Introduction
Japan’s love for cats is well-documented, but the country has an equally soft spot for dogs.
Think of all its iconic canines: Hachiko, the loyal dog who waited for his master at Shibuya Station; Otousan, the beloved white Shiba who starred in so many Softbank advertisements; and Kabosu, the unwitting face of a million memes. Consider the popular dog cafes that have queues out the door, and all the pet owners besotted with their toy dogs, dressing them up and pushing them around in strollers. If that isn’t enough, remember that according to a 2023 survey, Japan is the only country in the world where pet cats and dogs (15.9 million) outnumber children under 15 (13.7 million).
Dogs have been cherished in Japan for centuries as hunting partners, companions, and subjects of art and literature. Some dogs were so valued for their spiritual qualities that during the Edo period, people who couldn’t obtain a permit or afford to go on a religious pilgrimage to Ise Grand Shrine would send an okage-inu, a dog who would undertake the journey to the far-off shrine on behalf of an individual. The journey from Edo to Ise alone might take a whole month, requiring the dog to rely on the kindness of strangers and priests to reach its destination.
From legendary hounds to true tales of modern-day dogs, the following shrines and temples tell the stories of good dogs and the canine deeds that left a mark in the hearts of people around them.
Inukami Shrine, Shiga
In the town of Taga, the Inukami River flows down from the mountains, westwards to Lake Biwa. Ōtaki Shrine is located on the banks of this river, just past the edge of town where the buildings thin out and the forests begin. Visible from this side of the fast-flowing river, across its many wonderful rhyolite boulders, at the end of a rocky path, is a small, nondescript wooden hokora shaded by trees. This is Inugami Shrine.
The tale of this shrine begins with Prince Inayoriwake no Miko, the eldest son of Prince Yamato Takeru, whom some readers may remember as the person associated with shrines that practiced wolf worship. Inayoriwake was fond of hunting, and would travel far and wide to hunt with his beloved dog Koishimaru.
When he visited this land, the local people begged him for help. A great serpent, they said, had taken up residence in the river basin, striking fear into the hearts of all. None dared travel along nearby roads, and so, would the prince please slay the serpent for them? Hearing this, Inayoriwake set out with Koishimaru to kill the serpent. Yet, it remained elusive after seven days and nights of near-constant searching.
Exhausted, the prince fell asleep beneath a great tree by the riverbank. Shortly thereafter, Koishimaru began barking fiercely, waking the prince. Inayoriwake tried to soothe the dog, but he would not cease barking; instead, he began gnawing at the prince’s robes, making a great fuss and nuisance of himself.
Overcome by anger (how dare the dog disturb his sleep!) the prince drew his sword and severed Koishimaru’s head in one swift stroke. The dog’s head soared high into the air, and bit the throat of the giant serpent coiled around the branches above — the serpent had been lying in wait for an opening! It writhed and struggled violently, but soon stopped moving, toppling down from the tree and sliding into the waters, Koishimaru’s jaws still clamped around its throat.
Witnessing this, Inayoriwake realized that Koishimaru had been trying to warn him of the imminent danger, protecting him even in death. He built a mound here in memory of his loyal canine companion. A pine tree was later planted on this mound and named Inudō-matsu, and the river basin here came to be known as the Great Serpent Pool (Daijaga-fuchi).
Readers may recall an uncannily similar story about Lord Utsunomiya Yasufuji’s hunting dog enshrined at Kasumekentō Shrine in Aichi, as well as other similar stories about faithful cats saving their owners from similar fates at Nekonomiya Shrine in Yamagata and Nekozuka Kofun in Miyagi.
Niutsuhime Shrine, Wakayama
Located in the Amano basin northwest of Mount Koya, Niutsuhime Shrine is one of the older shrines in Wakayama and a UNESCO World Heritage site. Its founding date remains unclear, but given its association with the Shingon Buddhist monk Kōbō Daishi (henceforth Kūkai), it most likely has at least 1,300 years of history.
What we know of Kūkai’s connection with Niutsuhime Shrine comes from a tale in the Konjaku Monogatari, a collection of over one thousand tales written during the late Heian period (794-1185).
According to this tale, Kūkai had been searching for a suitable place to build a temple when he encountered a red-faced hunter — the Shinto deity Takanomiko-no-okami (also known as Kariba) — and his two dogs, one black, and one white. Some versions say that the dogs were incarnations of Kariba’s mother, Niu (Niutsuhime-no-okami), and Takanonomiko himself, which opens up at least one logical inconsistency that was, presumably, waved away in the telling.
In any case, the hunter and the dogs guided Kūkai through the mountains, leading him through steep peaks and across the Kinokawa River, and into the land of Amano. There, Niutsuhime appeared before the monk, revealing the hunter to be her son, the deity of the hunting grounds, and bestowed the sacred mountain — Mount Koya — to Kūkai in order that he should build his monastery here. In keeping with the idea of honji suijaku, both Kariba and Niu were interpreted as manifestations of the cosmic Buddha Vairocana or Dainichi Nyorai, the central figure in Shingon Buddhism.
The white and black dogs of this legend are called the ‘Guiding Dogs,’ and are believed to lead worshippers towards happiness and success. Of course, the shrine today has a pair of sacred dogs — Suzuhime and Daiki, a mother and child pair of Kishu Inu. These dignified dogs make a public appearance on the 16th of every month except October, so pop that in the calendar if you’d like to say hello to them. And yes, the shrine does sell all kinds of spiritual paraphernalia with black and white dogs emblazoned on them.
Jison-in, Wakayama
Located at the foot of Mount Koya, the Jison-in temple complex is notable for its proliferation of breasts. But we aren’t bothering with boobs today — our subject is the charming stone statue of a dog that sits next to the statue of Kūkai.
Back in the late 1980s, a white mongrel stray — a cross between a Shiba and Kishu Inu — began living near Niu Bridge, located along the route connecting Kudoyama Station and Jison-in. The locals called him Gon, mimicking the sound of Jison-in’s bells, whose ringing he seemed to enjoy.
At first, he would only walk with pilgrims between Kudoyama Station and Jison-in, as though guiding them. But it seems that from around 1989, he moved to Jison-in, and made the temple his base.
Every morning, he would accompany pilgrims and hikers along the Choishi Michi (Stone Marker Trail) starting from Jison-in, all the way up to the Daimon Gate, the official entrance to Mount Koya. Then, having seen them off, he would return to the temple in the evening. The round-trip hike is almost 50 kilometres — he did this every single day until around 1992.
Because of Kūkai’s connection with Mount Koya, and the tale of Kariba’s black and white dogs, one of Gon’s nicknames was ‘Kūkai’s dog.’ Gon retired from his ‘job’ as the Koyasan Guide Dog in 1992, and lived out the rest of his life in the area, passing away from old age in 2002. A statue was erected in his memory that same year.
Banshu Inudera Temple, Hyogo
The folk legend behind Banshu Inudera Temple — Hōrakuji Temple — varies depending on the source. Here is one version of the tale.
In the borderlands between Harima and Tajima provinces, there once lived a wealthy and powerful man named Lord Maibu 枚夫長者, who had a beautiful wife and two beloved black and white dogs, but no children. He was renowned for his martial prowess, but also for his devoutness, always carrying on his person a small image of the Kannon Bodhisattva.
When war broke out in the capital, Lord Maibu received orders and set forth for battle, leaving his wife behind. Several months later, the battle had subsided, and having distinguished himself, he made his way home in triumph. The retainers he had left in charge greeted him on his return, and that night, they feasted and made merry.
That evening, one of his retainers said, ‘While you were away, my lord, we discovered a splendid hunting ground where many deer gather. Would you care to join us tomorrow?” Lord Maibu was a keen hunter, and immediately acquiesced.
The next day, accompanied by his two hounds, Lord Maibu set out to hunt with his retainer. Unbeknownst to him, however, the retainer had become intimately involved with his wife, and concocted a scheme to become the lord himself. So it was that when the two reached a remote mountain pass where there was no one for miles, the retainer suddenly nocked an arrow to his bow and aimed it at Lord Maibu. The lord was utterly taken by surprise, and could do nothing in response.
Resigned to his fate, the lord asked the retainer to wait for a moment. Taking out his packed lunch, he fed the contents to his beloved dogs, speaking to them as he did so. “My time is now at an end,” he said. “But I have one request of you. When I am slain, I need you to devour my body and leave nothing behind, not a single scrap. I was a wealthy man, somewhat renowned around these parts. Dying in battle is a warrior’s honour. But to be slain here by such a wretch would be a shame so great that I cannot rest in death. Do you understand? Spare me this disgrace, and eat all of me.”
The dogs listened silently, their heads bowed. Whether or not they truly understood what their master was saying matters little, for as soon as he had finished speaking, both hounds leapt to action. One bit through the retainer’s bowstring, while the other sank its teeth into his throat. The startled retainer shook off the dogs and fled.
Thus, Lord Maibu was saved thanks to his beloved dogs. Upon returning to his residence, he immediately banished his wife and gathered his remaining (presumably loyal) retainers, declaring, “these two dogs saved my life. Though I have no children of my own, I shall henceforth regard them as my offspring. When I die, my wealth shall be used for the sake of these two.”
But dogs do not live long, and several years later, they passed away one after the other. Grieving, Lord Maibu built a temple to honour their souls, enshrining a statue of a Thousand-Armed Kannon as the principal object of worship.
Written by Florentyna Leow