Chapter VI: Conclusion: (by Professor H. F. Ziegler) 152 (4)

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.

On the 25 April of the same year, I went on a visit to Hohenheim, taking Lola with me. While there I showed her a picture painted by Ferdinand Leeke and said: "That was done by 'Uncle' who came to stay with us at the farm, at the time when Lola was allowed to go for her first drive in the carriage with the two horses." (This event having made a great impression on her.) "Do you remember 'Uncle's' name?" I added. "Yes!" "What is it?" "leke!" The visit had taken place quite three weeks ago.

On the 20 May I took Lola to tea at S----. She did her work there excellently--both in viva voce arithmetic, as well as in the written tests put to her, and also counted dots, etc. After this the conversation became general, and Lola was not noticed. But in the course of the afternoon I told my friends that I had been to Hagenbeck's Circus a few days before, and that I had seen a monkey dressed as a man, and that it had eaten most daintily, cycled, and done other tricks. This had been a mere casual remark, and in about an hour's time I had returned home with Lola. But that same evening, when I was sitting reading, Lola came and rapped my hands--inquiring--"wer afe?" ( = who monkey?) I was at the moment so absent minded that I did not grasp what she was after--but she repeated "afe!" Then it suddenly flashed into my mind--and I did my best to illustrate the performance to her entire satisfaction. I gave an earlier conclusive proof of her memory when I mentioned her recollection of the yard-stick after the very brief explanation I had given her on the subject two months previously. Spontaneous remarks have been allotted a special chapter in this book, and may assist in proving what has already been stated, but I should like here to add an example of how animals put a matter "to themselves," as it were, when the thing _heard_ has not been mentally digested, so to speak--or may even be quite incomprehensible to them.

On 26 July, 1916, I said: "Lola! now _you_ think of something to ask _me_!" "Yes!" "Well, what is it to be?" "Yes, o h o." "What is the question? What am I to do with that word; the sentence is not complete, is it?" "What means?" "You want to know what _oho_ means?" "Yes, yes!"

If we but consider the manner in which a dog will listen--with ears erect--to every word we say, the question Lola put to me will seem most natural! It even "comes naturally" to her to use words which are "above her head," so to speak, as for instance, when she said "surogat"--and in the case of Rolf, who referred to the "Urseele!" ( = the primeval soul!) Words such as these are "picked up" by them much in the way that children use words they do not know the meaning of: there may be something in the sound that attracts them, but sometimes they make a guess at the meaning, and in the case of animals, the guess is often a very good one. In Lola this "Art of Guessing" almost led to a sort of Romance!

In my Protocol of 14 December, I have the following entry: Yesterday I asked Lola to tell me why dogs prefer being with human beings rather than with other dogs--and I asked her the same question again to-day. Lola answered: "eid" ( = oath). "What is that? you were to answer me to-day: say something properly!" "ich eid." "Oh! I don't understand this! tell me nicely!" "Eid für hunde." "What is _oath_ to mean?" "Zu schweigen!" ( = to be silent) "_What_? have you promised that to each other?" "Yes." "Who told you that?" "Frechi." (This was one of the dogs on the farm.) "Frechi? and what has that to do with you? Nonsense, had you told me so yesterday I should have known now! Say 'we are happy' otherwise I shall think you are telling me stories: now _why_?" "Wegen iren augen und iren sorgen one ruhe" ( = because of their eyes and their sorrows without ceasing). Lola was very tired when she had finished, but it had all been rapped out clearly and carefully, without a single correction. Later I said: "Lola, do you like being with me?" "Yes." "Why?" "ich gut ura?" Now this was quite incomprehensible, so I said: "What do dogs feel when they look at the eyes and see the sorrows of people?" "No." "Yes, tell me?" Then with hesitation: "libe...." (Liebe = love) and to this day I feel touched at these answers. How often in trouble and in sorrow have we not found relief in a dog's sympathy, and been glad to call it a friend in our sufferings? How often has not a dog's eye filled with understanding when its master has sat alone and lost in grief--coming, perhaps, and gently laying its head upon his knees--fixing its faithful gaze on him until at length he might be moved to smile, feeling that--after all--he was not alone? Dogs! may this not be your true vocation? Indeed, this thought possessed me for a long time. This sensitive aspect had not been so apparent to me until now ... I had been so keen on the objective tests and on all that they meant--and now I was almost ready to reproach myself, for had I not centred my love and intelligence on science alone: and only in a secondary sense upon the dog?...

