2. The Dog

Inside the ger, I dared to peek,

A long life for him and me.5

While dogs have the duty to attack anyone who approaches their camp, accompany their owners to the pasture, participate in hunting trips, and protect the household during the day, their most critical duty begins at night. A good dog is expected to bark relentlessly through the night, deterring intruders such as wild predators, strangers, thieves, and ghosts—all entities that nomads are typically afraid of—from approaching the nomadic camp.

Due to their interactions with unclean substances, their habit of grooming their genitalia, licking other dogs’ butts, and uncontrolled sexuality, dogs are considered in a perpetual state of pollution. People avoid kissing, hugging, or patting dogs, and objects are considered polluted if a dog walks over them or urinates on them. In many areas, dogs are not even allowed near valuable dung piles (used for fuel) for fear of causing spiritual chaos, as their urination on the piles might anger the fire spirit—a crucial entity in Mongol households that each family strives to keep happy and untainted. That said, in some areas, dogs are allowed to lie on dung piles, as the piles generate heat, enabling the dogs to stay warm outside in cold weather. In certain regions of Western Mongolia, nomads living on the slopes of sacred mountains abstain from keeping dogs altogether, a practice uncommon in nomadic culture. This decision stems from their fear that these ‘impure’ animals may provoke the wrath of the spiritual guardians of these sacred mountains. In ‘ordinary’ places, nomads typically prefer to keep male dogs.

As a consequence, female puppies are often separated from their mothers at a very young age, even before they open their eyes, and are left outside in the cold to perish. As it is deemed inauspicious for the head of the family to take on the responsibility of killing the puppies, this thankless task falls to his wife, who is considered a less symbolically important figure in the household (though this does not diminish her critical managerial role, as Mongol wives have historically been vital to the management and functioning of the encampment). With a heavy heart, the wife places the helplessly whining puppies on the freezing ground, uttering a formulaic sentence to explain that there isn’t enough space for them in the household and that the family cannot afford to feed extra mouths. This responsibility is assigned to women partly because, like a puppy, a wife is symbolically seen as a guest in her husband’s ger within this patriarchal society. Yet, unlike the ill-fated pups, she has found shelter within his household. To draw a parallel in Western terms, it is akin to the lord of a manor asking a guest—one with whom he shares an intimate relationship and entrusts with the running of the household—to remove other unwelcome and less valued guests. However, if the pups are a bit older and have opened their eyes to the world, the situation changes. Nomads, instead of resorting to sending them to the afterlife, make efforts to accommodate them and find suitable owners. Nonetheless, those who manage to survive the initial ordeal of being left outside to brave the freezing cold or those deemed unwanted often become scavengers and strays.

Furthermore, despite their feeding bowl being charmingly called a ‘circle of blessing’, dogs are rarely blessed with good food, as leftovers constitute their usual diet. Often, camp dogs get so hungry that they follow their owners or guests to the open-air loo to await departing gifts of far less salubrious origin—just for a sniff, and perhaps a quick nibble. Times are good when they get the special treat called ‘dog’s share’ consisting of soup, meat leftovers, intestines, and other goodies, during special holidays like the Lunar New Year. That said, dogs, being dogs, should never indulge—even during national holidays—in the exclusive delights meant for humans, such as livestock testicles, fat from the sheep’s tail, shoulder blades, and head meat. Transgressing these taboos carries supernatural repercussions.

During my early teens, I spent a summer with my paternal uncle, a camel herder. One day, he castrated a goat and gave one testicle to his son-in-law, who chewed away with gusto. My uncle offered the other testicle to me, cautioning against giving it to the camp dog. Just before taking a bite, I had a change of heart, realizing that testicles weren’t my kind of delicacy. I put it back. The following day, the castrated goat was found dead, presumably killed by an enraged deity who disapproved of dogs chewing on testicles. My uncle and his family held me as the prime suspect in the untimely demise of their prized goat. Since this was the only plausible cosmological explanation my uncle’s family could come up with, they concluded that I must have given the testicle to the dog after all. That was the first and last time I held any testicle close to my mouth. The innocent dog was also reprimanded for what it could not have possibly done. Due to this poor treatment, dogs are also described as ‘the most miserable creatures of all’.

The low status of dogs in Mongol culture is further illustrated in Mongolian idioms and expressions, where the word nohoi (‘dog’) often carries negative connotations. Phrases like nohoin zamaar oroh (‘to enter a dog’s road’, meaning something goes wrong), nohoin hereg (‘dog’s business’, referring to complicated or messy affairs), nohoin horoo (‘dog’s den’, describing a messy place), nohoi shinjihgüi yüm (‘a thing even a dog wouldn’t sniff’, denoting something useless or dirty), and muu nohoi (‘bad dog’, used as a curse) show how dogs are often associated with disorder.

