The dog—a big stray, more shepherd than wolf—slipped into line with the rush-hour commuters shuffling through the turnstiles of Moscow’s Frunzenskaya metro station. Shoulders hunched, head hung, the animal proceeded in lockstep with the white-collar workers heading home at the end of a long week. Then, at the top of the crowded down escalator, he hesitated.

This caught the attention of a baby-faced guard, who sauntered over and waved his arms. The dog looked up at him with gentle, thoughtful eyes. After a long hesitation, the dog appeared to make a decision. He trotted out. A few moments later, he was back, eyeing the packed escalator. The guard repeated the maneuver. So did the dog. Finally, having won the upper hand, the guard resumed his post. “I have mixed feelings,” he admitted, about his duty to shoo dogs out of the metro. He smiled, eyes on the tired commuters streaming steadily past. “I have patience for dogs,” he said, “like I have patience for humans.”

Only recently have metro employees been charged with keeping Moscow’s “commuter dogs” out of the city’s sprawling underground public-transportation system. This could be bad news for the special subset of Moscow’s strays who, in the unregulated aftermath of the Soviet Union, learned to descend the stations’ vertiginous escalators and, like true urbanites, now regularly navigate Moscow by metro, sparing their paws as they roam the megalopolis to forage for meals, meet new people, check out unfamiliar neighborhoods, or, on occasion, just for kicks.

Andrei Neuronov, the Russian media’s go-to expert on animal psychology and behavior, has been studying Moscow’s strays for decades. We met at Slavyansky Bulvar, a gleaming five-year-old station in the west of the city. “We won’t find any dogs here!” said the robust, white-haired scientist, heading to a bench to talk. “It’s too new!” In addition to his academic work, Neuronov moonlights as a dog whisperer for Russian politicians and businessmen “so high up” (a comment accompanied by a great deal of eyebrow lifting) that he can’t divulge even the breeds of their emotionally neglected pups. (According to some media reports, one of his clients was Putin’s black lab, Connie.) Neuronov caught his breath long enough to deliver a rapid-fire history of Moscow’s metro dogs.

In the Soviet period, the population of stray dogs—thought to be direct descendants of pre-Revolutionary, or even ancient, Russian packs—was strictly regulated. “In practical terms, there were teams that would destroy animals when members of the public asked for it,” he said. “Only the most quiet [dogs] survived.” Strays were sometimes turned into fur caps, or used in scientific experiments. The most famous Soviet strays were Belka and Strelka, who are said to have lived near the space-medicine institute prior to being launched into orbit.

“Back then, there were no dogs in the subway at all,” said Neuronov, who, as a student at Moscow State University, took part in underground experiments in which stray dogs were rewarded for good behavior with emotional stimulation in the form of praise rather than with food. “As perestroika began, nobody had time for dogs,” he went on. With Soviet-era controls no longer in place, “it was freedom for dogs.”

“In the nineties, after oil money came to Russia, quality of life improved,” he continued. More wealth brought more garbage, which meant more food for dogs (as well as for rats and crows). This combination of circumstances—more to eat and no regulation—gave the stray population a chance to grow, and to develop more complex survival strategies. During the cold Russian winters, the dogs started to move underground, first exploring the tunnels leading to metro stations, and then, once they had mastered the escalators, moving into metro stations located relatively close to the city’s surface. Finally, strays made their way to the deepest stations, in the heart of the city.

Rather than chasing the dogs away, metro workers fed them. Riders, too, were kind: if a tired dog fell asleep in the middle of a marble station, people walked around the animal to avoid waking him. The dogs have learned to recognize stations from the announcers’ voices—though Neuronov added that he doubts the oft-repeated assertion that, like humans, the commuting dogs occasionally fall asleep and miss their stops. “There are three models of metro dogs,” he explained: dogs who live in the subway but do not travel, dogs who use the subway to travel short distances instead of walking, and entrepreneurial dogs who spend the day riding back and forth, busking. This last type of dog takes long trips, working the crowd for treats and emotional contact. (On trains, dogs “seeking tenderness” are particularly inclined to approach women over forty who are carrying large shopping bags.) And, according to the results of a study Neuronov conducted of the Red Line, some dogs hop on the train for purely recreational reasons. “Like in human society,” he said, “there are dogs who are inclined to see new places.”

Though there is still no official legal framework for regulating the stray population, the future of Moscow’s metro dogs is uncertain. The new director of the metro system “has no patience for dogs,” said Neuronov. In addition, the Russian capital has been plagued by vigilante dog hunters, whose tactics include strewing poison in parks. The over-all stray population has once again declined, and there are fewer and fewer dogs to be seen in the metro. “I suppose they are too clever to die,” Neuronov mused. “I think they are going partisan.”

Still, Moscow’s stray dogs are beloved by many. At the outdoor market behind the Frunzenskaya station, the Uzbekistani vendors smiled widely, revealing full sets of gold teeth, when asked about the stray wandering around their stalls. (His name is Jackie, he speaks three languages, and “No! He doesn’t ride the metro. He has everything he needs here!”) A Web site, metrodog.ru, was created a few years ago to collect photos of the “very intelligent and interesting” dogs spotted in the subway. “Manifestations of life we meet anytime, anywhere,” reads the site. “Remember, in the ancient fairy tale a gray wolf said: ‘Do not kill me, Prince Ivan, I’ll be of service to you again’? So let us be at peace with ourselves and with the world!”

Back inside Frunzenskaya, the graying dog, having been chased away by the baby-faced guard, had given up on the escalator (for the moment). But he hadn’t left the station entirely. Instead, looking a bit shifty, he joined the line at the ticket counter. Lena, a very pretty call-center employee in a form-fitting plush tracksuit, was just heading home but stopped when she saw the dog. She bent down to his level, and offered part of her dinner to him. He turned away his muzzle. “It’s the first time I try with a Chicken McNugget, but he doesn’t eat it,” said Lena, who usually buys sausages when she sees a stray. “The expensive kind,” she added, “so that they have some meat in them.”

Vladislav, an accountant, watched the encounter. He said he still sees strays in the metro on a regular basis. “They are very clever,” he said. “Stray dogs can use the escalators. I saw a pet dog in the metro—he couldn’t understand how to ride the escalator!”

Neuronov, too, had a confidence-inspiring tale of the innate abilities of the metro dog. One morning, on his way to the office, he noticed a businesslike little puppy entering the metro station just ahead of him. “He didn’t ask for food, nothing,” said Neuronov, who followed the confident little puppy down the escalator. They boarded the same train, and got off at the same stop. “Then I had to go to work,” said Neuronov. “And the puppy went his own way. But he looked like he knew where he was going.”

Photograph by Natalia Kolesnikova/AFP/Getty.