Eighteenth May, 1916. Lola, who since the middle of April has been accustomed to giving her own independent, and often lengthy, answers, was now rapping very well. Her replies were to the point, decidedly apt, and often quite unexpected. Moreover she usually stuck obstinately to her own way—should I happen to think that something was incorrect, until—on giving in—I sometimes had to acknowledge that she had been right after all. Now, on the 18 May I said to her: "Lola, you must write to my father and thank him for the biscuits, he will then send you some more. This is the way to write a letter, one begins—'dear Father,' or just 'dear,' and then one tells what one is thinking about, you must, therefore, thank him—and when the letter is finished—you must put 'love from Lola'." Now then—begin. Lola started rapping out without further delay, and continued rapidly and "fluently"—so to speak—her letter running as follows: "lib, nach uns kom, ich una ..." (here I interrupted her, believing her about to say "ich und Henny") and asked "is this right?" She said it was: "but, Lola," I urged, "be sure you are careful! ought this not to be a 'd'?" "No!" she said. I was at a loss to make out where this "a" came in, but told her to go on—and Lola rapped: "... artig eben, oft we, kus ich!" So the "una" had been part of "unartig"! ( = "dear, come to us, I have just been naughty, often pains, kiss (you) I.") Here she showed that she was quite certain in her own mind, and that in spite of my suggestions as to the form her letter should take, she was yet bent on following her own ideas, since there was no trace of "thanks!" Besides which, instead of concluding with "Lola," as I had proposed her doing, she elected to assert herself by putting ich = "I!" "Naughty" referred, probably to a strafe she had had about a quarter of an hour earlier for chasing the game, and the "often pain" to headache and to being tired. Anyway, this letter seems a brilliant proof of "independent thinking," and I shall be able to give several more equally fresh and original replies in a later chapter.[19 ]
Up to this time, it had only been in the matter of replies that I had been able to obtain independent communications, but, on 27 May, there was a new development to record: I had avoided asking her any questions for several days, for I had noticed that she seemed extremely tired. But by this day I thought she would probably be fit to do a reasonable amount of work: I have always abstained from this if she showed signs of evident fatigue. So I now asked her: "Lola! how is it you always know when my friend is coming? you knew it before she entered the house this morning!" "Gehört," ( = heard) was the reply. "Then, if you know hers—do you know the sounds made by every one?" "No." "Only those whom you know well?" "Yes." Then Lola began wagging her tail near to the door, so I asked: "Who was outside?" Lola gave a "g," and then corrected it with "no." From her delight, I was inclined to think that it had been Frieda, a young girl who had been studying farming with me, and that this was the name Lola was about to rap out. So I discounted the "g" and the "no" and said: "It should be 'f'—shouldn't it?" (note: g = 17, f = 16.) Whereupon Lola continued and rapped—Frieda. I then looked out and saw to my astonishment that it was Guste, a new maid who had been in the house about a week. I said to Lola at once: "You were wrong, it was not Frieda, but the new maid—what is her name?" Lola began again——" ... "and again added "no ..." "Don't you know her name?" I inquired—but Lola replied "yes!" I turned the matter over in my mind, wondering how she had come to rap "Frieda" instead of "Guste," and finally said to her: "Why did you give me a wrong answer, saying Frieda when it was Guste?" and Lola responded with, "You think!" "What?" said I, "did you feel what I was thinking?" "Yes." "And do you always feel what I think?" "Yes."
This was something quite new, but I explained it to myself, and my view has proved to be correct in all subsequent tests undertaken by me. It is this: Dogs are susceptible to thought-transference—also, that they are more particularly open to this when tired and when lazy. Further—they are open to such thought-transference even when not actually aware of the question—as for instance, in the present case, where it was a matter of the new servant's name, for here Lola had been able to "tap" my thoughts with respect to what was familiar to her—(i.e. the name of the other maid) but (and this is the most important point)—a dog cannot receive impressions in respect of matters of which it has no knowledge!