Since dogs are thus viewed as sources of impurity, mess, and inauspiciousness, they are strictly prohibited from entering the ger, with violations resulting in punishment, as evident in the above üge poem. Given the taboo, no matter what gifts the dog lays at its human master’s feet, it won’t be admitted into his ger. Even if the dog were to present its master with a morning offering of a dozen hunted sables, safeguard the household from a midday band of burglars, round up the entire flock without losing a single lamb in the afternoon, locate the master’s missing child in the evening, and fend off wolves throughout the night—come sunshine, that diligent dog still won’t receive an invite into the ger. Such is the power of the taboo against dogs entering the sacred human abode, which is also indicative of the deeply traditional nature of Mongol society. Not only that, one of the most serious transgressions a lowly dog can commit is leaping onto the roof of the ger (i.e., above the heads of humans), an act that would drive even the most serene Mongols crazy and cause them to go berserk on the transgressor.

As we can see, dogs occupy a controversial place in the Mongol imagination, embodying both positive and negative qualities. To gain a deeper understanding of this duality, let’s now explore the role of the dog in cosmology.

Cosmology

In Mongol cosmology, which has a strong Buddhist influence, dogs are perceived as beings closely linked to humans in the cycle of reincarnation, serving as intermediaries between the animal and human realms. According to this belief, any living being desiring rebirth as a human must first experience life as a lowly dog. Only after this canine existence can a soul be reborn as a human in its subsequent reincarnation.

This concept of reincarnation transcends mere discourse or casual conversation: it profoundly influences the way Mongols see the world in general and interact with canines in particular. This influence is vividly manifested in a distinct funerary ritual. When a dog dies, in anticipation of its potential rebirth as a human, Mongols follow a practice wherein they place a chunk of fat or ghee butter symbolizing pure sustenance into the dead dog’s mouth, despite the otherwise unclean habits of licking genitalia and nibbling feces and other impure substances. Additionally, they sever the dog’s tail and place it beneath its head as a cozy makeshift pillow. This ritual symbolizes the dog’s transcendence from its canine state, and sends it off on a first-class cosmological flight, complete with fine food and a plush pillow, to Arcadia—a superior world where, upon arrival, the traveler reincarnates into a hairless, bipedal ape, only one step lower than the gods themselves. Just as dogs are promoted to humans in their next reincarnation, some naughty or sinful humans may get demoted into dogs or even lower beings, creating interesting karmic cases. For instance, departed individuals are widely believed to choose reincarnation within their own families, assuming the form of family dogs. Similarly, deceased dogs can also return to their former owners as their children.

One bolson yavdal story that exemplifies this idea occurred in the countryside of post-socialist Mongolia. In this story, a man called Chimed had a dog that began killing sheep and goats in the vicinity, creating a dire situation for the local nomads and their herds. Fearing for their livestock’s safety, they strongly urged Chimed to take action, which he reluctantly did by ending the dog’s life. However, this decision had unforeseen consequences that turned the man’s life upside down. In the wake of the dog’s demise, a series of unfortunate events unfolded: divorces, accidents, and illnesses afflicted all members of his family, leading to the tragic loss of three lives within a year. Brought to his knees by despair, the man descended into a three-year bout of alcoholism, aggression, and self-destructive behavior. Eventually, Chimed overcame his ‘inner chimp’ and cleaned up his life. He also reunited with his (ex) wife, who soon gave birth to a baby boy. But instead of crying like a typical infant, the baby barked and howled. To make matters even more eerie, when Chimed held his baby, he witnessed a startling transformation: the baby’s face morphed into that of the deceased dog. Terrified and at a loss, the man sought guidance from an astrologist, hoping for an explanation and a solution to his family’s bizarre ordeal. The astrologist offered insight: ‘All these misfortunes have befallen you because of the dog you killed. You must go and have some mantras recited’. After the ritual, which cost a small fortune, the man’s life returned to normalcy.6

Endowed with spiritual powers, the dog can not only punish wrongdoers but can also establish an intimate spiritual connection with living humans during its lifetime. Among Mongols, it is a widely held belief that the soul of a living dog has the capacity to ‘seek refuge’ within a human body, usually that of a child whose body is already inhabited by its own soul. Such converged souls cannot be separated without endangering the lives of both the child and the dog, as is illustrated in yet another bone-chilling bolson yavdal story.