16 December, 1916. On this date I returned to the subject, and said to Lola: "Why do dogs go to people when they see them in sorrow--what is it they then want?" "tresten" (trösten = to console).

"Tell me, Lola, of all the people you know, who has the most sorrows?" "herni ..." But she hesitated, and then turned the "r" into an "n," so that I saw she meant me (Henny)--and yet the spelling had been done with some uncertainty, so I said: "I thought you would have named someone else, whom all dogs love--do you know who I mean?" "Yes."

"Did you mean my friend?" "No." "Who then?" "her zigler!" (Herr Dr. Ziegler) "Then why did you tell a story just now? Did you think I should be pleased to think you meant me?..."

Later in the afternoon Lola was in a state of great depression; "What is the matter?" I asked. "er in or ist aus!" I questioned her more closely, so as to get at the meaning of this enigmatical remark: "What 'in ear'?" (or being meant for Ohr = ear). She replied: "eid zu sagen" ( = oath to tell--or to say) adding "ich auch aus" ... ( = I also done for). She looked absolutely miserable, and dropped down in a limp heap between rapping out each word, as though bereft of all will-power. I was beginning to feel quite distracted about her: "Lola!" I cried, "Is there no way of putting it right again? Oh, there must be!" "Yes." "Then I will help you!" but again she rapped: "er ist aus!" (Ehre ist aus = honour is gone). She could only answer concerning something she had in her head, and she did so restlessly--though quite distinctly. The whole thing seemed quite incredible! "Lola!" I urged, "how can it be put right?" "e zu...." and here Lola cowered down miserably, and remained so for the rest of the day.

17 December. To-day Lola ran away, returning at length as depressed as ever and bleeding. After I had bathed the wounds on her neck and ears I was glad to find that they were after all, no more than deep scratches. "How did this happen?" I asked. "ich one er." "_How did it happen_? did you run against a tree?" "Dog." "What dog?" "az...." "Tell me properly!" "kuhno." (Kuhno was a fox-terrier in a building near by.) "And were people present?" "Yes." "Who?" "wilhelm." (And this, as I later ascertained, was the case.)

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:

[20] The poet, Hans Müller, has touched most eloquently on the
power to think latent in animals in his book, "Die Kunst sich zu
freuen."

16 May, 1916: Lola was doing arithmetic and I had given her some new sums. Suddenly, instead of calculating, she gives--"not reckon." I asked her the date, she replied "16"--adding of herself "too little to eat." In the course of the afternoon, Lola, who had gone with me to tea at B. L.'s, was shown some pictures: "What is that?" she was asked. "re," (ein Reh = a deer) "segen haus, ich wenig nur arbeite." "Will you do more here?" "yes." "Arithmetic?" "Yes, yes!" (very joyfully) and excellent replies followed.

3 January, 1916: On this date I began teaching her the capital letters of the Latin alphabet; A = a, B = b, and so on, when she suddenly "butted in" with "go out." As she had worked very well up to that moment I opened the door and let her out. But in five minutes she was back, looking anything but pleased; "Well, didn't you like it?" I asked; "no!" "Why?" "come too!" I venture to think that I have here given good proof in the matter of "spontaneous" utterances, the best, perhaps, being the one given at B. L.'s, where she complained of having done insufficient work, for her fault-finding was generally the other way round! But she has always loved to show off in that particular circle, sensing no doubt the friendly interest taken in her there.