For example, here Lola could not spell "Guste" in spite of the fact that I was expecting it quite as intently as I had looked for "Frieda" in the first instance; and what is more—I cannot get the dog to "take up" a new thought should she have already "made up her mind" about a matter, as on the occasion when she had been "naughty." It has constantly happened that Lola has held out against me in the matter of some figure in her sums and that—later on—I have found myself to have been at fault, this showing that the numerals "pictured" in my mind can have made no impression on hers; yet, on the other hand, it has also happened that she has accepted my inaccuracies—simply because she was tired, and did not want the trouble of "thinking for herself." Indeed, I could see as much in her eyes—there would be a sense of inertia about her, which indicated that she was only waiting to "guess" by means of feeling—a willing receptacle, as it were, ready to receive my thoughts. I have often made the attempt at "thinking" new things into her head—but have found this quite impossible.
Shortly after what has here been related, Lola became a "slacker" in the matter of thinking, and kept this up for days. As this pose made it impossible for me to put a serious test, I had recourse for some time to questions only, and—moreover—to questions as to which I could not be sure of the answer, without some trouble or calculation on my own part, for I felt that I might otherwise have really lost my patience with her—unless I had kept on strenuously suggesting the answer—as, for instance: "the stove is green!" Nor did I feel that I could have entirely relied on the inactivity of my subconsciousness, while thus intently thinking. So I kept to such questions as—"What will be the day of the week on such and such a date?" (Naming a date about three weeks ahead.) This precluded any possibility of thought-transference, for I simply ignored reckoning out the days myself. By the way, it is astounding that dogs should be receptive to thought-transference, though there are, of course, many proofs of a dog's acute and delicate susceptibility in relation to the thoughts of human beings, as well as a certain comprehension for a particular situation in which these may be placed. Yet such comprehension can only evince its true force when animals shall have learnt how to give expression to that of which they are aware. With reference to the incident which I have just cited, the thought that presented itself to me first, was that the entire process might possibly be no more than a matter of "suggestion." Yet, on probing further into the question, as well as by drawing comparisons, the conclusions arrived at only further confirmed what I have above stated. That this is so, will, I think, seem absolutely certain to anyone who reads through the whole of this book carefully—indeed, they will arrive at that conclusion without my labouring the question.
It was only by degrees that Lola became amenable to thought-transference, and, in fact, this was only in accordance to the extent to which she became mistress of the human tongue. Now this trait might have degenerated into a serious failing, but, owing to the measures to which I resorted so as to obviate any evil results, it has almost entirely ceased. I now remain quite passive, while she is answering, trying to suppress any "thinking with her," so that, when she tires, her own individuality may not be disturbed.
ALTERATIONS AND MEMORY
As I have endeavoured to make clear—Lola was, especially during the first month of tuition, exceedingly attentive at her lessons. Indeed, her rapid progress can only be ascribed to this, and to her good memory. Nor did she only evince this alertness at her studies, but noticed everything that went on round about her, even to the following of our conversations, her keenness was surprising. It is probable that every lively and intelligent dog follows what is being said in its presence, and notes our play of feature—this accounting for the demonstrations of sympathy, and other symptoms of partisanship or of aversion they so constantly show. In general, however, such intuitive response is due rather to the dog's memory, and can only be brought to the surface and recognized where the "Spelling Method" has become a familiar mode of expression. Indeed, it may be said that its attentiveness begins then to extend over a far greater field of interest.
On the 19 April, 1916, several ladies—as yet unknown to Lola—were in the room with me. She was sitting near the window and dividing her attention between what was going on outside and in the room. After about half an hour she did some sums and some spelling, acquiting herself very well. For fun she was then asked the name of one of my guests (N.B. the lady's name was really Fräulein Herbster.) (Herbst = autumn, so we usually call her Spring) "What's the name of this girl?" I said: "Frühling" ( = Spring) was her reply at once—so that she must most obviously have been listening to us while we were talking.