The story unfolds in the bustling Mongolian capital, Ulaanbaatar, where a successful businessman named Dorj embarked on a heartwarming mission. It’s his daughter’s impending fourth birthday, and he decided to gift her a puppy. With great excitement, he called his daughter on the phone to share the news, but to his amazement, she responded with an astonishing revelation: she had already seen the puppy in her dreams. When the long-awaited puppy finally arrived, a bond swiftly blossomed between the pup and the girl. They became inseparable friends and soulmates. One day the girl’s mother took her to a village outside Ulaanbaatar, leaving the puppy in the apartment flat, despite her daughter’s pleading. Separated by distance but connected by their extraordinary cosmic bond, both the girl and her puppy fell suddenly ill on the same day. By the following morning, the puppy had succumbed to its ailment. Although the young girl eventually regained her health, she began behaving strangely, playing with an invisible dog. While many children believe in the existence of an imaginary friend invisible to the rest of the world, the family became alarmed and concerned, leading the father to seek counsel from a wise monk, accompanied by a fat fee. What he learned was both breathtaking and mystical—the souls of his daughter and the departed puppy had intertwined. This extraordinary union had bestowed upon the girl a remarkable gift: the ability to beckon back that which had departed the world of the living.7

These two bolson yavdal stories, like many others that may be based on ‘facts’, could be explained away in terms of visual and auditory illusions, where people see visions, faces, and hear voices that are not present. The human brain is not a perfect organ and is prone to mental health conditions, neurological problems, or transcendent experiences caused by a range of factors, from stress and drug use to psychiatric disorders to intensive meditation. Our ability to imagine and visualize things is called dreaming when we sleep; it is called imagination when we are awake. In cases involving mental and neurological conditions, it can be hallucination when people see and experience things that are not there as if they were present. However, let’s not get carried away by modern scientific thinking for now and instead return to the explanations provided by cosmological thinking, which has been one of the prevailing modes of thought throughout Mongolia’s history—and, indeed, that of humanity—and is the focus of this section.

In Mongol cosmology, dogs and children are sometimes seen as connected, as shown in these bolson yavdal stories. This connection can be partly explained by the Buddhist idea that dogs are future humans, while children are not yet fully human. Because of this, children are thought to share traits with both dogs and adults. As a result, there are many Mongol traditions that treat dogs and children as if they belong to the same category. For example, after the birth of a rainbow baby (a child born after a miscarriage), the infant is placed inside a dog’s feeding bowl, where the umbilical cord is tied, and the baby is wrapped in a cloth or animal skin. Today, however, families have modernized this ritual by placing the baby in a cradle shaped like a dog’s feeding bowl.

On the first day of the Lunar New Year, it is considered taboo to scold children or punish dogs. When a child loses a tooth, it is wrapped in fat and given to a dog with the phrase ‘take my bad tooth and give me one of your good ones’, akin to the tooth fairy tradition in Western societies. Prior to dressing a child in a new robe, some families smear ghee butter on the robe’s inner side and have it licked by a dog. Following a person’s passing, it is customary for the bereaved to feed both dogs and neighborhood children. Puppies and human children are traditionally regarded as two of the ‘three most beautiful creatures on earth’, with the third being the baby camel (as discussed in Chapter 5).

To gain insights into a household, it is said that one only needs to ‘observe the children and dogs’ because these two not only mimic the grown-ups but also shape the destiny of the household: well-behaved children will care for their parents, while good dogs will protect their masters and livestock. Such examples comparing children with dogs, which abound across Mongolia, may strike observers from foreign countries as bizarre, but when explained in the context of indigenous cosmology, they become understandable.

Anthropology is a social science that gets its teeth into the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of human cultures across the globe, aiming to understand the diversity of human beliefs and practices. To achieve this, the discipline employs a variety of sharp theories and concepts, complemented by participant observation, in which anthropologists immerse themselves in the daily lives of the subject populations to gain an insider’s perspective. To comprehend the dog’s cosmological role in Mongolia, it is illuminating to utilize classical theory and take a closer look at the concept of ‘a transitional being’, as coined by anthropologist Victor Turner. Using this term in relation to rites of passage, Turner points out that rites of passage indicate and constitute transitions between ‘states’, which are understood as ‘a relatively fixed or stable condition’ prior to and following the transitional period. Transition, which is what rites of passage are all about, is, according to Turner, a process, a becoming, and a transformation. As the transitional period involves identity decomposition, neutrality, ambiguity,8 and pollution, those undergoing this process (i.e. ‘transitional beings’) have characteristics of both states. In its broadest sense, a rite of passage refers to a ceremonial event marking the transition from one social or religious status to another. Found in all societies, examples include birth rituals, marriage ceremonies, coronations, initiation rites, funerals, and many others.

