Chapter IV: Conclusion: (by Professor H. F. Ziegler) 152 (2)

Lola had remained with the Moekels for some time after the decease of that estimable lady; it was, however, ultimately found desirable to find other homes for some of the dogs. It was about that time that my inquiry as to the possibility of procuring a descendant of Rolf reached Professor Ziegler, and he at once seconded my application. Thus Lola was kindly placed at my disposal. At first I felt some misgivings owing to the fact that the dog was already two years old, and had also passed through numerous hands, yet I determined to go to Mannheim, and my visit took place as above narrated. Lola made a most delightful impression on me, and I put few tests to my choice, for I was in a state of some excitement after all that had taken place, and therefore took her away with me joyfully. It had seemed as if I _must_ do this.

It was on 11 January, 1916. She sat in the railway carriage with me, and began to howl violently when she saw Mannheim disappearing from her gaze. I tried to console her, saying: "Don't cry! You shall be quite happy with me!" It was then that Lola looked at me for the first time attentively. She quieted down and our friendship seemed sealed. She was apparently resigned to her fate; she was also doubtless aware that she had played "second fiddle" at Mannheim, and that it would, therefore, be preferable to be somewhere "on her own." That something of the kind was passing through her mind I could see--also that she was quite aware that she now belonged to me, and imagined she would be alone with me. This latter surmise became evident as soon as we reached my home where the sheep-dog I had had for two years rushed out to welcome me.

Then Lola gazed at me with horror and disappointment; the reproach in her eyes was such that I could not but understand, and then--the two dogs flew at each other, for, in the meantime the sheep-dog had begun to understand too! This was remarkable, for male and female dogs do not as a rule fall foul of each other. For days I kept them apart in separate rooms, for the mere sight of each other occasioned deep growls--indeed, my position had become distinctly uncomfortable. Then I suddenly remembered having heard that if two dogs are allowed to come together--without their master being present, they will generally get to agree. I therefore hastily shut them both into one room, and went out into the fields!

When in the course of an hour's time I came home again, each dog was reposing in a corner--the image of peace; there was no further fracas, and there has never been any trouble since. Later on, indeed, both became good friends, and often played together, but it was a risky experiment and grim forebodings had beset me on that walk! But having occasion to apply the same cure in another case, I met with the same success again.

BEGINNING THE TUITION.

Lola had been four days with me--accompanying me through the house, and about the farm, at first on a lead, but soon without. Her extreme animation verged on wildness; I was struck with her elastic temperament and her constant attentiveness, and it seemed to me that this dog would hardly be able to sit still for five minutes. She already knew "yes," and "no," and in my joy at possessing a dog able to answer me, I put so many questions to her that I began to be afraid I might do her some injury. I was, in fact, so afraid, so in doubt as to my understanding, and so alive to my responsibilities in the matter, that I often wished I had not accepted the dog at all. I did not even know whether I could "teach"--much less whether I could "teach a dog," whom, moreover, no hereditary "urge" would induce to attend school once she knew that this would mean having to work and be attentive!

Doubts as to whether the dog understood me; in what way she understood me; what sort of creature a dog really was--whether she could "think," "feel," or even whether she was capable of hearing in the same way as we hear; able to see in the same way that we see with our eyes; whether she already possessed some cognition of the human language, and whether this possessed any meaning for her? For all at once I _knew_ that I _knew nothing_. That I had not even the least idea as to the best manner to assume, whether I ought to be gentle or strict--these are but a few of the difficulties I found myself beset by. I was, in short, almost in despair. How could I presume to form an opinion, supposing that, merely to my own shortcomings, the animal remained an animal, that is--in as far as I was concerned--an "animal" in the same sense that all creatures have been, since time immemorial--according to man's opinion? How should I dare to attempt to add my contribution to man's store of knowledge in so weighty a matter without as much as knowing whether I possessed the requisite patience--a genuine gift for imparting tuition, and a sufficient measure of devotion? Above all, how could I have been so foolhardy as to have undertaken to make my investigations in connexion with a descendant of Rolf's! Indeed, my only excuse could be my intense love of knowledge, my reverence and high regard for science. Science--whose temple we may enter only when filled with intensest Will, and with pure Truthfulness vowed to the furtherance of her Service--be the results sweet or bitter, fraught with success or failure, easy or difficult, new, or along the well-worn paths. It was in _this_ sense that I sought to adventure--was bound to venture, for the die was cast. It was, therefore, with all the powers I could bring to my aid that I decided to embark on my quest--no matter what the attendant results might force me to acknowledge. I would disregard no test that might prove a contribution towards the solving of this new question.