WRONG AND UNCERTAIN ANSWERS

If Lola is tired she will either not work at all, or--at most--work badly, which is but natural! Yet there is another and even more frequent reason than fatigue for her indifferent work. The dog may to all appearances be bright and fresh--leading me to expect the very best results, and yet--with everything seemingly in her favour, she may that day be an utter failure. This is particularly unpleasant if on one of these occasions visitors happen to be present, and more especially should there be sceptics among them. For this failure to respond where the subject happens to be one in which she has repeatedly given brilliant proofs of what she really _can_ do, is embarrassing and humiliating, for then those who are only too ready to scoff merely feel their case strengthened. Indeed, it needs some determination to keep one's temper on such occasions, yet to "let oneself go" even for one moment--would mean weeks of painful and laborious uphill work in order to regain the dog's confidence. One is often entirely at a loss as to the reason of this "inward withstanding," which may even elude long and careful investigation. Now and again the answers may not be forthcoming when one is alone with her, and behold--! a stranger enters the room, and she becomes all friendly eagerness to do her best: then again, the exact reverse of this may be the case, or on some days she may be useless both alone and before company. There have been times when she has been delightful and engaging in every way--till work was mentioned ... when the whole expression of her face would change, and she would assume her "stupid look," deliberately, so it would seem, rapping out the simplest answer wrongly! The very act of rapping is at such times a mere careless dragging of her paw--as though it had nothing to do with the rest of her body. Pleading, threats, the nicest of tit-bits--all are then unavailing, and she remains _seemingly_ idiotic--the mere sight of her being enough to drive one wild!--for low be it spoken--_it is the sheerest impudence_!!! Indeed, the visitor who does not know her, and happens to "strike" on one of these bad days, would have to be dowered with more than his share of amiability and imagination, should he be able to mentally visualize anything approaching "brilliant accomplishments" in the face of one of these fiascos. Whether these "turns" be due to sudden obstinacy, to some feeling of injury inflicted either by myself or the onlooker--to what on earth such tempers be due I cannot tell! but I have put up with this sort of thing for two hours at a stretch sometimes, keeping my self-control till at length I have had to rush out of the room--relinquishing every hope of victory for that day, and with a feeling of what seemed almost hatred against this unreasonable beast! although I must say that such feelings do not last very long--for I am not a good "hater"--and then ... Lola would soon try to "make it up again" in some touching way!

I may say that for the first four months she worked splendidly before strangers, and quite as well with me, but from that time onward her work was equally _uncertain_--both in the presence of others and when alone with me. I know of no cause for this, I can only say that I often seemed to "sense" about her a feeling as though she considered these labours superfluous; as though she had become in a manner "disillusioned" as to the "results" accruing from her work. Was the praise, or were the rewards inadequate? the fact remains, that on such days utterly senseless answers were the most one could get after constant and persuasive questioning, while the solutions of her sums would be completely wrong. When once the novelty was gone, indifference and lack of interest soon took its place, and this applies to everything she learnt. In the beginning, close attention, and keen alertness--resulting in ready and intelligent replies, then a sudden slackening, so that it would seem useless for me to pursue the same subject again for weeks. This tiresome trait (which, by the way, I can in part appreciate) may, I fear, in time attack her spelling too--and then everything will be over, as far as Lola is concerned. Not that she will be getting more stupid with increasing age! indeed, as she grows older, she will probably be better than ever able to understand what is said to her, but she will no longer find it worth her while to pull herself together so as to do decent work. I shall, of course, do all I can as far as trying to influence her so as to put off the evil moment--but the fact is that one has here to do with a remarkably sensitive and obstinate living-creature, and one that is quite able--though in a passive way--to maintain its own standpoint.

I shall now give a few specimens of the _almost_ unintelligible answers dragged from her, as it were, after much grave reproach:

16 August, 1916: "Lola, rap something!" "mal one lif unartig sein." "What is the meaning of 'lif'? do you mean 'when you ran'?" (lief = ran, the past tense of laufen = to run). "no." "Did you learn that word from me?" "yes." "Then explain yourself." "ich rante in wald zu re" ( = I ran in the wood after deer). Apparently she was in no mood for explanations, and it was only after wrestling with her that I could get any sequence of words at all. At other times when urged to get on with the subject she will in her contrariness rap as follows: "o zu ich" or "e wo zu" or "zum zu wozu" or "we" and so on--letters with which it is rarely possible to put together even such small words as _wo_ ( = where) or _zu_ ( = to, or for) and the longer one persists on such occasions, the more senseless her remarks become; it is the rarest thing for her to suddenly pull herself together so as to give a proper answer. And here again I can find no excuse for her behaviour; though it may be that she dislikes my persistence, and therefore has recourse to any nonsense by way of a quick reply! So as to get her in some manner to recognize the errors of her ways I have again and again persevered with the utmost patience, so as to arrive at some consistent answer--yet all I have succeeded in arousing, has been increased reluctance on the dog's part.

