On Sunday Lola was seldom given anything to do so that the divisions of the week should be firmly planted in her memory. Having, therefore, removed the chart on Sunday, I asked her on Monday:
"How many months has the year?" Answer: "12."
"And what is the second month called?" "February."
She was very eager and giving her undivided attention to the work, so I continued: "What day is to-day?" "Monday." "What number is this day?" "12." Now, this was wrong, so I said: "Yesterday was the 14th, so what is to-day?" And she replied: "15." I said: "How many days has March?" Answer: "31." This last answer seemed to me the most astonishing, especially as I had not really laid much stress on this part of the lesson—fearing I might be expecting too much from her at the beginning. As a matter of fact, I was myself by no means sure as to the number of days in March, and had to verify it first! Up to this day Lola has not forgotten how many days there are in each month, although this question has merely been asked now and again; it has not been put to her now for about nine months. Owing to the regularity of my daily work I take but little heed of dates, so it comes that I have often put the question to her, for when I do ask it is of importance to me to have accurate information, and I have always been able to rely on Lola's quick and steady rap, subsequent reference invariably proving that I can place implicit confidence in her.
SIGHT
A dog's sight hardly plays so important a part in canine life as do scent and hearing; yet, inferior as the eye would seem in some respects, it yet excels in others. It may be observed in the case of any dog that he only recognizes his master or any person he is acquainted with at a distance of—at most—20 metres. If either my old sheep-dog or Lola come to meet me they do not see first at all that there is a person standing on the road. If one moves, the dog will then recognize at a distance of some 50 metres, that a human being is in front of it—the movements being responsible for this. Then, when one gets within 10 or 20 metres, the cautious and critical aspect changes, and the dog will rush forward in joyous welcome. This is enough to show that in comparison to our sight, theirs is inferior; and there are dogs that see even much worse than in the case just cited. To test this it is well to stand against the wind, otherwise the dog scents what it cannot see. It is the same case with game. At the distance, therefore, the canine eye does not seem quick of sight, but it becomes all the sharper at close quarters. Here the swift glance and good memory far out-strip our own equipment.
It was conspicuous from the beginning—both in counting and spelling—that Lola was able to learn and memorize in a surprisingly short time. Lola's charts of figures and letters were written in my none-too-clear handwriting—and yet she could remember combinations of figures amounting to ten in number from one day to the other. She could also recognize persons from their portraits, and pictures of objects familiar to her, a faculty of observation I have tested in numerous little ways. This gift was also possessed by Krall's horses and by Rolf. People seem to have the idea that dogs do not observe much, but there is no valid reason for this. Children in their naïveté will show their picture-book to a dog as to a friend: "Look here!" they will cry—it is only the exception when it occurs to a "grown-up" to do the same.
I can only say that I have convinced myself and proved to the astonishment of many that a dog can recognize both the letters of the alphabet and the subject of a picture shown to it.
Not that these abilities exceed those of man, at first sight, but when the matter is probed into deeply they do out-strip ours in one particular, and that is in celerity. For instance, if I write three or four rows of figures, one beneath the other, doing so quickly, without making any calculation myself, and then hold the paper before Lola's eyes, so that I can look into them, I see her glance skim the figures for a second or two, she will then hang her head, in evident calculation—after which she looks out straight in front of her and raps her reply. Rarely does her glance go over the paper a second time. In early days I used to think that, before holding out my hand to receive her answer, I ought to hold her head firmly and oblige her to keep her eyes on the sheet, for it seemed to me she must needs look at it for five minutes—at least. But Lola always tries hard to avoid looking—so I let her have her own way, and am trying to account for the cause of this quick glance by a closer study. It was the same thing when I wrote down a question—her eye flew over the sentence in three or four seconds, and the answer was given without a second glance. People to whom I have not said anything about this have stood behind me during these tests, and have generally been more impressed by the fact of her reading them than by the swiftness with which it was done. But it is the latter that amazed me most of all, for reading she and we have in common—and is indeed so far simpler a matter that there is no reason for a dog not acquiring it—but it is the comprehension of what it is doing, and the speed with which it translates what it has seen into intelligent replies that seem to me the most surprising part of all. Another instance in connexion with what I term the "cursory glance" may throw light upon this curious ability. I had heard of the way in which Rolf was able to count the flowers in a bunch, and so—on the 16 April, 1917, I thought I would try something of the same kind with Lola. For this lesson I took a sheet of paper and peppered it with dots, without any thought at regularity.