Hello and welcome to the Dog Studio. I am your host Radek Blažo. This week, I have a special episode planned for you.
With the recent passing of Pope Francis, I found myself reflecting on his legacy—not just his outspoken responses to war, injustice, and inequality, but the quieter moments too.
In particular, one small gesture that touched the hearts of animal lovers around the world: his acknowledgment of the deep emotional bond between humans and their pets.
It happened, according to Italian reports, in St. Peter’s Square in 2014. Then 77 years old, Pope Francis approached a grieving boy whose dog had just died. In that moment, the Pope offered words that surprised many and comforted more:
“One day, we will see our animals again in the eternity of Christ. Paradise is open to all of God’s creatures.”
As a dog owner, reading those words brought tears to my eyes. Anyone who has loved and lost a pet knows the hollow ache it leaves behind. The sorrow is real, and—science confirms—akin to the loss of a family member. The grief is so profound precisely because the love is so pure.
Yet, these words caused a stir in the Catholic Church as many of the more traditional side of the church did not approve of the message. Animals are below humans and we should not put them on the same position.
In that little moment Pope Francis may have just opened his heart to a grieving boy. But he also showed compassion for all those who have ever loved an animal. Yet, with those short words I kept the thought in my mind, as Pope passed just a few days ago. And I began to wonder: Had Pope Francis ever known the love of an animal? Have any of the church’s leaders truly lived with and loved a creature who offered nothing but devotion in return?
As a dog researcher, I could immediately think of a few stories connecting dogs to the holly men. However, I am also well aware of the fact that the relationship between the Church and animals, dogs in particular, has long been complicated. Scripture mentions dogs some forty times—thirty in the Old Testament and ten in the New—and nearly always in a negative light. In Isaiah, they are likened to lazy and mute watchmen: “They are all dumb dogs, they cannot bark…” In 1 Kings: “Him that dieth of Jeroboam in the city shall the dogs eat.” These are not verses that conjure wagging tails or faithful companionship. Instead, dogs are portrayed as scavengers, corrupt, or impure—creatures of dishonor.
However, not all men of faith have always regarded dogs as such. Exceptions, do exist—and they are remarkable. Today, I want to tell you three of those stories, three different tales of dogs crossing their paths with the men of church.
Chapter 1.
the first part of our episode today is a story of a breed created by the men of church. Tracvel with me to the depth of a forest. Not just any forest—the Ardennes, in what is now Belgium. It’s the 8th century. The trees are thick. The fog is low. And hidden deep inside this green maze is a Benedictine monastery—built in honor of Saint Hubert, the patron saint of hunters.
Here is the twist, the monks who lived in that monastery weren’t just copying manuscripts or tending gardens. They were also… breeding dogs.
Not war dogs. Not watchdogs. But something gentler. Smarter. Holier.
They were creating a hound with a purpose: to find the lost.
You see, the Ardennes was wild country. Travelers went missing all the time—pilgrims on their way to sacred shrines, hunters who strayed too far, even messengers caught by storms. So the monks began carefully breeding dogs with one divine trait: a nose that could find anything.
These dogs, known as Chiens de Saint-Hubert—Saint Hubert’s Hounds—were slow, serious, and unshakably focused. They had long ears that swept the forest floor, deep folds of skin that held the scent, and eyes that looked like they’d seen the soul of the trail.
They were, in a word, extraordinary.
And they weren’t just useful—they were sacred. The monks believed their dogs were doing holy work. After all, what’s more Christ-like than going out to find the ones who’ve gone astray?
So when people came knocking—nobles from France, kings from England—the monks shared their hounds. But only with those who understood: these weren’t just hunting dogs. They were rescuers. Guides. Some even said they could track the scent of a soul.
One of those kings? William the Conqueror. He brought the breed to England, where it slowly evolved into something we still know today: the Bloodhound. That same wrinkled, noble dog with the nose of a miracle.
And that’s just the beginning.
Because monks and clergy across Europe weren’t just praying for the lost—they were breeding dogs to find them.
Up next: we head to the snowy passes of the Swiss Alps, where another group of monks created a giant dog with a barrel around its neck—and a reputation for saving lives.
Stay with us.
Chapter 2.
Consider the breed of dogs St. Bernard. Named after Saint Bernard of Menthon, the breed was developed at the hospice founded in the Western Alps in the 11th century. Perched 8,100 feet above sea level, at the treacherous Great St. Bernard Pass, the hospice served as both sanctuary and salvation for travellers crossing between Italy and Switzerland. Winters at this place often stretched into June, and many lives were claimed by snow and storm.