Vowed to these responsibilities I sat down opposite to my dog and began. Said I to myself: She knows that she has to rap with her paws, and that rapping _twice_ or _three_ times does not mean the same thing; she knows, therefore, that the difference between these numbers of raps has some meaning. I then began to count to her on my fingers--at first from one to five and then back, finally taking the numbers irregularly and then holding up as many fingers as composed the number in question. To my surprise the dog was quiet and attentive, and I therefore soon continued to count up to ten. In order to enforce this lesson more I placed a row of small lumps of sugar in front of her, counting them as I did so--for it seemed to me that these might draw her attention more to the _numbers_. And I also rewarded her from time to time with a little bit for having sat so still. Then, holding up four fingers, I ventured with the question: "How many fingers do I show? Rap out the number!" And to my joy she rapped "4!" Yet, thinking this might have been accidental, I held up five and said: "Rap out this number!" and taking hold of her paw this time in order to make her tap her answer on the palm of my hand. After this I ceased my questions, for it seemed impossible that she should have comprehended so readily, but I went on just repeating the numbers to her. On the following day I also only counted, and then began questioning again, for I could not understand why she refused to look at my hands any more, and was continually yawning. Therefore, without holding out my hands, I asked her: "How many make six?" At which she gave six raps. I could hardly believe it, so I asked her: "four?" and she replied with four raps. I asked for five, and she answered correctly. I was now confident that she did understand; but what mystified me was the celerity with which her answers were given, for allowing even that she had understood, this swiftness seemed incomprehensible, and I decided to form no opinion until I had tested her with higher numbers, and should be in a position to discount the possibility of accident.

On the third day--after the preliminary counting--I got as far as ten by means of questions, and ten seemed for some days to be the limit set--calling on me to halt, as it were. This notion led me to teach the dog addition first so as by this means to get over the simple questions as to the numbers, which were always given correctly.

All this I found quite easy to do, either using my fingers or using lumps of sugar for my purpose; I was at the same time careful to speak very distinctly and to use as few complicated phrases as possible. I would say, for instance, "Look here! two fingers and two fingers are 1--2--3--4 fingers!" But soon she ceased to follow with her eyes, so that I became disheartened and thought I had gone ahead too rapidly, or, had not roused sufficient interest; not waiting for the psychological moment, but seeking to handle the sensitive mechanism of a sentient creature too roughly. Yet--surely this could not be so, for, after all, I was but tentatively trying, and, indeed it was open to me "to try"--even if without confidence! I then said: "How much is two and five?" doing so without illustrating the question with my fingers, and the dog rapped seven! I felt a warm thrill of delight, yet I controlled my joy and proceeded with my questions, although at that moment I said to myself: "A living creature has given you a conscious answer!"

