“A man with the heart of a dog”

“A man with the heart of a dog” is Doctor Bormenthal’s description of Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov, and the phrase becomes the focus of a dispute over what Sharikov’s transformation means. Professor Preobrazhensky resists the apparent comparison: in his view, Sharikov’s conduct does not reveal a dog’s heart at all, but a profoundly objectionable human one.

Origin and Meaning

The expression arises when Doctor Bormenthal considers Sharikov’s hostility toward cats and the danger he might pose under Shvonder’s influence. Bormenthal calls him “a man with the heart of a dog,” connecting the new human being’s behavior to the canine part of his origins.

Professor Preobrazhensky corrects the comparison rather than accepting it. Sharikov’s pursuit of cats, he argues, is a temporary trace of canine behavior that discipline and time could diminish. The deeper problem is not that Sharikov retains a dog’s heart, but that he has acquired a human heart of exceptionally poor character. The phrase thus pivots from an apparent animal metaphor to an accusation about human nature.

Transformation and Naming

The dispute draws force from the stages by which the dog Sharik becomes Sharikov. The case notes identify the subject as a roughly two-year-old male mongrel named Sharik. During the transformation, he first produces recognizable sounds and then rapidly acquires words and sentences; the recorded vocabulary includes fragments of street exchanges and insults. Speech makes him legible as human, but the notes do not treat the ability to speak as proof of sound judgment or character.

His new identity is also established through names and documents. When asked to choose a first name, he gives “Tолigraph Poligraphovich” in the recorded exchange; when asked about a surname, he insists on using his real name. Shvonder proposes a certificate identifying him as Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov and claiming that he was born in the apartment. The proposed paperwork turns a disputed transformation into an administrative identity, while the name links the former dog to Chugunkin, the human donor whose organs were transplanted into him.

The Phrase in Conflict

Bormenthal’s warning about Sharikov is bound to the possibility that Shvonder may influence him further. Preobrazhensky says he foresaw the danger soon after the operation, but considers Shvonder unable to recognize that Sharikov could also become a threat to him. The disagreement therefore concerns not only animal and human traits, but the forces shaping Sharikov’s conduct and the risks created by treating his transformation as a straightforward social improvement.

The phrase also sits against the novel’s documentary account of change. Bormenthal records Sharik’s original classification, the first intelligible sounds, the swift growth of vocabulary, and the conclusion that the result is a new organism to be studied in its own right. These clinical notes establish observable stages without resolving the moral question posed by the phrase. The contrast is pointed: Sharikov can speak and receive a human name, yet the people around him remain divided over what kind of being—and what kind of character—those changes have produced.

Later Reversal and Significance

The phrase’s force sharpens when Sharikov uses his official position and the language of accusation against the people who made and housed him. In a signed complaint countersigned by Shvonder, he accuses Preobrazhensky, Bormenthal, and members of the household of political offenses and reports alleged threats involving Shvonder. The complaint shows how the new name and institutional role can be used against his creators, rather than serving as evidence of moral development.

Later, when officials arrive with an accusation that Preobrazhensky and the others murdered Sharikov, the professor denies that the named man is present and identifies him instead as the dog he operated on. That reversal does not simply confirm Bormenthal’s phrase: it places the categories of dog, human being, and registered citizen in open conflict. The expression endures as a contested judgment, while the story’s ending makes identity itself appear reversible and dependent on more than a name or an administrative record.