The Mongol dog fits Turner’s concept of ‘a transitional being’ in that it doesn’t quite fit into the category of a full-fledged beast nor a real human but rather embodies qualities of both. While Turner initially coined this term in the context of human societies, one can apply it to analyze the cosmological transformation from beast through dog to its eventual status as human without necessitating ritual implications. In the case of the dog, the two states, separated by the transitional period (i.e., the dog’s status as a liminal, polluted animal), can be identified as the state of being a ‘true’ beast and that of being a human. During their transitional existence, dogs may oscillate towards either end of the spectrum/state, as observed in instances like (1) stray dogs mating with wolves and attacking people and livestock, and (2) domestic dogs connecting their soul with that of a child. When a dog reaches the end of its life (completing the transitional period/rite of passage and ceasing to be a dog in the cosmological sense), Mongols, as previously mentioned, place goodies in its mouth and chop off its tail to prepare its soul for its subsequent reincarnation into human form.

As transitional beings, dogs are believed to freely traverse the boundaries between the material and spiritual realms, endowed with the supernatural ability to perceive things that often slip past human senses. This is particularly evident in the case of the so-called ‘dogs with four eyes’ (dörvön nüdtei nohoi), distinguished by two small spots above each eye, resembling mystical eyeglasses for the ethereal. These dogs are renowned for their exceptional ability to detect the unseen, whether it be ghosts, impending natural disasters, or other mysterious phenomena. Tales of dogs alerting their owners by barking at ghosts, rescuing individuals before earthquakes and floods, or guiding their human masters away from danger are abundant in bolson yavdal stories.

Turning to a broader perspective, the cosmology that shapes the lives of Mongols today, including their treatment of dogs, is not only flexible but also responsive to the forces of cultural evolution. Since all rules are products of human imagination, they naturally allow for exceptions, reflecting the inherent adaptability and dynamism of human cultures. This flexibility also implies that what is considered a norm or a cosmological given today may not have been so in the past. To further explore these ideas, let’s now revisit the specific example of the ban on dogs entering human dwellings.

1. When a young puppy is introduced to a household, it is offered a lick of milk inside the ger. This ritual symbolizes the acceptance of the puppy as a new, albeit inferior, member of the household. To use a historical analogy from the West, it isn’t dissimilar to a young servant boy being admitted to the private chambers of the lord of the manor to be welcomed into service and instructed on his duties.

2. In situations where the children of the household bring the camp puppy into the ger to engage in play, or when a puppy is in need for a warm place to recuperate by the fireside, many nomadic households allow the puppy to enter.

3. Historically, in caravan camps, female dogs with young puppies were allowed to take shelter in the same tent as caravan drivers.9 This exception was based on ethical and practical grounds influenced by environmental factors. Caravans depended on dogs for protection and security, and they were constantly on the move. Constructing an external shelter for puppies and their mother at each camp, under varying environmental conditions (especially harsh winters and rainy weather) and in different geographical locations, was impractical. Allowing dogs and their pups into the tent was a practical adaptation to environmental conditions. Additionally, from a cosmological perspective, the caravan tent served as temporary shelter, making it less susceptible to permanent ‘spiritual pollution’.

4. Leniency is extended to puppies and their mothers when they are in each other’s company in specific situations. In contrast, adult male dogs are generally not granted any exceptions and are expected to bravely face any climatic conditions. While Mongol dogs were subject to stringent regulations regarding their entry into human habitats, one particular foreign breed enjoyed certain privileges: the Pekingese, known in Mongolian as Beijin hav. This exception arose when Mongolia became part of the Manchu Qing Empire in 1691, leading to cultural adaptations influenced by new political norms and practices. The Pekingese, a toy breed resembling puppies, held historical significance in the Chinese imperial court and was later embraced by the Manchu Emperor. It made its way to the Mongolian steppes through Mongol nobles traveling to Beijing, with further introduction facilitated by Chinese merchants during the Manchu Qing era. As elements of ‘high Mongol culture’ were influenced by foreign practices, foods, and animals, the trend of keeping Pekingese dogs gradually spread to ordinary Mongol households, particularly in settlements like Urga (modern-day Ulaanbaatar). Although local breeds were regarded as working dogs and typically kept outdoors, the enthusiasm for Pekingese dogs, considered entertainment dogs, persisted among Mongols for centuries.

5. In every society, there have always been families that deviate from social norms and codes of conduct. Though uncommon, certain households in Mongolia permit their adult dogs to enter the ger—a practice frowned upon by others.