We now continued: "1 and 3?" Answer: "4." "2 and 6?" Answer: "8." This seemed to me enough for one day, and I allowed her to scamper off with a reward for her diligence; then I sat and meditated on my experience. The fact was evident: the dog had understood me--I had seen it in her eyes. She had reflected first and had then tapped the palm of my hand with unwavering certainty. I had seen the process and had felt it. Now, it is not wise to be guided by one's feelings alone--our judgment should be unbiased, and so I decided to test these facts according to reason and in every conceivable way. Yet, no one having once experienced what I had, could ever forget the sensation, for it was like the dawning of some great truth, rising suddenly before one's eyes--clear and immense. It appeared to me as some beautiful gift of life, and I was seized with a feeling of reverence for all that may yet lie undiscovered. For this new light of which I had caught the first flash, as though reflected in some bright crystal such as I might hold in my hand--how I yearned to transmit it--to pass this gift--this joy--on to others as soon as the veil should have further lifted and the horizon have become wider. And, before passing on again to the practical and scientific side of these investigations, I should like to say that where we have to do with warm, pulsating life, feeling too has its rights, and must go hand-in-hand with reason. For it is feeling, love and patience that must first penetrate the _subject-matter_, while to reason is assigned the studying, the weighing and the proving along the path pursued by the creative, seeking spirit of man. Such is man: how humble by comparison is the animal! Yet should our love henceforth assign to it its own place--as well as its own rights--as our lowlier companion in the work of life.

Soon I ventured beyond ten. For lack of any more fingers I got a counting frame, such as small children use at school, and the red and white wire-strung balls assisted me to explain my meaning as plainly as I could. I had forgotten the exact manner in which such lessons had been given me, but I hoped for the best! Indeed, "logic" was part and parcel of every step taken during this course of instruction. Never having taught before, I was desperately anxious to give a logical--a reasonable--explanation of everything to this other being respecting those things which were quite clear to me. Those, too, who saw the dog was learning something new, also felt that she seemed to arrive at what I explained to her with great rapidity and by exercising thought; that, moreover, she understood the matter as I understood it, and all were convinced that there could be no doubt but that she _did think_.

I asked her, "14," "12," "15"? And the right answers were given. Then it occurred to me that with these high numbers the rapping must be an exertion, especially over a period of time, and I then called to mind about Krall's horses who had rapped out the decimals with their left hoof, and the units with their right. The next thing, therefore, was to make her understand the difference between "right" and "left." I took each paw in turn, saying "right paw!" and "left paw!" And it took her longer to remember that than I had expected, seeing how quick she had been up to the present. Yet, at length this too was accomplished and she gave each paw without mistake. Strange as it may seem, I found later on that abstract reckoning and spelling came easily enough, while the movements of any particular portion of the body--with the exception of those habitually practised--were always attended with greater difficulty. It would seem as if she understood rightly enough _with her head_, but had some trouble in translating what she understood into active motion; and this applies to all, excepting, of course, such movements as are the result of heredity, where no words, but some other incentive, such as "scent" may possibly come into play. It is difficult for human beings to grasp that there is life in the sub-conscious, and that it is in those sub-conscious regions that the will to act arises.

I now explained to her: "When you give your _left_ paw _once_, it is to count as _ten_; when you give your _right_ paw _once_, it is to count as _one only_. For, you see, if we go on counting there is too much work for one paw to do and it takes too long. Therefore if you want to say '12,' you must give the _left_ paw _once_, and the _right_ paw _twice_." I repeated this several times and then asked: "How do you rap fifteen?" And Lola rapped one (10) with the left paw and five times with the right. It was evident that she had understood me perfectly!

