In VN's novel Pnin (1957) the Cockerells have an old dog (a brown cocker spaniel with a tear-stained face) named Sobakevich:
The Greyhound that brought me to Waindell on Monday the fourteenth arrived after nightfall. I was met by the Cockerells, who treated me to a late supper at their house, where I discovered I was to spend the night, instead of sleeping at a hotel as I had hoped. Gwen Cockerell turned out to be a very pretty woman in her late thirties, with a kitten's profile and graceful limbs. Her husband, whom I had once met in New Haven and remembered as a rather limp, moon-faced, neutrally blond Englishman, had acquired an unmistakable resemblance to the man he had now been mimicking for almost ten years. I was tired and not over-anxious to be entertained throughout the supper with a floor show, but I must admit that Jack Cockerell impersonated Pnin to perfection. He went on for at least two hours, showing me everything--Pnin teaching, Pnin eating, Pnin ogling a coed, Pnin narrating the epic of the electric fan which he had imprudently set going on a glass shelf right above the bathtub into which its own vibration had almost caused it to fall; Pnin trying to convince Professor Wynn, the ornithologist who hardly knew him, that they were old pals, Tim and Tom--and Wynn leaping to the conclusion that this was somebody impersonating Professor Pnin. It was all built, of course, around the Pninian gesture and the Pninian wild English, but Cockerell also managed to imitate such things as the subtle degree of difference between the silence of Pnin and the silence of Thayer, as they sat motionlessly ruminating in adjacent chairs at the Faculty Club. We got Pnin in the Stacks, and Pnin on the Campus Lake. We heard Pnin criticize the various rooms he had successively rented. We listened to Pnin's account of his learning to drive a car, and of his dealing with his first puncture on the way back from 'the chicken farm of some Privy Counsellor of the Tsar', where Cockerell supposed Pnin spent the summers. We arrived at last at Pnin's declaration one day that he had been' shot', by which, according to the impersonator, the poor fellow meant 'fired'--(a mistake I doubt my friend could have made). Brilliant Cockerell also told of the strange feud between Pnin and his compatriot Komarov--the mediocre muralist who had kept adding fresco portraits of faculty members in the college dining hall to those already depicted there by the great Lang. Although Komarov belonged to another political faction than Pnin, the patriotic artist had seen in Pnin's dismissal an anti-Russian gesture and had started to delete a sulky Napoleon that stood between young, plumpish (now gaunt) Blorenge and young, moustached (now shaven) Hagen, in order to paint in Pnin; and there was the scene between Pnin and President Poore at lunch - an enraged, spluttering Pnin losing all control over what English he had, pointing a shaking forefinger at the preliminary outlines of a ghostly muzhik on the wall, and shouting that he would sue the college if his face appeared above that blouse; and there was his audience, imperturbable Poore, trapped in the dark of his total blindness, waiting for Pnin to peter out and then asking at large: 'Is that foreign gentleman on our staff?' Oh, the impersonation was deliciously funny, and although Gwen Cockerell must have heard the programme many times before, she laughed so loud that their old dog Sobakevich, a brown cocker with a tear-stained face, began to fidget and sniff at me. The performance, I repeat, was magnificent, but it was too long. By midnight the fun began to thin; the smile I was keeping afloat began to develop, I felt, symptoms of labial cramp. Finally, the whole thing grew to be such a bore that I fell wondering if by some poetical vengeance this Pnin business had not become with Cockerell the kind of fatal obsession which substitutes its own victim for that of the initial ridicule. (Chapter Seven, 6).