The monks living at this place offered their services to those who dared the journey. By the 17th century they began to keep large dogs. These were gifted to them from a local village Valais. The dogs were large and first they were supposed to guard the place from outsiders. However, very soon the monks realized there is something quite remarkable about them.
As the work at the hospice never stopped, the monks were often called on to help trace or search for the travellers who got lost in the mountains. Many of them were caught by avalanches and often were only found as the winter was over and snow melted. The reality at this place was rough.
However, as soon as the dogs started to accompany these monks into the depth of mountains, miracles started to happen. The monks realized these were not just guard dogs, these were dogs with a purpose. They very quickly learned what is needed and started to help, searching for the lost people in the snow.
The tales of these fantastic dogs travelled far. It is recorded that even the soldiers of the Napoleon Bonaparte’s army told tales of them. The miraculous large dogs rescuing people in the Alps.
The monks bred them to keep these specific traits which were so needed in the place – strong enough to plow through the snow, their feet had to be large to dig into the snow easily and fast. Their large nose served a purpose, it was even more sensible and could smell the lost people even under the heavy snow. And last but not least, they had to be friendly as no aggression was allowed when it came to the rescue missions.
The breed that emerged—the St. Bernard—was, quite literally, heaven-sent. One of the most famous ones was called Barry. The dog itself is actually to be observed in a museum in Switzerland, where he stands as a reminder and a true hero. He supposedly saved lives of 40 people. Today, his name is carried out in a foundation that still operates and keeps the records of these unique dogs.
In a little while we discover what Trump has to do with a breed of dogs. Stay tuned.
Chapter 3
The last story connecting men of faith to dogs that instantly came to my mind was totally different. Yet, not less remarkable. It’s the story of a breed of dogs that mostly everybody knows and loves –Jack Russel terrier.
These scrappy, little terriers are well known all over the world. They were created and carry the name of Reverend John Russell of Devonshire, England. He was both a man of the cloth and a passionate fox hunter. One could say he had his own Dr. Jekkyl – Mr. Hyde situation going on. But his was Reverend John Russel by profession & foxhunter Jack Russel by heart.
In the early 1800s, while still at studies at Oxford, he was already a keen foxhunter. One day he saw a dog on a street that changed his life. Quite literally, he saw a dog on the street. The dog was small, white, quick, fearless and yet very loving. He immediately asked to buy the dog. The owner of this little mutt was a milkman. The dog was nothing special to him, so he was happy to make some more money and sold the little dog off.
I mentioned Trump as an intro to this part of the episode, so here it is. In fact, Reverend John Russel named this little female he bought from a milkman – Trump. No correlation to the President at all. Just a name, a coincidence.
She was the granddame of all Jack Russels we know today. The thought behind creating this breed was simple; Russel wanted a terrier exactly for his purpose of foxhunting. A dog so small that he would be able to follow the fox underground. To allow for this the dog had to be quick and fast and had to be able to manoeuvre really easily in the tangles of tunnels. It had to be fierce and strong in temperament but not too much as he would kill the fox underground. There is no joy in that for any foxhunter. They want the dog to scare the fox enough so that she runs out of the dark ground and runs into the forest where the hunter can follow her. To distinct the dog from the fox itself, these dogs would have to be predominantly white. In fact, this is still stated in the breed standard today.
And this is all that Trump was. And this is all that the breed is today, 200 years later. Russell once said the true Jack Russell should be “as hard as nails, but as faithful as your shadow.” His passionate love for this breed has created a unique companion that serves so many around the world. And even if not hunting fox, the Jack Russels of today remind us of the devotion one can have in making his vision a reality.
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In the Vatican frescoes and art, dogs often appear at the feet of saints or Popes, reinforcing their spiritual or protective roles.
The last Pope I was able to find who actually did care for a dog inside the Vatican was Pope Pius IX who was a Pope from 1846 to 1874. His companion was a small white Maltese. The dog reportedly accompanied Pius in private meetings, was affectionate and alert, as one would expect a Maltese to me. Most likely offering the pope the comfort and companionship in the difficult times of his rein.
Animals bring joy, warmth, and unconditional love. The Pope, a man of bridges, always sought to reconcile the spiritual with the human, the holy with the mundane. “Love is the answer,” he would say when asked how opposing views might come together.
Anyone who has gazed into the eyes of a beloved pet knows this love.