18 December: Lola looked as if she had been crying, so again I said: "What is the matter, Lola?" "No." "Lola! do tell me?" "zu rechnen" ( = her mode of expression when making evasive remarks). "No, Lola! tell me why you have been crying?" "zu sagen swer" ( = schwer: difficult to tell). "No! tell me and I will help you!" I urged (I had incidentally drawn her attention to the above mistake—the "s" instead of the "sch"). "Why difficult?" "wegen er." After a pause I asked again: "Why are you getting so thin, Lola?" (for she had lost flesh considerably during the last three days). "ich so wenig er." "Wenig essen?" ( = you have eaten little?) I suggested—"no"—"Say the last word again." "er!" She kept harping on the same word—Ehre = honour: there could be no further doubt about this, for the missing "h" was of no importance since I had taught her to spell all words according to their sound only—as there would have been no object in teaching her our orthography, embodying, as it does, so much that is cumbersome and superfluous.
21 December: Lola was still in the same broken condition: she had been off after the game since about mid-day on the 20th, and had only returned home in the evening. I addressed her with evident displeasure in my voice, saying: "Have you any excuse to make for such behaviour?" "Yes." "Then what is it?" "ich one er." ( = I am without honour). "But, Lola! you are only making things worse—if you are naughty and go off like this after the game!" "zu schwer zu leben!" ( = too difficult to live!). "Lola! how can honour be made good again?" "wen ich sterbe!" ( = if I die!) ... and here the "romance" ended (but not Lola's life!). After a few days she got better and soon became as lively as ever—the wild and excitable creature she is by nature, whom none would take to be the mother of four children—and a "learned dog"—into the bargain! The thing is—could the dog have caught up an impression from some human mind—something she had heard said in conversation, and which she had—in some mysterious way—assimilated and applied to her own life? I cannot tell, but I almost feel as if this must have been the case. There can be no doubt that animals have a sense of honour, yet it would seem unlikely for it to function in the manner above narrated. Yet how much remains still unaccounted for within a dog's soul—how many attempts at unravelling will have to be made before the right clues have been touched, which shall lead us to our goal within this labyrinth. There is so much which it is impossible to bring into co-ordination with the human psyche, for though there are many fundamental impulses, common to both man and beast, we cannot approach the subject, nor yet measure it according to our human standards, where the psychology of a dog is in question. Another thing: in educating these dogs specially reared for experimental work—we should be careful on no account to suppress those instincts, which are natural to them as dogs—i.e. their "dog-individuality," transforming this—either by praise or blame. Just as certain conceptions and feelings, held by different peoples differ fundamentally, so too, has every animal a something which is its very own, an innate something, and this—in order to successfully accomplish our ends—must be held inviolate. Now, this is, of course, very difficult—since to instruct and educate an animal is, of itself, an infringement on its true nature—and, indeed, the same might be said respecting the life it leads among human beings. Yet I believe that where an animal feels that its own inner nature is left unmolested we may often succeed in "hearing the animal speak within the animal" (if I may so put it), rather than its "human connexion." That sentence of Lola's: "wegen ihren Augen und Sorgen ohne Ruhe" ( = because of their eyes and their sorrows without ceasing) certainly "rang true"—one could feel it as the answer was being given—yet—where the meaning is dubious, as in some of her replies which followed this one, decision becomes difficult indeed!
THE CONNEXION OF IDEAS
The ability to definitely connect one idea with another is clearly apparent in the animal mind, and may be attributed to its excellent memory and powers of attention. In everyday-life this becomes apparent as the reflex of their experiences, the impressions of which, having once impinged on their sensibility have left their mark, so to speak, and this experience thus practically acquired, shows itself at times as the shrewdest of wisdom, even though we may now know how their "power of reasoning" was arrived at—without words. We need only think of the way in which animals have time and again rescued their masters—going for assistance in the most intelligent way—this being but one of the many examples which occur to my mind. Nevertheless, a combination of thoughts, such as is carried out purely on the mental plane is only possible in the case of an animal that has been trained. I had a very pretty example of this on 14 September, 1916. I had taken Lola with me to a neighbouring estate. The rain was coming down in torrents, and we sat beneath the sheltering roof of the balcony and gazed out at this flood. "Where does the rain come from—Lola?" I asked; "uzu," she replied. "And what does that mean?" I queried. "heaven." "And what is the water wanted for?" She hesitated and tapped—"ich zu taun!" "What does taun mean? tell me differently!" (as I thought she was evading a direct answer). "funo!" "Nonsense!" "yes!" "I want to know what taun means!" "when I don't hear!" "Nonsense! 'when you don't hear!'—there is some letter wrong!" "yes." "What should it be?" "b." "Taub?" ( = deaf). "yes."
A week earlier I had explained "eyes" and "ears" to her, and the meaning of blindness and deafness, and yet could not make out why she was now using the word "taub" in this connexion.
"Did you mean that you did not understand me?" "no." "Then why did you say that?" "ich er (rather reluctantly) ... or ..." "Well——? and what more?" "I won't say!" "You won't tell me?" "yes!" The next day I returned to this question, for I could not make out why she gave me such answers, and made such excuses. She well knew how determined I could be in the matter of "catechising," and that I will stand no "nonsense" when she begins her little game of rapping "1!"—the meaning of which, she had once informed me, was "I won't tell!" and the sequel to which I generally found to be that she would put me off with any word that might just happen to come into her head. But why had this remark occurred to her yesterday? I wanted to get to the bottom of it, so returning to the attack, said: "Why wouldn't you tell me yesterday what water is good for?" "I thought of ear!" "What has water to do with 'ear'?" "water in ear horrid!" Here, then, was the reason! In her very fear she had not been able to bring forth her true answer—for, owing to me, the water had got into her ears—and made this lasting and unpleasant impression—when she was being bathed—or when I threw her into a stream! The reader may already have noticed other instances where a direct connexion of ideas has occurred. I have purposely abstained from pointing to the obvious in each case, believing that anyone who is keenly interested will do so quickly enough for himself, and I am loth to weary my Public by needless repetitions.
SPONTANEOUS REPLIES
Spontaneous replies provide a special proof of this ability to form independent thoughts, and is found both among horses and dogs. Such a reply is indeed the sudden and evident utterance of some thought, and of a thought which—to it—transcends all other thoughts at the moment: one which regardless of all other questions which may at the time be put to it, looms largest, and the animal will therefore utter this remark, asked or unasked—and quite independently of any question, but more after the manner of "making an observation." Such a thought may have nothing to do with the subject in hand, and persons who are participating in this conversation à deux, can only arrive at the inference of ideas after having carefully thought the matter over—it may also be that they will fail to see any association of ideas at all. Now, it is indisputable that such replies belong to the most important category—for they may serve as proofs to those who themselves have not worked with animals for any length of time, and who, therefore, cannot become sincerely convinced as to the truth of the matter by travelling the longer road of personal test and experience. The teacher of any horse or dog of good parts does not need this proof: there are thousands of small instances which in their sum total prove important—trivial and uncertain though each one may be, when regarded by itself. It would be difficult to know how to convey these to anyone in words: glances, movements, a certain "live appeal"—it would require a poet to catch and fix—in short—to idealize—telling us the true inwardness, so that we might indeed comprehend ... and even then he would, I fear, make for weariness, when grappling with what well may seem interminable.[20 ] Here are a few examples: