simple multiplication, explaining these again on my fingers and the
counting frame and here, too, I found her a ready pupil. Indeed, there
really _does_ seem something so very obvious in 2 and 2 things being 4
things! and we proceeded by degrees to multiply up to fifty.
I would say, for instance, over the morning coffee: "Lola, to-day the
fours are to have a turn: 1 × 4 = 4, 2 × 4 = 8," and I would let her
multiply with four about three times, straight on from the beginning
first, and then dodging about irregularly. She usually did this without
any mistake whatever, and I was now getting quite used to the celerity
with which she worked. The only difficulties were in connexion with 10
× 3 and 10 × 4, where she would constantly make a slip, for then the
left paw came into action, and her consciousness was not yet
sufficiently concentrated on that left paw. Dogs and horses must, I
imagine, have a most splendid faculty for visualizing figures--to judge
from the rapidity with which they work.
It took us nine days to accomplish the multiplication table from two to
ten, keeping up, of course, a repetition of what had already been
learnt. This great speed is another point that often gives rise to
doubts, yet it is found to be equally the case with all animals who are
taught: I cannot account for it--I can merely say that it is so. I have
thought at times that the reason may lie in the fact that dogs and
horses have but a short span of life in comparison to man's, and
therefore, a briefer period of youth wherein to acquire their stock of
learning; that this might account for an animal being quicker than a
child, which has ampler time and seems to need it all in order to lay a
thorough foundation, since the multitude of subsequent impressions
would otherwise swamp all our earliest rudimentary learning.
Lola answered splendidly. It now happened at times that I myself made
mistakes and believing the fault to be hers, have said: "That is
wrong!" But she was not to be put out, and stuck to her reply. Then, on
going over it I would find that she was right after all!
I often put my question thus: "7 × 4 = ?" and the reply would be--left
paw 2, right paw 8: then: "9 × 3 = ?" Answer: left paw 2, right paw 7;
and again, "6 × 6 = ?" Answer: left paw 3, right paw 6. How accurate a
test this was might be gathered from the sure and quiet way in which
she tapped the palm of my hand, first with her left paw three times,
and then with the right, six. I held my hand quite flat, slantingly and
immovable--there was nothing about it that could convey any sort of
sign to her, otherwise she would not sometimes have rapped either less
or more than I expected, as has happened both in her spelling and at
her sums.
My thoughts now turned to the business of spelling and the replies to
be here obtained. A total of figures from 1-40 would suffice in order
to give expression to all the letters, while the same degree of
comprehension of my spoken word was all I required. Then I began to
tell Lola some four or five letters of her alphabet daily, questioning
her as to each. Every day I repeated the lesson learnt on the previous
one, and added four or five more letters. Her alphabet sounds as
follows:
+-------+-------+-------+-------+-----+------+------+
| a | e | i | o | u | au | ei |
| - | - | - | - | - | - | -- |
| 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |
+-------|-------|-------|-------|-----|------|------+
| b & p | d & t | f & v | s & k | ch | ü | h |
| ----- | ----- | ----- | ----- | -- | -- | -- |
| 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 20 | 21 | 24 |
+-------|-------|-------|-------|-----|------|------+
| l | m | n | r | s | w | z |
| -- | -- | - | - | -- | -- | -- |
| 25 | 26 | 27 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 |
+-------|-------|-------|-------|-----|------|------+
| | | ja | nein | | | |
| | | -- | ---- | | | |
| | | 2 | 3 | | | |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+-----+------+------+
It is particularly to be observed that the letters were pronounced as
follows: K as k,' not as ka ( = kay); H as h,' not as ha ( = aitch); R
as r, not as er ( = ar;) L as l,' not as el: this was so as to free her
"writing" of any extraneous difficulties. Rolf of Mannheim rapped out
the "e" in "w" ( = _vay_ being the German pronunciation of "w"), as
also in "g" ( = _gay_ being the German pronunciation of "g"); thus, if
he wanted to write "wegen," he simply rapped "w g n." Now, I wanted
Lola to learn to rap the entire word--"wegen," for instance, for this
simplification of expression, as put into practice by Rolf, would be of
no use to her in view of the method of pronunciation I was adopting
with the consonants. Those who had taught Rolf understood his spelling
quite as well as I in time came to understand Lola's, but with regard
to their system the objection was frequently put forward (more
especially by persons bent on maintaining an unfriendly attitude) that
"any construction might be placed on these answers," and, I must admit,
that there was some truth in this. Not that this objection could always
be justified, yet there were sufficient grounds for it. The great value
of Rolf's mode of expressing himself was shown in the way in which he
added letter to letter in accordance with their sounds (and I doubt
whether any mechanical aids or accessories would have been likely to
achieve the same results), thus giving proof that he was capable of
independent expression. Their system proved incidentally to have what I
might call a "side value," for Lola's mode of expression, due to my own
method of teaching led to quite different results--_yet on the same
level_.