In Gogol's Myortvye dushi ("Dead Souls," 1842) Sobakevich (whose name comes from sobaka, dog in Russian) is one of the landowners visited by Chichikov. In Gogol's poem, the townsmen wonder if Chichikov might be pereodetyi Napoleon (Napoleon in disguise):
Но все очень усомнились, чтобы Чичиков был капитан Копейкин, и нашли, что почтмейстер хватил уже слишком далеко. Впрочем, они, с своей стороны, тоже не ударили лицом в грязь и, наведенные остроумной догадкой почтмейстера, забрели едва ли не далее. Из числа многих в своем роде сметливых предположений было наконец одно - странно даже и сказать: что не есть ли Чичиков переодетый Наполеон, что англичанин издавна завидует, что, дескать, Россия так велика и обширна, что даже несколько раз выходили и карикатуры, где русский изображен разговаривающим с англичанином. Англичанин стоит и сзади держит на веревке собаку, и под собакой разумеется Наполеон: "Смотри, мол, говорит, если что не так, так я на тебя сейчас выпущу эту собаку!" - и вот теперь они, может быть, и выпустили его с острова Елены, и вот он теперь и пробирается в Россию, будто бы Чичиков, а в самом деле вовсе не Чичиков.
Конечно, поверить этому чиновники не поверили, а, впрочем, призадумались и, рассматривая это дело каждый про себя, нашли, что лицо Чичикова, если он поворотится и станет боком, очень сдает на портрет Наполеона. Полицеймейстер, который служил в кампанию двенадцатого года и лично видел Наполеона, не мог тоже не сознаться, что ростом он никак не будет выше Чичикова и что складом своей фигуры Наполеон тоже нельзя сказать чтобы слишком толст, однако ж и не так чтобы тонок. Может быть, некоторые читатели назовут все это невероятным; автор тоже в угоду им готов бы назвать все это невероятным; но, как на беду, все именно произошло так, как рассказывается, и тем еще изумительнее, что город был не в глуши, а, напротив, недалеко от обеих столиц. Впрочем, нужно помнить, что все это происходило вскоре после достославного изгнания французов. В это время все наши помещики, чиновники, купцы, сидельцы и всякий грамотный и даже неграмотный народ сделались по крайней мере на целые восемь лет заклятыми политиками. "Московские ведомости" и "Сын отечества" зачитывались немилосердно и доходили к последнему чтецу в кусочках, не годных ни на какое употребление. Вместо вопросов: "Почем, батюшка, продали меру овса? как воспользовались вчерашней порошей?" - говорили: "А что пишут в газетах, не выпустили ли опять Наполеона из острова?" Купцы этого сильно опасались, ибо совершенно верили предсказанию одного пророка, уже три года сидевшего в остроге; пророк пришел неизвестно откуда в лаптях и нагольном тулупе, страшно отзывавшемся тухлой рыбой, и возвестил, что Наполеон есть антихрист и держится на каменной цепи, за шестью стенами и семью морями, но после разорвет цепь и овладеет всем миром. Пророк за предсказание попал, как следует, в острог, но тем не менее дело свое сделал и смутил совершенно купцов. Долго еще, во время даже самых прибыточных сделок, купцы, отправляясь в трактир запивать их чаем, поговаривали об антихристе. Многие из чиновников и благородного дворянства тоже невольно подумывали об этом и, зараженные мистицизмом, который, как известно, был тогда в большой моде, видели в каждой букве, из которых было составлено слово "Наполеон", какое-то особенное значение; многие даже открыли в нем апокалипсические цифры. Итак, ничего нет удивительного, что чиновники невольно задумались на этом пункте; скоро, однако же, спохватились, заметив, что воображение их уже чересчур рысисто и что все это не то. Думали, думали, толковали, толковали и наконец решили, что не худо бы еще расспросить хорошенько Ноздрева. Так как он первый вынес историю о мертвых душах и был, как говорится, в каких-то тесных отношениях с Чичиковым, стало быть, без сомнения, знает кое-что из обстоятельств его жизни, то попробовать еще, что скажет Ноздрев.
