, they cannot be trusted. I once heard of a fool who found that mice were eating his cheese in a wooden chest; so he placed a cat in the chest to protect the cheese. But what did the cat do? It ate not only the mice but also the cheese.”

So, was love stronger than prejudice? Despite the superstitions and myths about cats that formed on the pages of medieval encyclopedias, treatises, papal encyclicals, and eventually in popular oral culture, there is more evidence of love for cats. One only needs to look at the miniatures in medieval Books of Hours, where cats and their owners are depicted in affectionate embraces. This love for “dragons above the clouds” in the Middle Ages united East and West, clergy and peasants alike, just as it unites us today. The notion of unrelenting cruelty towards cats in the Middle Ages is more of a myth than a historical reality.

Have you ever found yourself still awake at 4 a.m. after binge-watching a series? We know what it’s like to keep hitting “Continue” until you find out the ending. But besides the dark circles under your eyes, TV shows can also serve a positive purpose. For instance, they can teach us something about animal protection. We’ve compiled a selection of examples for you to reflect on and learn more.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.