Lola now practised her alphabet in the morning and in the afternoon we
continued multiplications; rather more slowly than at first, but we
ultimately reached a hundred. New work was then added in the form of
division and subtraction. She soon had this all so firmly fixed in her
little head that I was able to put her to easy sums and ask: "What is 3
x 3 + 10 - 5?" The answer after a few seconds being "14." A hundred was
rapped out with her left paw = ten raps.
As soon as she had mastered the entire alphabet I proceeded to contract
the letters into words. I said: "Lola, now attend; you are going to
learn to spell: you must rap out a word made of the letters you have
learnt; now--Wald (wood or forest) is w, a, l, d," and I accentuated
each letter very distinctly. "How many letters are there in this word?"
I added, and the answer was "4."
"Good," I said, adding: "What is the first letter?" and she tapped in
reply: "36/w"; "and the next?" "4/a"; "and then?" "25/l"; "and further?"
"4/a." "Lola now listen to all the words I am going to say: essen ( = to
eat, also "food"), e, s, s, e, n; gut ( = good), g, u, t; milch ( =
milk), m, i, l, c, h"; and so on. For many days I continued to name the
words which lay nearest to her understanding, and each day I got her to
do a little spelling, after first having divided the letters. But at
the end of eight days I no longer took the words to pieces merely
saying, very distinctly: "rap Ofen" ( = stove), and she would tap: "7 16
5 27" = o f e n. "Rap Haus" ( = house). This answer was: "24, 4, 9, 35"
= h, a, u, s. Whenever she rapped I jotted down the figures in order to
translate them later on into letters, for it was some time before I
could sufficiently memorize their equivalents, and was constantly
making mistakes after Lola had become an "expert." Indeed, one's memory
is easily liable to play tricks here in a way that may lead to endless
confusion, for the sequence of the numbers is so at variance with what
one is accustomed to.
Once I asked--by way of experiment--"What is this?" touching her nose.
At first she seemed uncertain, but then came the reply: "3" = nein
(no); so I said: "Lola, that is your _nose_; tap nose!" and she
tapped--"27, 4, 35, 5" = nase (nose). "Good!" I said, "and what is
_this_?" and I touched her eye, to which she at once replied with--"9,
17" = aug (auge = eye); she had apparently not been quite sure of what
I wanted when I touched her nose.
And so we went on practising--sometimes doing too much, and this would
give her a headache, but she had also learnt how to communicate this
fact to me and would rap: "36, 5" = we (weh = pain, or hurt); nor was
this malingering, for she worked willingly, doing so, indeed, to the
utmost limits of her strength, when it would become apparent, alas! to
anyone who saw her that her head was aching. This tendency to "keep
going" is common to all our faithful domestic animals: more
particularly is it the case with draft-animals, who will go on till
they drop. There are very few that consciously resist work, or who
humbug us by pretending they are ill. Yet, as I had told Rolf, we had
one of these exceptions at the farm; it was an ox that would always lie
down and sham dead, if not in the mood to work; he then stretched out
his limbs and looked at his last gasp ... but no sooner did we leave
him to himself than he was on his legs again and off to his stall. No
amount of chastisement brought him to reason. And it was this immoral
action that had jumped with Rolf's views when--without having been
asked--he at once remarked: "Hat recht, lol sagen Bauchweh!" an excuse
he is reported to have made very often of late.