Now, let’s take a moment to explore the origins of this ban, which are grounded in several arguments rooted in Buddhist concepts of purity and pollution. These beliefs include: (1) dogs frequently groom their genitalia and display uncontrolled sexuality, (2) dogs carry fleas and are considered physically unclean, and (3) dogs may introduce spiritual pollution from the realm of spirits. Each of these points will now be addressed, incorporating a historical perspective:

(1) In the early thirteenth century, the Mongols emerged on the world stage as practitioners of shamanism. In their shamanic tradition, dogs held a special place of reverence, being viewed both as heavenly creatures connecting the human world and the spirit realm and as loyal companions to humans. As creatures that belonged to a different category of beings, dogs—as far as one can judge based on historical documents—were not held to the same moral benchmarks applied to humans during this period.

Shamanism, as practiced among the Mongols, also had a distinctive perspective on human sexuality, differing significantly from the later-adopted Buddhism. While the latter views sex or sexual craving as one of the Three Poisons (the other two being ‘hatred’ and ‘ignorance’) that brings about mental and moral impurity and attaches humans to suffering, the former maintains an indifference to human sexuality. In the eyes of shamanic gods, all forms of carnal pleasure, be it pre-marital intercourse or same-sex relationships or multiple partners, were permissible and devoid of moral condemnation. Therefore, what might be considered under Buddhism as ‘lax sexuality’ was not a moral concern under shamanism.10 People, as well as animals such as dogs, were not censured for indulging in carnal pleasure unless the indulgence posed a threat to the established patriarchal order rooted in inheritance (in the case of shamanic dogs, this was impossible to undermine for the simple reason that Mongols never included dogs in their wills). I’ll return to sexuality, but for now, let’s take a look at the notion of sanitation.

(2) Historical accounts from the Middle Ages, primarily written by Christian envoys and various Mongol vassals, depicted the shamanic Mongols as having different hygiene practices compared to other cultures of their time11 and even more so compared to our contemporary standards. The nomadic lifestyle of the Mongols, characterized by living in mobile gers and limited access to bathing facilities due to constant movement and water scarcity in their arid regions, greatly influenced their bathing habits. Mongols were noted for abstaining from washing for extended periods and rarely changing their clothes. Yet, as was the case until the beginning of the twentieth century, Mongols didn’t mind this and were accustomed to the feel and scent of a long-unlaundered garments. Much like people today who aren’t repulsed by the fact that our pet dogs don’t shower every day, Mongols in medieval times never considered dogs unclean nor perceived themselves as filthy.

Far from being considered ‘polluting’ animals, shamanic dogs enjoyed close physical proximity with nomads. Although it cannot be definitively verified whether Mongols in the thirteenth century or earlier permitted their dogs to share gers, both archaeological findings from the pre-Mongol period and historical sources from the Yuan period (1279-1368) shed light on this matter.

The Xiongnu (Hun), a pioneering confederation of nomadic tribes in Central Asia encompassing the ancestors of Mongols, thrived from the third century BCE to the late first century CE. They wielded significant political and military influence, shaping not only the region’s history but also impacting the cultures of subsequent nomadic states. What is particularly relevant to our discussion is that burials from the Xiongnu period are notable for the inclusion of dogs alongside humans, a practice that persisted for centuries among later peoples until the rise of the Mongols in the thirteenth century under Genghis Khan.12

In contrast, only a few Mongol-era burials have been found to contain dog remains, and only one Yuan-period Mongol burial has been located which featured a clay figurine of a dog among other objects. This suggests that the practice of burying real dogs with humans became rare, with figurines possibly replacing live animals in these sites. If the shamanic Mongols and their ancestors had viewed dogs as impure or unworthy of sharing human habitat in life, it is unlikely they would have included dogs or their representations in human burials, intended to accompany their masters for eternity.

Another distinguishing feature of the Yuan dynasty, established by Genghis Khan’s grandson Kubilai, is that it was during this time that Mongols began residing en masse in palaces and permanent buildings, emulating their Chinese subjects. Numerous poems and paintings from that era depict Mongols, especially the aristocracy, sharing their palaces and houses with their dogs,13 once again indicating that Mongols didn’t view dogs as impure animals. Dogs came to be seen as impure following the Mongols’ conversion to Buddhism.

(3) The transition of Mongol society from shamanism to Buddhism en masse in the sixteenth century was a watershed moment and had a profound impact on how nomads came to view both themselves and their dogs. Under shamanism, humans and animals enjoyed a harmonious coexistence and spiritual interconnectedness, with no inherent superiority of humans over animals. Dogs were revered as heavenly animals, serving as bridges between the spirit realm and humans.

