A Cycling Journey Among the Stray Dogs of Georgia

Now that you can no longer cycle and walk by my side, this story is for you, Nala.

For being an incredible travel companion throughout my life, and for all the thousands of kilometres we travelled together, by bike and on foot.

For all the roads we travelled, the places you taught me to see through different eyes, and all the adventures that, somehow, will continue to live inside me.

A True Story, More or Less

This is a true story.

The places, encounters, dogs and people in this tale all existed, and the events described took place during our bicycle journey through Georgia.

The thoughts, conversations and some of the personalities of our four-legged protagonists, however, are the product of my imagination.

Or perhaps not.

Who can really know what goes on inside a dog’s head?

The Ushguli Gang

The gang came together entirely by chance.

Before setting off on that long, high-altitude journey over the pass separating two valleys, the little characters in this story had crossed paths only a couple of times in the village streets.

At an altitude of 2,100 metres, in the heart of the Georgian Caucasus, Ushguli is one of Europe’s highest permanently inhabited settlements. It lies in a historic region with a name as evocative as its landscape: Svaneti, where the bearded vulture often glides silently across the sky.

People in these remote mountains are accustomed to winter, when a blanket of snow several metres deep covers everything for six long months, cutting off mountain settlements and burying the fields beneath the white.

The imposing silhouette of Mount Shkhara, Georgia’s highest peak, dominates the valley. Only just before dusk does it seem to warm beneath the fiery rays of the setting sun.

Life in Svaneti moves at a slow, measured pace. There is plenty to do, but the season for getting things done is painfully short, especially at the formidable altitudes of the four hamlets that make up Ushguli.

Medieval towers, wooden fences, elderly women bent beneath the weight of years of hard work, and stone houses shape the village landscape, conveying to the occasional visitor a sense of stillness, as if both time and space had come to a standstill.

Seasonal work as herding dogs, generous tourists from whom to wheedle food and kindness, and six months of peace and rest spent squeezing through gaps into the barns of the seventy resident families: all things considered, a stray dog could lead a pretty good life in Ushguli.

Before that warm autumn day, the four-legged characters in our story had never fought over a piece of bread or a bone already gnawed by some other flea-ridden mutt. But they had never rolled around together in the fresh grass, either.

In short, they had nothing to do with one another, and they were perfectly happy that way.

They lived in the same place, beneath the highest peak in Georgia — a pretty good place to call home, it has to be said — but that was where their lives intersected. Each went its own way.

Or so it seemed.

Fate had other plans. Their paths were about to cross, setting them off on a grand adventure.

We were unsuspecting cycle tourists passing through, with no intention whatsoever of bringing them together. And yet, without realising it, we became the unlikely catalyst for an unexpected and wonderful encounter.

But the story had actually begun the day before.

Johnni

On the road to Ushguli, we had met Johnni.

He was a sweet, playful mixed-breed dog who had decided, without anyone asking him to, that he would follow us.

Us on our bicycles, him trotting alongside us for kilometres.

It was one of those situations that begin almost by chance and that, when you travel by bike, you soon learn not to find particularly strange.

Then trouble struck.

A large Caucasian Shepherd came charging at him. Its coat was filthy, and the fur around its mouth was stained with blood — the aftermath of one of the many fierce territorial skirmishes that shaped the lives of dogs in Georgian villages.

Johnni had been bitten on the back, but he managed to escape.

We continued towards Ushguli, convinced that this was where the story ended.

It wasn’t.

But we would only discover that a few days later.

Cucciolotto

In Ushguli, meanwhile, the story of the gang was about to begin.

Cucciolotto was the first to notice us amid the dust and mud of the village.

He had a black muzzle, a white body covered in dark patches, and a head that always hung slightly low, as if the world were a place where you had to watch your back.

His expression was permanently on the lookout for trouble.

Timid, then, but determined too, he began following us while maintaining an appropriate safety distance: two steps from us, one little paw-step from him.

He followed us from the towers of the main village all the way to Minda’s guesthouse, setting off a furious chorus of barks from Rosie, our host’s Caucasian Shepherd.

Mandie was a young photographer who had decided to return to his paternal grandfather’s home in Ushguli. His plan was to restore the ageing house, turn it into a welcoming guesthouse for travellers from all over the world, and share his family’s history with those who came to stay.

That evening, we sat by the fireplace.

Outside, the Caucasus was preparing for nightfall, and the cold was beginning to bite. Inside, there was the warmth of the fire, travel stories, a few drinks and a large map spread across the table.

We were studying the route for the following day. Our goal was Zagari Pass, at an altitude of 2,600 metres.

Meanwhile, Nala had found the best spot of all: the rug in front of the fireplace.

While we discussed elevation profiles, mountain passes and trails, she slept peacefully, completely uninterested in our plans.

After all, someone had to get some rest before the big climb.

But back to Cucciolotto.

His extraordinary cheek was more than sweet Rosie could tolerate.

How dare that little ball of black-and-white fluff, with his lowered head and the air of a perpetual suspect, jump onto the boundary wall and approach her property as if he owned the place?