I now tried to teach Lola to read the numbers, for she was thoroughly
at home in all we had practised so far, so it did not seem too much of
a venture. I cogitated, therefore, how best to begin; and finally I
wrote on a sheet of paper as follows:
1 2 3 4 5 6
. .. ... .... ..... ......
and so on up to 10.
I then held this a few inches (40 centimetres) from her eyes and,
pointing to each, said: "_One_ dot looks like 1," etc. And then I wrote
a 2 on a slip of paper and asked her what number it stood for. At the
start this gave her a good deal of trouble, and I had to do a great
deal of talking. She saw the dot right enough, but would give no
attention to the figure. I helped her twice to compare the two, and
then set the sheet up near the place where she usually lay, taking for
granted that in the course of the day her eye would be bound to rest on
it so frequently that she would probably have retained the impression
by the next day. And something of this kind must have happened; for on
the following morning after having gone through the explanation once
more, and put the sheet aside, I wrote the figures at random all over
another sheet of paper when she actually "spotted" them all--with the
exception of "7," and a comparison of the two sheets soon enabled her
to put this right, too. There could be no doubt but that she had really
mastered her lesson, for the replies were rapped out with absolute
certainty. I next attempted two-figured numerals; nor was this very
difficult, for in 32, for instance, the 3 was rapped by the left--the
"decimal" paw--and therefore meant "30," while the "2" was added by two
raps from the right paw; in fact, she memorized this without any
trouble--and for a few days we practised "reading numbers" assiduously,
so as to get her perfect.
Here is an example:
20 + 14? Answer: 34. 24 + 32? Answer: 56.
11 + 15 + 2? Answer: 28
Here again the most surprising thing was the celerity with which the
replies were given. I was at first inclined to _make_ her look at the
paper attentively, but she would merely glance over it, then came a
moment of quick thought--and the answer was ready. (I propose to return
to this point again in the chapter on "Seeing.")
In the course of such exercises it is no exaggeration to say that one
does actually _see_, by an alteration in the eye, that the dog is
thinking; the gaze is withdrawn, so to speak, as it is in the eye of a
person engaged in the process of thinking; and then brightens when the
result has been attained. I have often been so absorbed in contemplating
this process in Lola that I have almost forgotten to continue the work
we were engaged on.
As the lessons progressed it became easy to teach her to read the
letters, for she now knew what it was all about, and she soon picked up
the figures requisite for any given letter. Personally, I always use
the Latin script for writing, and it was therefore more convenient to
teach her this form rather than the Gothic, but for the sake of
simplicity I made use of the small characters only. I wrote these out
on a sheet of paper, taking care to make them very large, and with the
equivalent figure under each--thus:
a e i o u au ei
4 5 6 7 8 9 10
and so on.
I then gave a short explanation and stood the sheet on the floor
again--just as I had done in the case of the figures.
The next day I questioned her, taking the precaution to write out a few
letters on another piece of paper, so as to be able, by comparing the
two, to know what the word was at once. In a few instances the right
answers were given immediately, but there was still a great deal of
uncertainty. I suppose the entire alphabet at one dose had been too
much for her! But I tried her again in the afternoon--going over the
letters carefully, and set up the card once more, to "jog her memory."
And the next morning she knew it nearly to perfection, and was able to
follow with her raps such words as--h, o, l, z, (holz = wood), for I
took care to separate the letters, fearing she would otherwise get
confused. Whenever she seemed in doubt over some letter I had recourse
to her alphabet card, and made her look it up herself.
I began to feel that the foundation for all that was most important had
now been laid, and that at no distant future I should be able to ask
her all kinds of questions, and my joy was great. For now the moment
was at hand when I might hope to gain insight into the very being of
this dog, get into touch with its thinking and its feeling--all of
which was so immeasurably strange to me. Yet what I here anticipated
was not to be reached in so short a span of time as had hitherto
sufficed for her other studies. For the present Lola spelt out no more
than I told her to, and I continued practising her diligently, for I
felt sure that as long as it gave her any trouble a more lengthy
answer--and more especially, a _spontaneous_ one--would not be
forthcoming. It had taken one month of study to accomplish all I have
here set down, and I felt both grateful, happy, and not a little
awed--and, indeed, I did my best to thank her by my sympathy and
consideration. It was only later that I came to see my own inconsistency!