MATTERS WHICH--SO FAR--ARE UNACCOUNTED FOR, OR UNEXPLAINED

As will, indeed, be evident, there is still much that remains unexplained; much that it will be the task of the future to throw light upon. Tests which have been but uncertain in their results; accidental discoveries, the importance of which only becomes evident, after the results have been tested in connexion with a number of animals. Among these may be placed the more recent experiments dealing with the sense of scent, undertaken by Professor Jaeger, and in this category should be placed also what I think to be a rather interesting test connected with Lola: I was at the time staying with my family at Hohenheim, and I asked the dog how many pups her mother had had--including herself: she answered "12." I inquired of Professor Kraemer if this was so, and he said that at the time at which he had seen them there had only been eleven. I then made the same inquiry in Mannheim, and found that there had been twelve, but that one had died immediately after birth. It was the only instance of which Lola knew about a dog having pups, so one day I asked her in fun (19 June, 1916). "How many children will you have?" (Thinking that the answer would be 12). At first she replied with "yes!" "Do you know how many? why that's impossible!" But she rapped "9." "How many boys?" I asked. "3." "And how many girls?" "6." I thought that this statement was due merely to her desire to make some answer, so I put the same question the next day--but the reply was again, "9." So I told my friend about this and we awaited the interesting event in much suspense--it took place on the 22 June, 1916, in the presence of my friend, the housekeeper and myself and--_there were nine puppies_! two males and seven little lady-dogs. I kept two of each, the others being put to death at once by one of the farm hands, for--owing to the war, as well as to the fact that the pups were not thoroughbreds, I could not undertake to bring them all up. But, the question is--how could Lola have known that there would be nine?[21]

[21] At a meeting held by the Rolf Society at Stuttgart,
Professor Ziegler accounted for this accurate knowledge by
declaring that--prior to birth--the puppies lie in a row within
their mother's womb, and that if one moves, the others proceed to
move also, but only one after the other.

ALTERATIONS IN CHARACTER

As a result of all that has here been stated, the question may very naturally arise: are there any indications such as lead to suspect a change of character, or do any other practical results follow on these educational tests? Now, Lola is by nature lovable, lively, full of fun, and she has retained these traits to the present day. Her great excitability has diminished, it is true, but this is probably due to her having grown more staid with years. Yet a difference is also to be found where her character--her dog-soul--is in question: it may be noticed in the suspicious way in which she now regards people, as though she were "drawing comparisons" between them and herself. We have, in fact, fallen somewhat in her estimation. She "asks"--so to speak--as to where our vaunted superiority may lie, and would seem to compare her newly-acquired knowledge--together with the existence forced upon her--with the life that is ours. Since she has made these "educational advances" one can often see in her eyes something that amounts to an angry reproach--something like an impatient question, as to _why_ we have so much food and freedom as compared with what is meted out to her. She follows our thoughts to a great extent, and our abilities no longer seem to impress her, since--to her--it is only those which she herself has mastered that come under this heading at all, and here--a slight contempt for the "oppressor" is often discernable. There is also a greater show of independence and frequent contrariness, owing to her diminished respect for our "species," in short--it becomes more difficult to deal with the dog. The days of blind confidence are past--even though an innate sense of devotion to man remains, for what has just been said, seems always to occur more as the result of "moments of reflection." Indeed, this entire educational process would have little that is joyful about it, were it not for the feeling that the animal understands its friend, and is in a position to converse with us within certain limits, and this outweighs and compensates for all the rest!