This gave me confidence, and that day we did additions up to twenty, all of which were successful. Indeed, the dog showed much interest in her work, and came to it readily. As a rule ten to fifteen minutes in the morning, and another quarter of an hour in the afternoon was lesson-time. As the results were generally successful, I was sometimes tempted to continue my questions for a little longer, and she would go on answering until at length she began to sigh--then I knew that she was tired. And after such extra exertion I would notice the next day both by the pupils of her eyes and her nervous trembling, that she had been over-worked--and the thought of it makes me feel ashamed, even to this day; for, was I not undertaking the whole study for the sake of animal creation, and to think that I might have been inflicting any cruelty was unbearable. And, indeed, as time went on, this did not occur again, for I kept a keener watch. Soon, too, her capabilities increased, and she was able to fulfil more easily the greater demands made on her when answering to questions. With regard to decimals and units, I made a discovery which is, I think, worth stating. The dog did not look at me, but seemed, on the contrary (on this occasion), much interested in gnawing the leg of a chair, and I thought she could not have understood me, or else she would surely have looked up at me. Yet, she had apparently only done this to cover her confusion--as it were! Indeed, this was evident from her expression, and she had heard everything right enough, for she then--and ever after--rapped her replies without "visualizing"--and I mentally returned thanks to Karl Krall for the practical advice he had given me, and which had been so opportune. Rolf rapped with one paw only, as has already been stated; one was, therefore, obliged at length to put the question to him: "1 or 10?" And Rolf would then say "yes" or "no," as the case might be. This is confusing for the onlookers, and, as a matter of fact, when I saw him at Mannheim I never knew for certain what number he had indicated. But with Krall's method of using alternate hoof or paw, any confusion or doubt is ruled out.

CONTINUED TUITION

Lola and I had now become to some extent accustomed to each other, and the daily progress assisted this mutual understanding. I felt that I had become calmer and more self-possessed, and this, too, reacted on the dog. I did my best to make the subjects interesting, and I soon had only to call her to lessons for her to scamper up to me quite eager to begin. I also attempted to make her understand that she would be able to help other dogs--in fact, help all dear animals, if she was industrious, thus showing people how much a dog could do--when it was able to count and spell! I told her how much kinder people would then be to animals, instead of treating them as though they were no better than wood or stone, and I instanced all Rolf could do, and told her of the good uses his abilities had been put to. And from thence forward I rewarded her for every good bit of work with either biscuits or sugar, on the principle that any creature that works is worthy of wage, since man receives either food or money. And I would here like to say that I once heard that the judges examining both Rolf and the horses had taken exception to the fact of the animals being encouraged to work by being given "rewards"; where, I wonder, is the man who will labour unrequited? There will, of course, always be exceptional individuals who will do a thing _for its own sake_--yet--after all--do not _they_, too, seek their reward? albeit in a more idealistic manner, since it will consist in the success of their undertaking.

Yet these gentlemen thought that animals ought to exhibit the ethical single-mindedness of exceptional individuals! The "mere beast"--so belittled, as a rule that it is vouchsafed less "right to the earth" than is the sole of a man's foot! How significant this may be said to be of the mental attitude in which these gentlemen sat in judgment: men, who, doubtless, considered they were doing their very utmost in the service of science!

After Lola had mastered the numerals as far as twenty I started her at 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."

I then said: "To-day is Tuesday; now remember the days carefully: to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow--and the next you must always tell me the name of the day on which I ask." I then dropped the subject, and tested her on the morrow: "What is to-day?" "Mitwoch!" I next questioned her at random as to the weeks and the year, and all her answers were correct. I was very surprised on this occasion at the short time she had taken--in spite of the rapidity of so much of her earlier work, and I began to feel a sense of certainty as to the possibility of making greater demands on her. Hitherto Lola had always been able to prove to those who have seen her at her performances that she _can_ state the day of the week correctly, yet of late she has no longer taken the same delight in doing so; it has become "a bore"--and for this reason she is now only asked two or three times a month. Four days after she had learnt this accomplishment I tackled the dates. At first it was rather difficult to explain to her _why_ a year, which was already divided into weeks, should be again sub-divided into months--within which, moreover, the weeks could not be disposed of in complete numbers. Once more I made out my chart, and wrote down everything as I had done on previous occasions, but with divisions into twelve parts. Then I wrote out the months and placed the number of days after each, making the addition at the bottom of the chart come to 365. I then explained to her that, besides being divided into weeks, the year was also divided into months, so that each day of the year might be more easily remembered. I told her that for instance--"this day was Saturday; that it was in the month of March, and that to-day was the 13th of March." That "yesterday had been Friday, the 12th of March, and that to-morrow would be the 14th," and so forth. Then I left my chart on the floor again, and did not refer to the subject any more that day.

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.