But every one was extremely doubtful whether Chichikov really was Captain Kopeykin, and thought the postmaster was a little wide of the mark. However, they would not own themselves beaten either, and inspired by the postmaster's clever suggestion, made others that were almost more far-fetched. Among a number of sagacious theories there was one, strange to say, that Chichikov might be Napoleon in disguise, that the English had long been envious of the greatness and vast expanse of Russia—there had actually been on several occasions cartoons in which a Russian was represented talking to an Englishman, the Englishman was holding a dog on a cord behind him, and the dog of course stood for Napoleon: 'Mind,' he was saying, 'if there is anything I don't like I will let the dog off.' And now perhaps they really had let him out from the island of St. Helena, and now here he was wandering about Russia got up as Chichikov, though he was really not Tchitchikov at all.
Of course the officials did not fully believe this, but they grew very thoughtful, and each separately thinking the matter over, decided that Chichikov, if he were turned round and looked at sideways, was very much like the portraits of Napoleon. The police-master, who had served in the campaign of 1812 and had seen Napoleon in person, could not but admit that he was no taller than Chichikov, and that in figure Napoleon could not be said to be too stout, though on the other hand he was far from thin. Perhaps some of my readers will call this improbable; the author is quite prepared to oblige them by confessing that it is most improbable; but unfortunately it all happened precisely as described, and what makes it the more astonishing is that the town was not far away in the wilds, but, on the contrary, no great distance from both capitals. But it must be remembered that all this happened very shortly after the glorious expulsion of the French. At that period all our landowners, officials and merchants and shopmen and every one that could read and write, and even illiterate peasants, became at least for eight years inveterate politicians. The Moscow News and the Son of the Fatherland were read with merciless zeal, and reached the last reader in tatters quite useless for any purpose whatever. Instead of such questions as: 'At what price were they selling the measure of oats, sir?' 'Did you get any fun out of the snow we had yesterday?' they used to ask: 'What news is there in the paper? Haven't they let Napoleon out of the Island again?' The merchants were in the greatest apprehension of this, for they put implicit faith in the predictions of a prophet who had been for three years in prison. No one knew where the prophet came from, he made his appearance wearing bark shoes, and an unlined sheepskin and smelling terribly of stale fish, and announced that Napoleon was Antichrist, and was bound by a stone chain behind six walls and seven seas, but later on would break his chain and gain possession of the whole world. The prophet was very properly put into prison for his predictions, but nevertheless he had done his work and completely confounded the merchants. Long afterwards, even at a time of most profitable transactions, the merchants talked of Antichrist when they went to the tavern to drink their tea. Many of the official class and of the gentry could not help thinking about it too, and infected by the mysticism which was, as is well known, all the fashion then, saw in every letter of the name Napoleon some peculiar significance, some even discovered Apocalyptic numbers in it. And so there is nothing surprising in the fact that the officials unconsciously thought on the same lines; but they soon pulled themselves together, realising that their imaginations were running away with them, and that all this was nonsense. They pondered and pondered and discussed and discussed and at last decided that it would not be amiss to question Nozdryov thoroughly again. Since he was the first to tell the story of the dead souls and was, so it was said, on very intimate terms with Chichikov, and therefore would undoubtedly know something about the circumstances of his life, it was decided to try again what Nozdryov could tell them. (Chapter Ten, "The Tale of Captain Kopeykin")
Komarov (the surname comes from komar, a mosquito) had started to delete a sulky Napoleon that stood between young, plumpish (now gaunt) Blorenge and young, moustached (now shaven) Hagen, in order to paint in Pnin. Pnin's address in Waindell, "999 Todd Rodd," is 666 (the Apocalyptic number of the Beast) turned upside down.
In Russian, the stock rhyme of Napoleon is khameleon (chameleon). In Chekhov's humorous story The Chameleon (1884) Khryukin, a drunkard, has had his finger snapped by a small dog (according to one witness, after thrusting a cigarette stub into the latter). The policeman Ochyumelov's attitude to the affair and the dog's future destiny fluctuates depending upon the coming information as to who the owner of the culprit might be.