As to the practical results--I can say little that is favourable. The dog's _thinking_ seems to be at variance with her acts: thought can therefore, have little influence upon a dog's behaviour, for--as has been the case with dogs of every kind, from time immemorial--its actions are due to the excitement of the outer senses, such as scent, taste, and hearing, and any emotions observable are but the direct and inward continuation of those external sensations, and, as such, last but for a given time. What we may term the "thought form" that is bound to any given _word_, representing objective thought in its simplest form, rotates within a very limited circle, and is powerless over the animal's feeling. For instance: Lola knows that she is forbidden to "hunt" i.e. to go after the game, etc., indeed she has shown in many of her replies that she is well aware of what "totgeschossen" ( = to be shot dead) means. And yet--once the scent is up, off she goes, and nothing will prevent her--for, she _must_ go!

This is a particularly strong characteristic which beating and being deprived of her food may sometimes _check_, but which her own powers of reflection do not cure: and it is the same thing with most of her faults. At times it will be unreasoning obstinacy, but even where she uses a certain amount of reflection, the _result_ is identical. It has been no better where--with the help of thought--we have endeavoured to bring about actual results. An animal can be got to understand and carry out certain injunctions, such as--"sit up and beg," "lift up your paw," "go to your bed," "go out of the door," and much more of the same description, while after instruction it will understand "behind the stove lies a biscuit," yet _action_ seldom results from such knowledge. The dog's eyes will brighten, and it is evident that it has perfectly well comprehended the meaning of the words, indeed--this much can be easily ascertained by questioning it--but the dog will seem incapable of translating what it has comprehended into action. At such times Lola will rush about, as if her limbs would not obey--as though the influence she could bring to bear on them was not sufficiently powerful--and the final result is excitement. Connexion with the motor-nerves does not come into being in response to the action of the cerebrum. As the result of repeated written and spoken orders it is possible (with a certain amount of additional aid) to set up this connexion from without, yet, even then, the actual effect is but moderately successful. On the other hand, action in the reverse way--from the nerves or senses to the brain--is easy where the dog is concerned. Lola can report about things she has done, such as--"saw deer," "drank milk," "went into wood," "was naughty," "ate some of the cow," for reflection gives more time to master the subject, and to notice what is past, and this will therefore show, that in the way of practical results, the best will be those obtained by asking a dog what he has seen, heard, or scented, etc. Indeed, it is along these lines that the police dogs have proved their worth and importance. Yet it is very necessary that one should make sure that one's dog is not a liar, but an animal capable of taking up its job in the right manner. With our present knowledge, however, we are unlikely to achieve very much, since we cannot say to a dog--"go here or there"--or--"take this letter to so and so."

Not but what dogs have--in exceptional cases and after training--learnt to carry out such instructions, but it has resulted _without their thought-activity having been developed_. They get familiar with a certain road, and--basket in mouth--they will proceed to the baker's but--independently of habit and external impression--by the mere appeal to the brain or by means of the most persuasive words, we can attain to nothing worth mentioning, nothing that could be of distinct value, where a dog is kept for use. The sense, the object, and the reason for this educational work must be sought on other grounds.

A VARIETY OF ANSWERS

It was some time after Lola had mastered the art of spelling before I was able to get her to make independent replies. The first of these was given on the 13 April, 1916, and from that time onward they became easier and more frequent: most of those I have set down date from that period. These answers were at once noted, according to their numerals, and when the sentence was complete it was transposed into letters of the alphabet. Whenever there were any spelling mistakes, the words were placed before her, and she was told to name each successive wrong letter in reading over her answer. As _I_ knew the equivalent letters, I was able to write them down at once, and if the reply was a short one and no paper at hand, I could memorize the letters, and enter them in a book as soon as the lesson was over--adding the questions to which such answers had been given as well as the dates. All other questions and answers, as well as particulars relating to new exercises were also set down here.

