sometimes understand our language. A circumstance that has just occurred
leads me to think that it does happen, where they are highly organised
and living much with their owners. While our family party were sitting
over dessert, a cork jumped from an apollinaris-water bottle on the
sideboard. I took no notice at first, but after the conversation was
ended, I got up and looked about for a few minutes, soon giving up the
search. My brother asked what I was looking for, and I answered. I had
no sooner sat down than our little dog crept from behind a piece of
furniture, where she was reposing on the end of a rug, and went straight
up to the cork, looking up at me and pointing to it with her nose. It
was near me, but the shadow thrown by the table prevented my seeing it.
She is a very nervous little fox-terrier, a most "comfort-loving
animal," and spends her life with one or the other of us on my sofa,
when her master is out, but hearing his voice at a great distance, and
always attending to it.
ANYTHING BUT A DOG-FANCIER.
HOW OUR MEANING IS CONVEYED TO ANIMALS.
[_Aug. 11, 1883._]
The following anecdote may interest some of your readers:--Some years
ago, when starting for a foreign tour, I entrusted my little Scotch
terrier, Pixie, to the care of my brother, who lived about three miles
distant from my house. I was away for six weeks, during the whole of
which time Pixie remained contentedly at his new abode. The day,
however, before I returned, my brother mentioned in the dog's hearing
that I was expected back the next day. Thereupon, the dog started off,
and was found by me at my bedroom door the next morning, he having been
seen waiting outside the house early in the morning when the servants
got up, and been admitted by them. Pixie is still alive and flourishing,
and readily lends himself to experiments, which, however, yield no very
definite result. He certainly seems to understand as much of our meaning
as it concerns his own comfort to understand, but how he does it I
cannot quite determine. I should be sorry to affirm, clever as he is,
that he understands French and German, yet it is certainly a fact that
he will fall back just as readily if I say "Zurueck!" as if I say "To
heel!" and advance to the sound "En avant!" as well as to "Hold up!" As
in both cases I am careful to avoid any elucidatory gesture or special
tone of voice, I am inclined to think that there must be here a species
of direct thought transference. At the same time, I am bound to add that
without the spoken word I am unable to convey the slightest meaning to
him. This, however, may be due to what I believe to be a fact, that it
is almost impossible without word or gesture to formulate the will with
any distinctness. If this theory be correct, the verbal sounds used
would convey the speaker's meaning, not in virtue of the precise sounds
themselves, but of the intention put into them by the speaker. I should
be glad to know if the experience of others tends to confirm this
theory, which I do not remember to have seen suggested before.
A. EUBULE-EVANS.
[_Aug. 18, 1883._]
I beg to contribute another anecdote on the subject of how our meaning
is conveyed to animals. When I was in Norway with my husband, a dog
belonging to the people of the house went with us in all our walks. One
day a strange dog joined us, and seemed to wish to get up a fight with
our dog, Fechter, who for protection kept almost under our feet; my
husband said several times, "Go on, Fechter," in English, which he
immediately did, but soon came back again. At last we succeeded in
driving the strange dog away, but he soon returned. Then my husband said
without any alteration of tone or gesture that I was aware of, "Drive
that dog away, Fechter." He immediately rushed at him, and we saw no
more of our troubler. I have long thought that dogs do understand, not
"the precise sounds themselves, but the intention put into them by the
speaker."
AN OBSERVER OF ANIMALS.
ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.
[_Aug. 18, 1883._]
Perhaps I should have said the "Intelligence of Animals," but my
meaning, in relation to the interesting correspondence in your columns,
is no doubt clear. The whole question seems to me to lie in the
proverbial nutshell, and to be solvable by the proverbial common sense.
Dogs' hearing is undoubtedly very keen and accurate, and even subtle;
and dogs have also the power of putting this and that together in a
marvellously shrewd and almost rational fashion. They cannot understand
sentences, but they get hold of words, _i.e._, sounds, and keep them
pigeon-holed in their memory. I might as well argue moral principle
from the fact that my dog Karl, like scores of other dogs, will hold a
piece of biscuit on his nose so long as I say "trust," and will when I
say "paid for" gaily toss his head and catch the biscuit in his honest
mouth, as argue that because he finds eleven tennis-balls among the
shrubs in five minutes, when I say, "We can't find them at all, Karl; do
go and find them, good dog, will you? Find the balls, old
fellow"--therefore he understands my sentence. He simply grasps the
words "find" and "balls," sees the game at a standstill, and reasons out
our needs and his responsibilities, quickened by the expectation of
pattings on the head, pettings, and pieces of biscuit. It is remarkable
that if I try to delude him by uttering "base coin" in the shape of
words just like the real words, as, for example, if I say "Jacob"
instead of "paid for," he makes no mistake, but refuses the morsel,
however delicate, till it _is_ "paid for."
Prominent nouns, participles, verbs, &c., make up the _lingua franca_
that so beautifully links together men and dogs, and now and then men
and horses, their intelligence being quickened by their dumbness, as is
that of deaf and dumb men and women, whose other faculties become so
keenly intensified, and who put this and that together so much more
quickly than do we who have all our faculties. There are of course
"Admiral Crichtons" among dogs, as there are among men, but the
difference between dog and dog will generally, I think, be traceable
more to human training than to born capacity. The yearning look which
Karl gives when (told to "speak") he gives forth his voice in response,
is sometimes piteously like "Oh, that I could really tell all I feel!"
He is like, and all dogs of average intelligence are like, the Frenchman
I met yesterday on the beach at Hastings, who wanted to know whether he
could reach Ramsgate on foot before nightfall, and how far it was, and
who, as I only know a few French words, and am utterly unable to speak
or understand sentences, was obliged to make me understand his wants by
a few nouns such as everybody knows, and by causing me to put this and
that together. There is of course the vital defect in the parallel that
I could learn to understand French, and the dog could never learn to
understand sentences; but as so many parallels have vital defects of
some kind, even down to that historic self-drawn parallel between
Alexander and the robber, we may well say, whether we be men or dogs,
"Let me reflect." Dogs do undoubtedly reflect, and reason, and remember;
and they never forget their "grammar," as school-boys do. Instinct, like
chance, is only a name expressing fitly enough our own ignorance. Did
not Luther and Wesley believe in the resurrection of animals?
S. B. JAMES.
[_Aug. 25, 1883._]
A little illustration of canine intelligence shown by my collie, Dido,
may be added to those which have lately appeared in the _Spectator_. The
dog was lying on the floor in a room in which I was preparing to go out.
An old servant was present, and when I had given her directions about
an errand on which she was going, I said, "You will take Dido with you?"
She assented, and the dog directly got up to follow her downstairs. I
then remembered that I should want a cab, so I asked the servant to send
one, and not to leave the house till I rang the bell. On her leaving the
room, Dido resumed her quiet attitude on the floor, with her nose to the
carpet. In rather less than ten minutes I rang the bell, and the dog at
once sprang up and ran downstairs to join her companion. I had not
spoken a word after asking the servant to wait for the bell. Was this
word-reading, or voice-reading, or thought-reading.
S. E. DE MORGAN.
ANIMALS AND LANGUAGE.
[_Sept. 1, 1883._]
I can match Mrs. De Morgan's pretty story of her Dido. A wise old dog
with whom I have the privilege to associate was, two or three days ago,
lying asleep in her basket by the fire. I entered the room with my hat
on, and invited her to join me in a walk; but, after looking up at me
for a moment, as canine politeness required, she dropped back among her
cushions, obviously replying, "Thank you very much, but I prefer
repose." Thereupon I observed, in a clear voice, "I am _not_ going on
the road [a promenade disliked by the dogs, because the walls on either
side restrict the spirit of scientific research]; I am going up the
mountain." Instantly my little friend jumped up, shook her ears, and,
with a cheerful bark, announced herself as ready to join the party.
Beyond doubt or question, Colleen had either understood the word "road,"
or the word "mountain," or both, and determined her proceedings
accordingly. Nothing in my action showed, or could show, the meaning of
my words.