The elementary tuition, the form of which I had tentatively evolved was
now at an end; and constant practice in the four modes of arithmetic,
as well as in reading and spelling, kept her perfect. But it became
important to make occasional experiments of longer or shorter duration;
such tests might be either in support of, or in opposition to, each
other, and of these I now propose to treat in the following pages, for
they represent the "digest" of what had so far been learnt.
SENSE OF TIME
We often hear that dogs whose masters lead a very regular life get to
know the time and the hours of the day's routine--such as walks and
meals showing this by their behaviour. It might be easy to account for
their intimate acquaintance with the hours of meals, since their
stomach is practically their clock. But that a dog should know to a
"tic" the time for his master's departure from the house--whatever the
season of the year, tugging him by his coat--should he not be ready, or
fetching his stick--allows of no other explanation than that of a
canine sense of time.
This consideration led me to try and teach Lola our divisions of time
on the clock in order to make my experiment in this direction. I took a
clock on which the figures were inscribed in Arabic, and of which the
dial--measuring 5 centimetres across (2 inches), was sufficiently plain
to read. I then explained to her that a day and a night were divided
into 24 parts: I said to her: "The day-time is light, and people can
then go about, and eat and work; at night it is dark, and people and
animals sleep--do you understand me?" She replied: "Yes!" (two raps). I
said: "Into how many parts are the day and night divided?" and she
answered: "24," "These portions," I continued, "are called hours, and
one hour is again divided into sixty parts, and these are called
minutes; and so as always to know what are the hours, and what are the
minutes, people have made a clock--now look here: so as not to make it
too big they have written only twelve hours on it and this thick little
pointer goes round slowly and points to the number of the hours: now,
how often must it go round in a day, if a day has 24 hours?" She
replied: "2."
"You see, the little thick pointer is now pointing to _nine_, so it is
9 o'clock; what time will it be when it points to 4?" She answered:
"4." "You remember that I told you that the hour is divided into 60
minutes?" "Yes." "Now--see! the big pointer goes round more quickly and
points out the minutes: when _that_ pointer has been round _once_, 60
minutes are gone--that means one hour. This big pointer starts at 12,
and you see that there are five little strokes up to 1, and how many up
to 2?" Lola rapped "10." "And where is the big pointer now?" "(At) 14."
"What is 14--is it an hour?" "No." "Then what is it called?" "Minute."
And after this Lola rested!
In an hour and a quarter I fetched the clock again and said: "Look!
what does the little thick pointer say now?" She tapped an uncertain
"no." So I explained once more and then said: "Now tell me!" and she
answered this time, "50."
I stood the clock on the ground in front of her and questioned her
twice more in the course of the day--correct replies being given. I
also left the clock standing near her for the rest of the day, for I
wanted the flight of time to become impressed on her, and her eye was
bound to rest on the dial now and again during the course of the day.
Her answers were invariably right now for, by way of test, I inquired:
"How many minutes are there in half an hour?" And she replied: "30."
And again: "How many minutes has a quarter of an hour--that is, an hour
divided by 4?" And she answered: "15." She also showed much interest in
all this, for she sat as still as could be, listening attentively to
all my explanations. And I kept her interest alive by always telling
her "what nice new things Lola would be able to learn," and at this she
was visibly pleased.
The next day I made casual remarks as to the time of day out loud, and
all this day's answers were equally good. I now saw that she had
grasped the essentials--so that I could put the clock away, and there
is not another in my rooms, the nearest being a big one standing in the
kitchen which is on the ground floor. I never carry my watch, leaving
it in a drawer--and generally forgetting to wind it up, so that if I do
not ask, I seldom know what the time is. I have no sense of time
whatever myself, so that to me it may seem either long or
short--according to what I may be doing. I have always envied people
who possessed this sense of absolute certainty in guessing the time--it
is not a common gift. I make this remark "parenthetically" in my desire
for trying to elucidate the causes which lie at the back of the
"feeling for time."
