A Borzoi’s character is gentle, but not fragile. They have this quiet dignity, like they’ve read every room before they’ve entered it. They adore their people, but they don’t cling; instead, they lean into you for a moment of shared breath and then glide back into their own soft thoughts. They’re sensitive to tone, quick to pick up subtleties, and far too intelligent to bully into obedience. You guide them, you negotiate with them, and they meet you halfway when they understand the purpose.

And of course, underneath that calm, there’s the ancestral spark: a Borzoi sees a flutter of movement and suddenly the air has teeth. Indoors they melt into furniture; outdoors they carve arcs through the wind.

When you look back at the beginning of the breed, it’s striking how different the early Borzoi were from the ones we see today. In old Russia, they were shaped by necessity, not aesthetics. They hunted wolves and hare across open plains, sometimes in teams, and their bodies reflected that work—strong, balanced, built for explosive speed and hard ground. Their coats were protective rather than decorative. Their temperament carried a certain steeliness; they had to be brave, resilient, clever enough to make decisions at speed.

Today’s Borzoi carry that memory, but it’s softer around the edges. Selective breeding for companionship and show has shaped them into longer, floatier creatures, almost more sculpture than soldier. Many lines have become larger, with more dramatic outlines and coats that move like slow water. Their temperaments have mellowed too; gentler, more sensitive, sometimes less driven than their ancestors. The wildness is still there, but it hums rather than shouts.

And then there’s the difference between show and working lines, which is like the difference between two verses of the same poem.

Show-line Borzoi are bred with an eye for elegance; those sweeping curves, that drifting gait, the coat that seems to catch every breeze. They’re often serene, dreamy, and a bit softer in instinct. Beautiful in the way a painting is beautiful: deliberate, curated.

Working-line Borzoi, though; they carry more of the old fire. Their bodies are less exaggerated, more efficient; you can see the purpose in the way they stand. Their drives are sharper, their focus more immediate. They’re built to run not for applause, but for the sheer functional truth of the chase.

Both kinds are fully Borzoi. One leans toward artistry, the other toward legacy. But in each of them, whether show or working, modern or ancient, there’s still that unmistakable Borzoi essence - quiet, watchful, a little enigmatic, and entirely unforgettable