If any of your readers who have resided for some weeks or months in a
country where a language is spoken entirely foreign to their own--say,
Arabic, or Basque, or Welsh--will recall of how many words they
insensibly learn the meaning without asking it, and merely by hearing
them always used in certain relations, they will have, I think, a fair
measure of the extent and nature of a dog's knowledge of the language of
his masters. My dog has lived fewer years in the world than I have
passed in Wales, but he knows just about as much English as I know
Welsh, and has acquired it just in the same way.
F. P. C.
TEACHING DOGS A METHOD OF COMMUNICATION.
[_Dec. 29, 1883._]
Mr. Darwin's "Notes on Instinct," recently published by my friend, Mr.
Romanes, have again called attention to the interesting subject of
instinct in animals.
Miss Martineau once remarked that, considering how long we have lived in
close association with animals, it is astonishing how little we know
about them, and especially about their mental condition. This applies
with especial force to our domestic animals, and, above all, of course,
to dogs. I believe that it arises very much from the fact that hitherto
we have tried to teach animals, rather than to learn from them--to
convey our ideas to them, rather than to devise any language, or code of
signals, by means of which they might communicate theirs to us. No doubt
the former process is interesting and instructive, but it does not carry
us very far.
Under these circumstances it has occurred to me whether some such system
as that followed with deaf mutes, and especially by Dr. Howe with Laura
Bridgman, might not prove very instructive if adapted to the case of
dogs. Accordingly I prepared some pieces of stout cardboard, and printed
on each in legible letters a word, such as "food," "bone," "out," &c. I
then began training a black poodle, Van by name, kindly given me by my
friend, Mr. Nickalls.
I commenced by giving the dog food in a saucer, over which I laid the
card on which was the word "food," placing also by the side an empty
saucer, covered by a plain card. Van soon learnt to distinguish between
the two, and the next stage was to teach him to bring me the card; this
he now does, and hands it to me quite prettily, and I then give him a
bone, or a little food, or take him out, according to the card brought.
He still brings sometimes a plain card, in which case I point out his
error, and he then takes it back and changes it. This, however, does not
often happen. Yesterday morning, for instance, he brought me the card
with "food" on it nine times in succession, selecting it from among
other plain cards, though I changed the relative position every time. No
one who sees him can doubt that he understands the act of bringing the
card with the word "food" on it, as a request for something to eat, and
that he distinguishes between it and a plain card. I also believe that
he distinguishes, for instance, between the card with the word "food" on
it and the card with "out" on it.
This, then, seems to open up a method which may be carried much further,
for it is obvious that the cards may be multiplied, and the dog thus
enabled to communicate freely with us. I have as yet, I know, made only
a very small beginning, and hope to carry the experiment much further,
but my object in troubling you with this letter is twofold. In the first
place, I trust that some of your readers may be able and willing to
suggest extensions or improvements of the idea. Secondly, my spare time
is small, and liable to many interruptions; and animals also, we know,
differ greatly from one another. Now, many of your readers have
favourite dogs, and I would express a hope that some of them may be
disposed to study them in the manner indicated. The observations, even
though negative, would be interesting; but I confess I hope that some
positive results might follow, which would enable us to obtain a more
correct insight into the minds of animals than we have yet acquired.
JOHN LUBBOCK.
COMMUNICATION WITH ANIMALS.
[_April 12, 1884._]
You did me the honour, some weeks ago, to insert a letter of mine,
containing suggestions as to a method of studying the psychology of
animals and a short account of a beginning I had myself made in that
direction.
This letter has elicited various replies and suggestions which you will
perhaps allow me to answer, and I may also take the opportunity of
stating the progress which my dog Van has made, although, owing greatly,
no doubt, to my frequent absences from home and the little time I can
devote to him, this has not been so rapid as I doubt not would otherwise
have been the case. Perhaps I may just repeat that the essence of my
idea was to have various words, such as "food," "bone," "water," "out,"
&c., printed on pieces of card-board, and, after some preliminary
training, to give the dog anything for which he asked by bringing a
card. I use pieces of cardboard about ten inches long and three inches
high, placing a number of them on the floor side by side, so that the
dog has several cards to select from, each bearing a different word.
