Another Tall Tale
Layla at the little white house—photo by William E. Evans
Siberian Huskies—the first that comes to mind might be a sled team mushing across the Yukon. Jack London’s Call of the Wild ran through most boys’ genetic makeup for generations, though his protagonist was an improbable sled dog, being St. Bernard-Collie mix. St. Bernards are hardly known for their long distance running abilities. What London was working out in his novels of the Gold Rush days was understanding the endurance required to survive the Yukon. That and taken from the point of view of a dog.
As most boys, the companionship of dogs that the story suggested was a good part of what attracted me to the story. London was the first writer I can remember emulating—his stark subject and his writing style.
Growing up in the 60s, there was a paucity of serious observations regarding animal behavior. Seemed there were the dog lovers gushing over Fido and Fifi, and the men (all men) in white lab coats pontificating alongside the priests and ministers (again, all men) about the elevated position of humans in the world—what Carl Sagan was later to attack with great brio. Being able to destroy the world doesn’t prove we’re more evolved.
Or, to stretch the point, the argument Stephen Jay Gould made in Wonderful Life: The Burgess Shale and the Nature of History—that had a few ancient creatures not gone extinct and others had, mammals would never have happened. Gould termed it ‘contingency,’ the happenstance of life on the planet.
If there is a God, he (of course) didn’t draw up careful plans before he started in. For real.
Not too many years after London’s novels, a German named Konrad Lorenz came along with theories on ethology—the study of animal behavior.
From Konrad Lorenz to today’s research in animal behavior lies a sizable distance. That Lorenz later regretted his involvement in the Nazi movement, one could say was better late than never, but leaves the suspicion of the man’s motives—were his claims at being a scientist cover for the same tribalism that’s plagued humankind going back to our origins?
Man Meets Dog was an early book by Lorenz. The English translation was published in 1954. I either read it or read of it sometime in my teen years.
“When I read Man Meets Dog, I had no way of knowing that the caraway seeds in Konrad Lorenz's sauerkraut had fermented and addled his brain. He put forth a theory that there are two races of dogs: Der Dogg, and Der Überdogg. No kidding... and if Konrad had ever lived with a wolf, or a dog with strong wolf traits, he would have noticed that the ratio of dignified and heroic to downright silly is something like one to twenty. Standard for all dogs ... and humans.”
from Uncle Boris in the Yukon and other shaggy dog stories by Daniel Pinkwater
Far as I could tell, back in the 60s the considered scientific opinion was that human consciousness was unique, and one was cautioned about thinking animal behavior resembled our own. So stories like London’s claiming animal sentience was fiction of the first order, and suggestions that dogs, or any animals, might have brains similar in function to humans simply couldn’t be true—because scientists didn’t know how to test for it? They even have a name for it—anthropomorphism.
“Anthropomorphic: Treating the Deity as anthropomorphous, or as having a human form and character. Attributing a human personality to anything impersonal or irrational. Having or representing a human form.”
From the Oxford English Dictionary
“Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human traits, emotions, or intentions to non-human entities. It is considered to be an innate tendency of human psychology. Personification is the related attribution of human form and characteristics to abstract concepts such as nations, emotions, and natural forces, such as seasons and weather.
“[Both anthropomorphism and personification] have ancient roots as storytelling and artistic devices, and most cultures have traditional fables with anthropomorphized animals as characters. People have also routinely attributed human emotions and behavioral traits to wild as well as domesticated animals.”
from Wikipedia article, Anthropomorphism
Two points: one, that OED defines anthropomorphism as ascribing human features to gods, and “anything impersonal or irrational,” and two, Wikipedia says this association comes from fables, i.e. pre-science. So in essence, scientists have brought their pre-historic fables along with them by calling animal traits that parallel humans as being ‘fabulous,’ instead of admitting ours are only further examples of the same.
When one argues that science pursues ‘truth’ and fables are mere stories, what’s missing is what they hold in common—pursuit of understanding ourselves and the world we inhabit.
What Makes Dogs So Special?
So we come to what started this blog, a recent Washington Post interview with the psychologist, Clive Wynn and his take on dogs: What Makes Dogs So Special and Successful? Love by Karin Brulliard
Before you rush out to order Clive Wynn’s book, Dog Is Love, may I suggest a better starting point: Temple Grandin’s Animals in Translation? As the Kirkus Review says of Wynn’s book, it’s written in a ‘jocular tone,’ implying the subject isn’t to be confused with serious science. By comparison, Grandin’s writing is an earnest plea for the more sentient among us to recognize the intelligence of species.
“Now I'm writing this book because I wish animals could have more than just a low-stress life and a quick, painless death. I wish animals could have a good life, too, with something useful to do. I think we owe them that.”
from Animals in Translation by Temple Grandin and Catherine Johnson
To explain the Grandin quote, she first built a reputation in animal behavior studying ways to calm cattle being led to the slaughter. That she is autistic, she believes, has given her visibility (quite literally) into how other species perceive the world. That she doesn’t apologize or make excuses for feeling a passion for granting them sentience, making her a far stronger source of wisdom than a typical science major.
“With something useful to do… I think we owe them that.”
Dogs in the modern age have little useful to do, other than entertaining their human companions. Sled dogs have worth. And are closer to living full lives. The coon dogs who southerners keep in cages for the hunt have momentary glimpses of that life. Lap dogs have far less; they have doting, loving human caretakers, but I’d suggest they ache for the chance to chase squirrels now and again.
“It’s not the case that dogs have special genes or special capacities to form relationship with humans. Dogs just have special capacities to form relationships with anything. Whatever they meet early on in life, they will then accept members of that species as potential friends later on.”
quote from Clive Wynn taken from What Makes Dogs So Special and Successful? Love by Karin Brulliard
Well, OK, to take Wynn’s quote somewhat out of context, Layla the husky’s special capacity to form relationships with cats, racoons, deer and foxes is essentially the same in all cases: her capacity to hunt. I doubt she chased them in her formative years so much as the fact she carries her wolf genes proudly. Huskies are simply closer to wolves than other breeds; their genome suggests the breed is one of the oldest.
I’ve often told the story arriving at a West Virginia farm, when our two previous huskies were brought from the back of the car, their fixed gazes and dropped heads at the sight of the cows and calves gathering by the fence was strikingly swift. And both species recognized this wasn’t a case of love at first sight; more like dinner on the hoof. The cows shooed their calves and hurried away after them while our two huskies kept seeing steak in their future, provided the Management would only let them go free.
Huskies are not farm dogs. The expression, fox in a hen house, can be interchanged with husky in a hen house—with very sad consequences for both the chickens and the dog. I don’t fear Layla would ever turn on us, and likewise I do fear for the pray she stalks—she’s one hell of a hunter.
Cicada Redo
I want to be the first to confirm: cicadas don’t go in for pine trees. I have the proof. Out back, one poor maple was hit so bad, we may be calling in the undertakers, but the pine leaning since I can’t remember in the front yard remains untouched. I offer as my proof: pine sap. If you’ve ever gotten it on your hands, you would know.
And as a kid, wiping it on my shorts just pissed my mother off. When it came to celebrating Christmas with fireworks and bonfires and all we had were pine cones and pine straw that smoked everybody out, we learned these things. Like the two boy scouts in my son’s troop who pitched their tent on top of the poison ivy, and the next morning after ripping it out, threw it into the breakfast fire—they learned too.
A solitary cicada flew across the backyard a few days ago. He was wondering where the party went. The maple looks wilted, and the cicada had no one to hang with. Kinda sad ending.