However, when Buddhism elevated humans to a semi-divine status—just below bodhisattvas and Buddhas—the animal kingdom was correspondingly downgraded. In this transformation, dogs found themselves caught in the revolving wheels of Buddhist cosmology, recognized as the animals closest to humans in the endless cycle of reincarnation. According to these new beliefs, a living being must first be reborn as a dog before being reincarnated as a human. To borrow a metaphor from the movie industry, it would be akin to transitioning from an A-list celebrity to an extra in a B-grade, Groundhog Day-style film. This left dogs in an ambiguous position: viewed as superior to other animals, yet still inferior to humans.

Imagine a Mongol market scene where a vendor, upon realizing that a customer is trying to haggle extensively, exclaims, ‘Stop being such a dog about the price!’ to which the customer quips, ‘You also stop bitching about it!’ Offended and angry, the vendor retaliates, ‘Go away and get yourself shagged by a dog!’ Little would the two realize that they’re inadvertently perpetuating beliefs associating dogs with undesirable qualities. ‘Getting oneself shagged by a dog!’ (nohoi chamaig gör döö) is the Mongolian equivalent of the English ‘Fuck off!’ and is a frequently heard phrase in Southern Mongolia, especially from the foul mouths of middle-aged and older people. Just like any profanity, this phrase could be delivered in various ways. My paternal uncle, who once accused me of killing his goat by giving its castrated testicle to a camp dog, was excellent at its delivery. Much like Al Pacino’s character Tony Montana from the movie Scarface (1983), who delivered his profanity-laden dialogue with diverse intonations and tones, my uncle, during his moments of frustration, anger, or boredom, would often utter ‘Get yourself shagged by a dog!’ to both himself and others with varying intonations and tones, emphasizing nuances in his mood. This phenomenon, where the canine is used as a derogatory term, however, is not unique to Mongolia but is widespread in many societies where dogs are perceived to have human-like qualities.

Unlike shamanism, Buddhism, as pointed out previously, is a fundamentally anti-sex religion due to its belief that carnal pleasure chains humans to the cycle of rebirth (samsara), leading to worldly misery and an unenlightened existence. Given a dog’s unrestrained sex life, which began to be viewed negatively, canines also came to be seen as impure or polluting. As beings straddling the realms of humans and the supernatural, dogs were also considered dangerous, potentially bringing spiritual pollution from the realm of hungry spirits.

To distill the three points—related to ‘uncontrolled sexuality’, ‘dirt’, and ‘spiritual pollution’—that contribute to the exclusion of dogs from gers, it becomes apparent that the accusations leveled against dogs today, often presumed to have ancient origins, can be traced back to Buddhism, a relatively recent religion among the Mongols. One can infer that dogs were expelled from human habitats not because they behaved wrongly or in polluting ways, but because humans began to see dogs—as well as themselves—in a new light through the lens of Buddhism, which, in the case of dogs, was not very flattering. If a Mongol from the Yuan period were to appear today, he would be greatly surprised witnessing dogs being disparaged as impure creatures and kicked out of human dwellings by his descendants.

Once it became an established dogma that dogs are ‘impure animals’ and a hazard to keep within human dwellings, it was only a small step to impose further restrictions on them. Mongol groups implemented such restrictions in different ways. As mentioned earlier, in Western Mongolia, for example in Mönh-Hairhan sum (village) in Hovd Province, a tradition exists that forbids dogs from living in proximity to Mönh-Hairhan Mount. This prohibition stems from a concern about displeasing the jealous sabdag (‘spiritual guardian’) of this sacred mount. Allegedly, this sabdag disapproves of impure animals running around and marking their territory. Consequently, nomadic households dwelling on the slopes of Mönh-Hairhan Mount abstain from keeping dogs altogether. In contrast, herders from Bulgan sum in Bayan-Ölgii Province, residing on the other side of the same mount, do keep dogs and do not buy into the belief in the sabdag’s aversion to dogs, despite worshipping and communicating with this deity as fervently as their counterparts from Mönh-Hairhan sum. This is one example of how cosmological elements change over time and how related groups differentiate among themselves by slightly modifying shared stories and practices.