On the third day after my first explanations I said to Lola in the
course of the morning: "Tell me what time it is. I daresay you know
without seeing the clock!" To which she answered "Yes!" "Then tell me
the hour first," I said, and she rapped: "10;" "And now the minutes?"
"35." I then went downstairs and found that the kitchen clock pointed
to 10.30, but I was told that it was not quite exact, so I telephoned
to the Post Office, and inquired the correct time--asking again in the
afternoon when it was 4.17. I then said to Lola: "Tell me the hour?"
"4," said she. "And the minutes?" "18." I made this test several times
more, and as the replies were invariably right I could regard this
experiment as successful. After this I allowed her to show off her
accomplishment to various people, and as long as the novelty appealed
to her Lola always told the time correctly and earned much praise. In
the presence of Dr. Ziegler and others she gave a most excellent
account of herself, and I frequently made practical use of her as my
"timepiece." The change-over to "summer-time" created some slight
confusion, but this was only temporarily, and was soon overcome. Later,
however, she frequently _gave the wrong time_!--it was only the charm
of novelty that spurred her on to her best endeavours!
Since then I have not questioned her as often--perhaps only once a
week, and her replies have varied, some being very good. Only to-day (I
am writing on 31 December, 1916) I asked her the time; it was very
dusk, and I thought it must be nearly 5 o'clock, but Lola rapped out:
"4"--"And how many minutes?" I inquired. "No!" came the reply.
"Nonsense!" I cried, "there must be some minutes as well?" "No!" she
insisted. So I went and assured myself, believing Lola to have been
obstinate, but no, it was actually only just four!
It may be taken for granted, I presume, that all dogs have this
time-sense in a greater or lesser degree, and not only all dogs, but
other animals also, for there are sufficient proofs to justify this
assertion. Sportsmen, in particular, will be able to furnish examples
in support of the theory. That Lola was able to "tell the time" was, of
course, merely a matter of tuition, this having awakened her latent
consciousness, and enabled her to master the signs.
In the summer of 1916 I purchased a grey parrot with the object of
further studies. This bird, being very tame, was allowed to sit on the
back of my chair and enjoy a few tit-bits at meal times. I always,
carried him on my hand from his cage to the chair, as he would not come
down from the cage--preferring to clamber about without and within. One
evening I had been delayed, and did not appear as punctually as usual.
My maid told me, however, that the parrot had left his cage at eight
o'clock, gone straight to my chair, climbed up, and was even at that
moment sitting on the back-rail waiting for me!
How sensibly animals are equipped as to the requisites of life!
Probably man was, too--at one time; at a time when he stood nearer to
Nature, and before his inventions and manifold accessories had weaned
him from so much that was inherent and inborn knowledge.
CALCULATING TIME
At first I proposed to achieve this by building on the foundations I
had already laid, on the dog's fairly reliable comprehension of the
value of figures, and her knowledge of spelling. So I wrote on a large
sheet of paper and in small characters:[14]
1 jar (jahr = year) = 365 days.
7 tage ( = days) = 1 woche ( = week).
so for 1 jar = 52 wochen = 365 tage.
The days of the week are called:--
1 montag.
2 dinstag (dienstag).
3 mitwoch (mittwoch).
4 donerstag (donnerstag).
5 freitag.
6 samstag.
7 sontag (Sonntag); no work for Lola!
[14] So as to avoid confusing her I always write the _sound_
only.
This was to be--at the same time--a test of Lola's reading. I placed
the chart on the floor where she could look at it, and repeated:
"To-morrow you must be able to know this. Now spell the first word to
me. And she tapped "jar." I once more went over this new lesson,
explaining it all, but put no more questions, only leaving the paper
where she could from time to time look at it.
The next day I removed the chart early, and later began my questioning;
fully prepared for somewhat crazy results. First I asked:
"How many days are there in a week?" She rapped "7."
"And in three weeks?" "21."
"How many weeks has a year?" "52."
I praised her warmly--her interest seemed roused, for she had rapped
her answers with a sort of joyful certainty! So I continued:
"Name the second day in the week?" "dinstag!"
"And what is the day called on which you do no work?" "sontag!"
"And which day in the week is that?" "7."