He needed to be taught a lesson.

Scared off and sent packing once and for all.

And so the clever girl set about doing just that, using every persuasive technique at her disposal, from sharp barks to outright hostility.

After this first encounter, we thought we had seen the last of that shaggy little stracciatella-coloured rascal.

How wrong we were.

Towards Zagari Pass

On the morning of our departure, beneath a cloudless sky and a blazing sun warming both skin and spirit, we began cycling towards Zagari Pass.

Before we had even tackled the village’s formidable climb, a dull thud jolted us out of our thoughts, which were already focused on the altitude ahead.

Something furry slowly emerged from a stinking rubbish bin by the roadside. Our eyes widened in disbelief.

Cucciolotto.

After being chased away by Rosie, he had looked for somewhere warm to spend the night, and the rubbish bin had seemed like an excellent solution.

A stray dog takes whatever opportunities fate throws its way, without making too many long-term plans.

And that bin had looked like a chance too good to miss.

The dog promptly climbed out of his overnight hideaway and, in his unmistakable style, resumed what he had started doing the day before. Following us.

Ice Eyes

At the top of the climb out of Ushguli, we had to stop for a breather. Those gradients would have knocked out even a super-fit ultracyclist.

From the roadside barrier at the top, our gaze could wander towards the Mother Mountain, watching over the little outpost at 2,100 metres.

Two icy-blue eyes appeared from behind a seemingly deserted house, cold as snow.

Ice Eyes took his time before trotting curiously in our direction.

Half husky, half bandit, he wore a sly, cheerful expression and kept his ears permanently tuned to the sounds of the world.

A rustle, a bark, a distant jingle: everything seemed worthy of his attention.

What on earth were those two funny humans doing in the middle of the road?

Perhaps they had a snack?

Well, those sky-blue eyes were bound to make an impression, and even on that chilly autumn day they might just help him fill his rumbling stomach.

As he approached confidently, he spotted the little trailer with Nala on board, then Cucciolotto, and a whole tangle of questions began to form in his head.

What was this strange little caravan up to? Where were they going? And why?

Nala watched him for a few seconds with an expression we knew very well.

She didn’t seem particularly worried.

Judging by her muzzle, the situation was, at the very least, interesting.

Ice Eyes, on the other hand, had no answers to his questions. But he was sure he would find out soon enough.

A few minutes later, we set off again. The newcomer, increasingly puzzled but also eager to learn more, decided that on that November morning he had nothing better to do than show off all his charm and win himself a place in the group.

Well, there were those two big bruisers from the house across the road who still needed putting in their place, but that could wait until later.

At the first climb, after narrowly avoiding an attack by a pair of enormous, shaggy Caucasian Shepherds, Nala climbed out of her trailer.

A quick sniff, two barks, a run.

Ice Eyes smiled with satisfaction.

His charm and friendly nature had done their job. He could set off in good spirits, in the company of the blonde Nala, a foreign dog with an exotic appeal.

The pass wasn’t far away, although it wasn’t exactly around the corner, either.

The group stretched out along the road: Nala and Ice Eyes in front, the two humans on their bicycles just behind, and Cucciolotto, as by now was customary, some twenty metres back.

Castagna

As we gained altitude, the landscape grew increasingly wild and colourful.

The crisp, clear air filled our lungs, prickling as it went, while our eyes feasted on the beauty of this remote borderland, far from everything and everyone.

Three-quarters of the way up the climb, something fast and furry appeared behind the little procession.

It was Castagna.

Ice Eyes recognised her immediately.

And Castagna, in turn, seemed to have eyes for no one but him.

Sweet eyes, a playful nature and an all-consuming passion for snow.

The young husky ran towards her, cheerful and carefree, and she greeted him with equal enthusiasm.

The two rolled around in a patch of white, exchanging an exuberant welcome.

Nala joined in, inviting her new friends to play, and the three flea-bitten rascals began racing around like mad things, leaping over ditches, snowy mounds and long-dried cow pats.

Castagna seemed to want nothing else from life.

Snow, running and Ice Eyes.

A perfect combination.

Cucciolotto, initially intimidated by all this unexpected excitement, stood watching for a few moments.

Head lowered, eyes alert, always ready to decide whether it was safe to get closer.

Then the infectious mood won him over, and he began rolling lightly in the fresh snow.

Two turns one way, two the other, then onto his back, belly in the air, soaking up a little warmth from the sun shining in the turquoise autumn sky.

He stayed there, utterly relaxed, for several minutes, perhaps hoping for a human hand to give him a stroke.

One duly arrived.

There was playing, running, tumbling and having fun…

A dog’s life at its very best.

Descents and Flying Monsters

Beyond the pass, the descent began, and the obstacles seemed endless: roadworks and dangerous excavators, river crossings, the shadow of a large, hungry bird sweeping across the sky, and too little food to go around all the members of the gang.

Woods, streams and abandoned villages: nothing seemed quite so frightening when faced together, and the little caravan drew its strength from sticking together.