Generally speaking, throughout history and across diverse societies, the concepts of purity and pollution have played pivotal roles in the subordination and exclusion of not only animals but entire human groups from places, positions, rituals, and activities deemed ‘pure’ or of ‘high social status’. Thus, in the context of a patriarchal Mongol society, women found themselves relegated to an inferior status in comparison to men, primarily fueled by the notion that women are impure beings. Menstruating women, in particular, have been prohibited from engaging in various activities due to the fear that they might not only pollute those around but also incur the wrath of the gods. Even when not menstruating, women have been prohibited from ascending sacred mountains, participating in certain high-value rituals, or behaving in ways that could potentially belittle their husbands or elders. This systematic subordination of women illustrates a broader pattern: convincing society that certain groups of people or animals are sources of pollution becomes a powerful technology to maintain the subordination and exclusion of these groups. Given our natural inclination to avoid polluting substances, often accompanied by feelings of revulsion towards them, this method has been effectively employed throughout history to organize social hierarchies in nearly all societies.

Part II

The History of Human-Dog Relations

Before delving into the heart of the matter, I’d like to recount a true recent story, not a cosmological bolson yavdal one. This story involves two dogs—a young one and a middle-aged one—that developed a habit of attacking sheep.

A nomadic household adopted a young puppy that initially barked at the family’s herd animals. However, this barking escalated into chasing, ultimately culminating in the young puppy taking the life of its first lamb victim. Despite the family’s attempts to dissuade the destructive behavior through kicks and punishment, the puppy persisted. Filled with both guilt and frustration, the father of the family made the difficult decision to put the puppy down. However due to a belief that deems it inauspicious to kill a dog—a belief that extends to the rifle used for such purposes, as it is thought to become faulty during hunting—the father chose not to use his own rifle. Instead, he enlisted the help of an unconventional neighbor who paid no heed to such omens and promptly shot the culprit dead.

Reciprocity, a fundamental social principle among social species like humans, sustains friendships and relationships through a mutual exchange of support, favors, and kindness. Reciprocating positive actions reinforces trust and cultivates a resilient bond through a sense of obligation. The cessation of reciprocity severs this special bond. The reciprocity between dogs and nomads in Mongolia mirrors the reciprocity humans have with one another. Dogs support the nomads by guarding their camp and livestock and showing loyalty. In return, nomads support dogs with food, shelter, and affection, reinforcing the relationship over time. However, if a dog betrays the nomad’s trust by attacking livestock, humans withdraw their support, favors, and love for the dog. In human relationships, such severance can be resolved by avoidance, but the nomad-dog bond presents a dilemma because a nomad cannot simply ask the dog to leave the camp. The most commonly adopted solution nowadays is to physically sever the bond by killing the dog.

Let’s ponder the time and manner in which humans and dogs might have first bonded. One of the oldest dog burials in Eurasia dates back to the late Pleistocene, an epoch that ended about 12,000 years ago.14 However, dogs might have joined the human pack thousands of years earlier. Over millennia of cohabitation and interaction, humans and dogs co-evolved to communicate with each other so effectively that they not only shared the same camp in life but were also sometimes buried together for eternity in death, as will be discussed later.

Besides sharing eternal resting places with humans, dogs in their earthly existence served as loyal companions during hunting expeditions from early times on. Mongolia boasts an array of petroglyphs sites which were created through carving and painting with ocher. These petroglyphs reached their zenith during the Bronze and early Iron Ages, spanning from approximately 1500 to 500 BCE. Among these ancient artworks, Bichigtiin Am in Bayan-Hongor Province stands out as one of the most abundant and visually striking sites. These petroglyphs predominantly portray scenes of men using bows and arrows to hunt ibex and elk, often assisted by dogs.¹⁵

As stated at the beginning of this chapter, dogs feature in the earliest Mongol source, The Secret History of the Mongols, a thirteenth-century chronicle in which a heavenly dog plays an intimate role in the story of Alan Goa’s pregnancy. It also notes that the baby Temüjin, the future world-conqueror Genghis Khan, was afraid of (other people’s) dogs—a fear still common among Mongol children and grown-ups today, as dogs have been trained by their masters to attack strangers. The imperial annals suggest that dogs had the power to prophesy bad omens by barking ‘in evil ways’.16 In addition to their divinity, virility, and ferocity, dogs are extoled in The Secret History of the Mongols for their unwavering loyalty. This loyalty is exemplified when Genghis Khan’s four most devoted and formidable generals—Jebe, Kubilai Noyan,17 Jelme, and Sübedei—are referred to as his ‘four dogs’. Described as ‘raised on human flesh’ and ‘shackled in chains’,¹⁸ they were likened to voracious predators, ceaselessly attacking their master’s foes.