One correspondent has suggested that it would be better to use variously
coloured cards. This might, no doubt, render the first steps rather
more easy, but, on the other hand, any temporary advantage gained would
be at the expense of subsequent difficulty, since the pupil would very
likely begin by associating the object with the colour, rather than with
the letters. He would, therefore, as is too often the case with our own
children, have the unnecessary labour of unlearning some of his first
lessons. At the same time, the experiment would have an interest as a
test of the colour-sense in dogs.
Another suggestion has been that, instead of words, pictorial
representations should be placed on the cards. This, however, could only
be done with material objects, such as "food," "bone," "water," &c., and
would not be applicable to such words as "out," "pet me," &c.; nor even
as regards the former class do I see that it would present any
substantial advantage.
Again, it has been suggested that Van is led by scent rather than by
sight. He has, no doubt, an excellent nose, but in this case he is
certainly guided by the eye. The cards are all handled by us, and must
emit very nearly the same odour. I do not, however, rely on this, but
have in use a number of cards bearing the same word. When, for instance,
he has brought a card with "food" on it, we do not put down the same
identical card, but another with the same word; when he has brought
that, a third is put down, and so on. For a single meal, therefore,
eight or ten cards will have been used, and it seems clear, therefore,
that in selecting them Van must be guided by the letters.
When I last wrote I had satisfied myself that he had learnt to regard
the bringing of a card as a request, and that he could distinguish a
card with the word "food" on it from a plain one, while I believed that
he could distinguish between a card with "food" on it and one with "out"
on it.
I have now no doubt that he can distinguish between different words. For
instance, when he is hungry he will bring a "food" card time after time,
until he has had enough, and then he lies down quietly for a nap. Again,
when I am going for a walk, and invite him to come, he gladly responds
by picking up the "out" card, and running triumphantly with it before me
to the front door. In the same way he knows the "bone" card quite well.
As regards water (which I spell phonetically, so as not to confuse him
unnecessarily), I keep a card always on the floor in my dressing-room,
and whenever he is thirsty he goes off there, without any suggestion
from me, and brings the card with perfect gravity. At the same time he
is fond of a game, and if he is playful or excited will occasionally run
about with any card. If through inadvertence he brings a card for
something he does not want, when the corresponding object is shown him,
he seizes the card, takes it back again, and fetches the right one. No
one who has seen him look along a row of cards, and select the right
one, can, I think, doubt that in bringing a card he feels that he is
making a request, and that he can not only perfectly distinguish between
one word and another, but also associates the word and the object.
I do not for a moment say that Van thus shows more intelligence than
has been recorded in the case of other dogs; that is not my point, but
it does seem to me that this method of instruction opens out a means by
which dogs and other animals may be enabled to communicate with us more
satisfactorily than hitherto. I am still continuing my observations, and
am now considering the best mode of testing him in very simple
arithmetic, but I wish I could induce others to co-operate, for I feel
satisfied that the system would well repay more time and attention than
I am myself able to give.
JOHN LUBBOCK.
INSTINCT OF LOCALITY IN DOGS.
[_March 4, 1893._]
A cat carried a hundred miles in a basket, a dog taken, perhaps, five
hundred miles by rail, in a few days may have found their way back to
the starting-point. So we have often been told, and, no doubt, the thing
has happened. We have been astonished at the wonderful intelligence
displayed. Magic, I should call it. Last week I heard of a captain who
sailed from Aberdeen to Arbroath. He left behind him a dog which,
according to the story, had never been in Arbroath, but when he arrived
there the dog was waiting on the quay. I was expected to believe that
the dog had known his master's destination, and been able to inquire the
way overland to Arbroath. Truly marvellous! But, really, it is time to
inquire more carefully as to what these stories do mean; we must cease
to ascribe our intelligence to animals, and learn that it is we that
often possess their instinct. A cat on a farm will wander many miles in
search of prey, and will therefore be well acquainted with the country
for many miles round. It is taken fifty miles away. Again it wanders,
and comes across a bit of country it knew before. What more natural than
that it should go to its old home? Carrier-pigeons are taught "homing"
by taking them gradually longer flights from home, so that they may
learn the look of the country. We cannot always discover that a dog
actually was acquainted with the route by which it wanders home; but it
is quite absurd to imagine, as most people at once do, that it was a
perfect stranger to the lay of the land. To find our way a second time
over ground we have once trod is scarcely intelligence; we can only call
it instinct, though the word does not in the least explain the process.
