Dogs' Happiness

"Dogs' Happiness" is a poignant novella by Aleksandr Kuprin that explores the simple yet profound joys of canine life. Through the eyes of a stray dog, the narrative delves into themes of loyalty, freedom, and the unfiltered happiness found in companionship and nature. Kuprin's vivid storytelling captures the essence of the bond between humans and dogs, while reflecting on broader existential themes. The tale is a celebration of the genuine joys of life, viewed through the lens of a creature who embodies unconditional love and innocence.

• Novel

								
It was between six and seven o'clock on a fine September morning when
the eighteen-months-old pointer, Jack, a brown, long-eared, frisky
animal, started out with the cook, Annushka, to market. He knew the way
perfectly well, and so ran confidently on in front of her, sniffing
at the curbstones as he went and stopping at the crossings to see if
Annushka were following. Finding affirmation in her face, and the
direction in which she was going, he would turn again with a decisive
movement and rush on in a lively gallop.

On one occasion, however, when he turned round near a familiar
sausage-shop, Jack could not see Annushka. He dashed back so hastily
that his left ear was turned inside out as he went. But Annushka was
not to be seen at the cross-roads. So Jack resolved to find his way by
scent. He stopped, cautiously raised his wet sensitive nose, and tried
in all directions to recognise the familiar scent of Annushka's dress,
the smell of the dirty kitchen-table and mottled soap. But just at that
moment a lady came hurriedly past him, and brushing up against his side
with her rustling skirt she left behind a strong wave of disgusting
Oriental perfume. Jack moved his head from side to side in vexation.
The trail of Annushka was entirely lost.

But he was not upset by this. He knew the town well and could
always find his way home easily--all he had to do was to go to the
sausage-shop, then to the greengrocer's, then turn to the left and
go past a grey house from the basement of which there was always
wafted a smell of burning fat, and he would be in his own street.
Jack did not hurry. The morning was fresh and clear, and in the pure,
softly transparent and rather moist air, all the various odours of
the town had an unusual refinement and distinctness. Running past the
post-office, with his tail stuck out as stiff as a rod and his nostrils
all trembling with excitement, Jack could have sworn that only a moment
before a large, mouse-coloured, oldish dog had stopped there, a dog who
was usually fed on oatmeal porridge.

And after running along about two hundred paces, he actually saw this
dog, a cowardly, sober-looking brute. His ears had been cropped, and a
broad, worn, strap was dangling from his neck.

The dog noticed Jack, and stopped, half turning back on his steps.
Jack curled his tail in the air provokingly and began to walk slowly
round the other, with an air of looking somewhere to one side. The
mouse-coloured dog also raised his tail and showed a broad row of
white teeth. Then they both growled, turning their heads away from one
another as they did so, and trying, as it were, to swallow something
which stuck in their throats.

"If he says anything insulting to my honour, or the honour of any
well-bred pointer, I shall fasten my teeth in his side, near his left
hind-leg," thought Jack to himself. "Of course, he is stronger than
I am, but he is stupid and clumsy. Look how he stands there, like a
dummy, and has no idea that all his left flank is open to attack."

And suddenly ... something inexplicable and almost supernatural
happened. The other dog unexpectedly threw himself on his back and was
dragged by some unseen force from the pathway into the road. Directly
afterwards this same unseen power grasped Jack by the throat ... he
stood firm on his fore-legs and shook his head furiously. But the
invisible "something" was pulled so tight round his neck that the brown
pointer became unconscious.[1]

[1] Some municipalities in Russia provide a man and a cart to take off
stray dogs. Jack had been suddenly netted by the dog-man.

He came to his senses again in a stuffy iron cage, which was
jolting and shaking as it was drawn along the cobbled roadway, on a
badly-jointed vehicle trembling in all its parts. From its acrid doggy
odour Jack guessed at once that this cart must have been used for years
to convey dogs of all breeds and all ages. On the box in front sat two
men, whose out-ward appearance was not at all calculated to inspire
confidence.

There was already a sufficiently large company in the cart. First of
all, Jack noticed the mouse-coloured dog whom he had just met and
quarrelled with in the street. He was standing with his head stuck
out between two of the iron bars, and he whined pitifully as his body
was jolted backwards and forwards by the movement of the cart. In the
middle of the cage lay an old white poodle, his wise-looking head
lying between his gouty paws. His coat was cut to make him look like
a lion, with tufts left on his knees and at the end of his tail.
The poodle had apparently resigned himself to his situation with a
stoic philosophy, and if he had not sighed occasionally and wrinkled
his brows, it might have been thought that he slept. By his side,
trembling from agitation and the cold of the early morning, sat a fine
well-kept greyhound, with long thin legs and sharp-pointed head. She
yawned nervously from time to time, rolling up her rosy little tongue
into a tube, accompanying the yawn with a long-drawn-out, high-pitched
whine.... Near the back of the cage, pressed close up to the bars, was
a black dachshund, with smooth skin dappled with yellow on the breast
and above the eyes. She could not get over her astonishment at her
position, and she looked a strangely comical figure with her flopping
paws and crocodile body, and the serious expression of her head with
its ears reaching almost to the ground.

Besides this more or less distinguished society, there were in the cage
two unmistakable yard dogs. One of them was that sort of dog which
is generally called Bouton, and is always noted for its meanness of
disposition. She was a shaggy, reddish-coloured animal with a shaggy
tail, curled up like the figure 9. She had been the first of the dogs
to be captured, and she had apparently become so accustomed to her
position that she had for some time past made many efforts to begin an
interesting conversation with someone. The last dog of all was out of
sight, he had been driven into the darkest corner, and lay there curled
up in a heap. He had only moved once all the time, and that had been
to growl at Jack when he had found himself near him. Everyone in the
company felt a strong antipathy against him. In the first place, he was
smeared all over with a violet colour, the work of certain journeyman
whitewashers; secondly, his hair was rough and bristly and uncombed;
thirdly, he was evidently mangy, hungry, strong and daring--this had
been quite evident in the resolute push of his lean body with which he
had greeted the arrival of the unconscious Jack.

There was silence for a quarter of an hour. At last Jack, whose healthy
sense of humour never forsook him under any circumstances, remarked in
a jaunty tone:

"The adventure begins to be interesting. I am curious to know where
these gentlemen will make their first stopping place."

The old poodle did not like the frivolous tone of the brown pointer. He
turned his head slowly in Jack's direction, and said sharply, with a

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