Dogs also played a practical role in Mongol society, guarding nomadic encampments, participating in hunting, and even courageously marching—as historical sources from the Yuan and Ilkhanate periods attest19—into military campaigns. During the era of empire-building, the Mongols were not only known for organizing grand hunting events with large numbers of dogs but also for demanding tributes from their vanquished peoples across Eurasia and beyond. Among these tributes, the most burdensome were tangsugs, or ‘delicacies’, which included hunting dogs, fine horses, falcons, and gold cloth, highlighting the Mongols’ appreciation for both canines and luxury items.²⁰ Plano Carpini, who traveled to Mongol lands between 1245 and 1247, reported seeing ‘ten greyhounds’ at the Mongol court, brought by the envoys of a Sultan of India. He noted that these greyhounds were ‘trained to sit on the back of a horse like leopards’.21

Marco Polo, another European who spent an extended period at the Mongol Yuan court, provides detailed insights into the role of dogs in hunting. He uses the example of Kubilai (1215-94), who indulged in elaborate hunting expeditions. According to Marco Polo, the Great Khan employed two ‘masters of the hunt’, brothers Bayan and Myangan, who were entrusted with organizing these imperial hunting endeavors and overseeing the imperial dog keepers:

Each of these two brothers has ten thousand men under them controlling the dogs… And among these ten thousand there are two thousand of them who each has a great mastiff dog or two or more, so that they are very great multitudes.22

Following the establishment of the Mongol Empire, Mongols implemented a horse relay system known as yam that connected all corners of the expanding empire. The official organization of this system occurred during the reign of the second Grand Khan, Ögedei (1229-41), Genghis Khan’s third son. The system comprised relay horse stations with attached households established every 28 miles. While horses were the primary animals used in these relays, in certain remote areas of Manchuria and Siberia, dog sled relays were employed.23 It is likely that the Mongols adopted this practice from the indigenous populations. In the eyes of the Mongols, dogs thus held significance as both totemic animals and valuable working beasts, whether in guarding camps, hunting, or pulling sledges.

In many traditional societies, totemic or sacred animals are not only revered but are also sometimes used as sacrificial animals to gods or slain for utilitarian purposes, as in the Mongol case where dog’s fur was used to make winter gowns, especially by the poor.²⁴ One shamanic rite involving dogs was recorded as having been performed during the Yuan dynasty. Carried out at the end of the year, the ritual consisted of shooting arrows at straw and grass models of people (symbolizing enemies) and dogs (their loyal companions), followed by chants of shamans.

But as history marched on, times changed. Following the fall of the Yuan dynasty in 1368, the Mongols returned to their ancestral land.25 However, it did not take long for them to fragment among themselves and engage in bloody civil war. There is a saying that when the going gets tough, the tough get ritualistic. In ancient Mongol traditions, a unique oath-ritual was performed among warriors before battle, designed to strengthen their bond. This ritual involved sacrificial animals, including a male dog (symbolizing loyalty and divinity), a stallion (symbolizing divinity, speed, and endurance), and a bull (symbolizing strength), which were slain to demonstrate to the shamanic gods that if the oath-makers failed to keep their pledge of unconditional loyalty to one another, the gods should punish them, just as the warriors killed the sacrificial animals.26 Symbolically, these animals represented the oath-takers themselves, but in a parallel dimension where they had failed to remain true to their oath. As the Mongols in the post-Yuan period found themselves embroiled in incessant civil war, bloody rituals like these, aimed at securing the favor of the gods, became increasingly prevalent. Just imagine the sight of cavalrymen arriving at the battlefield with a sacrificial dog, stallion, and bull—a spectacle that would have undoubtedly struck fear into the hearts of their adversaries!

In 1640, the temporarily-reunited Mongol groups proclaimed Buddhism as the state religion, at the expense of traditional shamanism, and introduced a new code of laws, the Mongol-Oirat Regulations which, among other things, forbade killing certain animals including nomads’ furry companions that had been used in shamanic rituals.27 The spirit of the Mongol-Oirat Regulations, including its dog-friendly rulings prohibiting the killing of canines, was reiterated in the Halha Jirum code of laws of the eighteenth century.28

But whatever the reason behind prohibiting the killing of canines in these two early Mongol codes (Mongol-Oirat Regulations and Halha Jirum), the real beneficiary was the dog, despite losing its elevated shamanic position. Not only was the dog’s life protected by the law, but it also assimilated new Buddhist virtues alongside its ancient shamanic powers. It is worth noting that in subsequent legal codes of Mongolia, there is a conspicuous absence of any mention regarding the prohibition of killing dogs. This absence likely arose from the fact that people had abandoned this practice, making it unnecessary to explicitly forbid an act that had faded into obscurity. As previously mentioned, the legal ban on killing dogs became an inherent part of religious mythology and a taboo, which was only lifted in the socialist era.