Two years ago I first visited Douglas, in the Isle of Man. I reached the
station at 11 p.m.; I was guided to a house a mile through the town. I
scarcely paid any attention to the route, yet next morning I found my
way by the same route to the station, walking with my head bent, deeply
thinking all the time about other things than the way. I have the
instinct of locality. Most people going into a dark room that they know
are by muscular sense guided exactly to the very spot they wish; so
people who have the instinct of locality may wander over a moor exactly
to the place they wish to reach without thinking of where they go. There
may be no mental exercise connected with this. I have known a lady of
great intelligence who would lose her way within half-a-mile of the
house she had lived in forty years. This feeling about place belongs to
that part of us that we have in common with the lower creatures. We need
not postulate that the animals ever show signs of possessing our
intelligence; they possess, in common with us, what is not intelligence,
but instinct.
A. J. MACKINTOSH.
[_Sept. 24, 1892._]
Will you allow me to record in the _Spectator_ "another dog story"? It
is one that testifies, for the thousandth time, to canine sagacity,
and, as we are still in the silly season, which has this year in
particular been so very prolific in human follies, it may be of special
interest to learn some clever doings on the part of beasts. Quite
recently a Westphalian squire travelled by rail from Luexen to Wesel, on
the Rhine, for the purpose of enjoying some hunting, and took with him
his favourite hound. The hunting party was to have started on a Sunday
morning at nine o'clock, but, to the squire's great disappointment, his
sporting dog could nowhere be discovered. Disconsolate, he arrived on
the following Monday afternoon at his house, and, to his great delight,
he was greeted there with exuberant joy by his dog. The latter, who had
never made the journey from Luexen to Wesel, had simply run home, thus
clearing a distance of eighty English miles through an unknown country.
Why the sporting dog should have declined to join the hunt is, perhaps,
a greater mystery than the fact of his returning home without any other
guidance than his sagacious instinct. Possibly he was a Sabbatarian, and
objected to imitate his master's wicked example. So, Sunday papers,
please copy!
EIN THIERFREUND.
[_Sept. 8, 1894._]
May I be allowed to offer to your readers yet another instance of the
faithfulness and sagacity of our friend the dog? The anecdote comes from
a distinguished naval officer, and is best given in his own words: "This
is what happened to a spaniel of mine. It was given to our children as a
puppy about three or four months old, and we have had it about five or
six months, making it about ten months old. It was born about three
miles from here, at Hertford, and has never been anywhere but from one
home to the other. When the time came for breaking him in for shooting
purposes, I sent him to a keeper at Leighton-Buzzard, and, to insure a
safe arrival, sent the dog with my man-servant to the train here, and
thence to King's Cross. He walked with the dog to Euston Station, turned
him over to the guard of the 12.15 train and the animal duly arrived at
Leighton-Buzzard at 1.30, and was there met by the keeper and taken to
his home about three miles off. That was on the Friday. On the following
Tuesday, the dog having been with him three full days, he took him out
in the morning with his gun, and at eight o'clock on Wednesday morning
(that being the following day) the dog appeared here, rather dirty, and
looking as if he had travelled some distance, which he undoubtedly had.
There is no doubt that this puppy of ten months old was sent away,
certainly forty or fifty miles as the crow flies, and that he returned
here in a day. How he did it no one can say, but it is nevertheless a
fact. It would be interesting to know his route and to trace his
adventures." This anecdote is the more remarkable in consequence of the
extreme youth of the dog, and particularly as he belongs to a breed of
sporting dogs which are not generally considered to rank among the most
intelligent of the species.
F. H. SUCKLING.
[_Sept. 15, 1894._]