Meanwhile, the kilometres slipped by: twenty, thirty, forty.

Somewhere along the road, Grace appeared.

Small, crafty and sporting a magnificent dreadlock that seemed to have a life of its own, she joined the caravan with the air of a little dog who knew exactly how to make herself noticed.

She looked like a tiny troublemaker.

But behind that cheeky exterior lay a big heart.

And the gang had gained another member.

“Three, four, five… how many dogs are following us?” the two humans exclaimed, staring at each other in astonishment.

Night Falls

Night descended near the village of Mele, settling over our new friends and the stories that had become intertwined during one unforgettable day.

The two humans on bicycles put together a makeshift home for the night. Nala, the favourite, was invited inside, while the three dogs from Ushguli and Grace found themselves comfortable little beds all around us.

The night could bring dangers and unwelcome surprises.

They would have to stay alert, taking turns to keep watch so that everyone could get at least a little rest.

Vero and Leo shared Nala’s kibble with the other members of the gang, who were truly hungry after all those kilometres on their little paws. 

An adventurous life, a family to share joys, sorrows and — above all — kibble, ever-changing horizons and new friends: what more could a dog want?

The little furry travellers dreamed of triceratops bones, mountains of sausages and rolling around in green grass.

Their minds were at peace. For one long day, at least, they had felt like a proper gang — or perhaps something more: a little pack.

Deep down, though, they knew this couldn’t last much longer. Everyone has a path to follow and a story of their own to write. The maps of their lives would soon lead in different directions, though perhaps, one day, those paths might cross again.

Time to Say Goodbye

The following day was time to say goodbye.

The difficulties of travelling together became clearer and harder to overcome. On the descent, the two humans were moving far too quickly for four paws to keep up. In the villages, other dogs blocked their way, demanding an explanation for this unruly procession. And new four-legged companions were eager to abandon their settled lives and join the nomadic caravan.

That was when Zoppetta appeared, too.

She had a slight wobble to her walk, but that seemed to worry her far less than the possibility of missing out on something.

She was impulsive, curious and ready to squeeze her way into just about anything.

Then, when faced with something only slightly bigger than herself, she would suddenly remember that she was also rather easily frightened.

The Ushguli Gang was growing too quickly.

And perhaps that was precisely the problem.

In the small mountain villages, people watched them with concern, sometimes shaking their heads, sometimes casting dark and threatening looks in their direction.

The Ushguli Gang had come together spontaneously. And just as spontaneously, it fell apart.

Vero, Leo and Nala continued their journey through Georgia by bicycle.

Cucciolotto and Grace decided to stay in the yard of an elderly woman who needed some company.

Castagna was left behind, trapped on the other side of a fence. But by the end of the day, she had reunited with her friend Ice Eyes, and together they decided to keep wandering in search of their place in the world.

Zoppetta and the newcomers quickly scattered: some joined new canine gangs, while others were “adopted” by generous butchers.

The adventure of the Ushguli Gang was short-lived. Yet, in the two border valleys separated by Zagari Pass, stories are still told of the incredible escapades of this close-knit group of friends who had met by chance and shared a stretch of road.

And What About Johnni?

Johnni, meanwhile, had taken a different path.

The day after we met him, while we were in Ushguli and before setting off for Zagari Pass, we met three young cyclists heading downhill in the opposite direction: two young men and a woman named Zoe.

We told them about Johnni, how he had followed us and the nasty attack he had suffered at the teeth of that Caucasian Shepherd.

In the days that followed, they messaged us to say they had met a dog who had started following them, just as he had followed us.

It was Johnni.

The very same mixed-breed dog who had trotted alongside our bikes for kilometres and managed to escape the attack.

He had decided to set off with them, too.

And this time, his journey would take him much farther.

Zoe was so taken with this sweet, playful dog that she decided she couldn’t leave him behind.

With the help of a local animal welfare organisation, she arranged his adoption. After travelling along the roads, through the villages and across the mountains of Georgia, Johnni ended up in Switzerland, living with Zoe and her parents.

A dog met by chance on a road in the Caucasus had found a family on the other side of Europe.

Perhaps, after all, even stray dogs have maps of their own.

And sometimes they know how to follow them better than we do.

Stray Dogs in Georgia

Stray dogs are a serious issue in Georgia. During our bicycle journey through the country, we came across dozens of puppies and adult dogs on the roadside. Neglected, battered, underfed — or already dead, victims of a life on the margins.

Every one of these extraordinary creatures deserves a family to welcome them in.

Just as Johnni did.

Several animal welfare organisations, particularly in the capital, Tbilisi, work to rescue stray dogs from the streets, provide them with safe shelter and give them a chance of finding a home.

We can all help change the lives of these wonderful animals, even through a simple act such as donating food or sponsoring a dog from a distance through one of the organisations working in the country, such as Dog Organization Georgia (D.O.G.), which has been operating since 2008.

Because, after all, as Charlie and Itchy used to sing:

“We’re street dogs, you know — you won’t find better than us.”