The Czechs in a Nutshell

However, it would be more speculative to explain why they have become such passionate dog-lovers. One might have understood it if the Czech Republic had been a typically rural country, where people traditionally used dogs to tend cattle or sheep. But it’s not, as nearly 70 percent of the population live in cities. Maybe the explanation is that most of today’s city-dwellers are children or grandchildren of rural Czechs who moved to find work in the cities after the Second World War, so they are subconsciously more attracted to dogs than people in countries with longer urban traditions?

A psychologist would likely see the Czechs’ dog craze in a broader perspective. When the Bolsheviks were in power, the shrink would say, the average Czech always had to be on the alert (see: Communism). You constantly had to watch your mouth, and you never really knew whom to trust. In such circumstances, what could be a better friend than a dog?

Photo © Terje B. Englund

True, its communication capabilities are somewhat limited, but that shortcoming is abundantly compensated for by the affection, loyalty and love it offers. Moreover, a dog would never squeal on you, which is a big asset in a country where the StB — the secret police — had some 80,000 informers (see: Lustration). Subsequently, the more disgusted the Czechs were by their communist surroundings, the more they loved their dogs.

Or perhaps it worked the other way round? When the regime constantly bossed people about, the people got themselves dogs just to boss somebody about too?

In any event, the Czechs’ doggy passion has its bright and dark sides. The bright side (that is, if you share this passion) is that you can run into dogs of all thinkable races and sizes in any thinkable place. For instance, in a cinema. And a dog can almost always be used as a pretext to strike up a conversation. If you see an attractive woman walking her pet in a park (see: Sex), some nice words about her dog (“Is this beautiful creature a poodle or a pit-bull?”) will increase your chances far more than if you were to approach her in a bar with some “Hi baby, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

The dark side is that absolutely every person in this country regards it as his or her human right to keep a husky or a St. Bernhard’s hound in a flat of 20 square meters. This anarchy is also reflected by the country’s legislation. Even though people — sadly enough, often children — are regularly killed by fighter dogs, every attempt to prohibit the rearing of aggressive races has been firmly and so far very successfully blocked by the vociferous Canine Association as “violations of the individual’s freedom”.

And most annoying: while having a dog is considered every person’s natural right, cleaning up its waste is, putting it mildly, rarely considered to be a duty. In Prague, for instance, some pavements are so densely decorated with doggy droppings that you’d better put on rubber boots before taking a stroll.

True, this goes for lots of other European cities as well, but hardly any of them has such a lethal mix of magnificent architecture and lovely ladies (see: Beauty Contests). One moment you’re admiring the facade of a baroque palace or a local sex bomb passing by, and the next moment you slip on a big, fat, smelly......

Driving a Car

All nations have their strange sides. The Scandinavians, for instance, loudly praise their potato brandy, aquavit, even though every sane foreigner knows it tastes like an alcoholic blend of wolf urine and enriched uranium.

The Czechs, of course, have their peculiarities, too. One of the most amazing ones occurs every time the otherwise jovial and polite Pepa Novák — the Czech Everyman — becomes a car driver. Just as Řehoř Samsa, the protagonist in one of Franz Kafka’s short stories, woke up one morning and discovered he had metamorphosed into an enormous beetle, the power of the engine seems to convert most of the Pepas into ruthless maniacs.

Unfortunately, this view is not the personal prejudice of some militant ecologist. In 2003, nearly 1,300 people were killed on Bohemian and Moravian roads (victims under the age of 30 made up an alarming majority), and another 5,000 were severely injured. Measured in number of accidents in relation to the number of cars, the Czechs rank among the most dangerous drivers in Europe.

To paint an even gloomier picture: while fatal accidents in OECD countries during recent years have decreased by an annual average of 2 percent, in the Czech Republic they increased by almost 10 percent. Currently, you are eight times more likely to be killed by a Czech car driver than by a Czech criminal (see: Kajínek) — if that can be of any comfort.

Let’s be fair to Pepa: this is definitely not only a question of venting suppressed aggression behind the steering wheel or downright ruthlessness.