Here is an answer I received from her on the 13 April, 1916: Lola was staying with me at Hohenheim, where we had arrived on the previous day, and I proceeded to Stuttgart in the morning. When I got home in the evening I asked Lola: "Is it nice here? have you had good food at father's?" to which the answer--quite wide of the mark--was--"wo wald?" ( = where is the wood?) For I had been telling her about all she would be able to enjoy and that, among other delights, there would be the woods; as however, her afternoon walk had only lain through the fields, her mind was now absorbed with the one idea--"where was the wood?"--to the oblivion of everything else.

15 April: On this day the written question was put to her: "Why does Lola like going in the woods?" the reply was at once forthcoming, and I dictated it to Frau Professor Kindermann. "Where there is wood also deer and hare"--she was not quite clear in her spelling at first, indeed, in this respect she sometimes reminds one of a foreigner--as also in the matter of her grammatical mistakes.

The next day, after having done a few sums to please some friends who were present, she was asked: "Who is the dog in the room?" "I!" she replied--not "Lola" as we had all expected. (Rolf has as yet never alluded to himself as "I"!)

Two days later she was asked in writing: "How many dogs can reckon and spell?" To this she began her reply in a very brisk and lively mood, but soon wavered, as though at a loss for the right expressions, then followed a short pause--and finally she resumed her rapping with renewed animation. The reply, it will be noticed, is detailed, and does not keep to the plain question that had been put. "how many have been taken (for it)? Rolf talks, counts; two more" (short pause) "I also, also heinz and ilse." For, so as to fire her ambition, I had told her about her brother and sister, Heinz and Ilse.

19 April: "Lola," I asked, "what was it that ran away from you on the meadow?" "cat!" "What did you want to do with the poor cat?" "kill!" "Have you no pity?" "no!" "Then is the cat right if she kills you?" "_no!_" "Why?" (The reply to this was rapped indistinctly.) "Have you no pity for any man or animal?" "for dog!"...

22 April: I had told her that my brother was coming, and that he wore a field-grey coat and was a soldier. When he arrived I said to her: "Who is this?" "Your brother."

Next day she was asked in writing: "What did Lola see swimming in the water?" "duck!" I had shown her a duck on the previous afternoon.

26 April: On this day Lola appeared before Professors Kraemer, Mack, Kindermann and Ziegler, of Hohenheim, which resulted in these gentlemen forwarding the following statement to the "Mitteilungen für Tierpsychologie" ( = Communications respecting the psychology of Animals), series 1916; Number 1, p. 11:

"EXAMINATION OF LOLA BY PROFESSORS KRÄMER, MACK, KINDERMANN AND
ZIEGLER

"In our presence Lola solved a number of sums, such as: 5 + 8 = 13.
30 + 10 - 15 = 25. 4 Mark - 1 mark 20 = 2 mark. 80.

"She next counted the number of persons present. After this,
several dots were scattered about a sheet of paper: at first she
put their number down as 19--but corrected this to 18. Lola then
told us the time: it was 4.16m., and after this she did some
spelling. When shown the picture of a flower she rapped: "blum"
(Blume = flower), and to my somewhat faulty drawing of a cat she
responded with "tir" (Tier = animal), while finally to the question
of what was the name of the Mannheim dog she replied "mein fadr"
(Vater = father)--we all having expected her to say Rolf. Then
followed the musical tests which amazed us most of all, for here
she exhibited an ability lacking in many an individual."

* * * * *

27 April: Lola very tired: groans and does everything wrong. I said: "Are you lazy?" She replies "no." "Then why are you answering so badly?" "go!" "Who is to go?" "_tired!_"

29 April: I asked Lola why she had not attended to me on the 22nd, when--on a country expedition we had made together--she had insisted on running after the game when I had called her back. I had had to hunt after her for ten hours the next day, finding her--by the merest chance--at a peasant's house. She had settled down there alongside of a sheep-dog to watch the sheep, and seemed by no means pleased to see me; usually she is delighted! Her reply on this occasion was--"Lola went in wood, also lay down and was hungry." I returned to the question later in the afternoon when she made the rejoinder--"sought, didn't find."

30 April: Once more I returned to the incident mentioned above and Lola answered "to marry a dog"--(the consequences of this escapade becoming apparent, when Lola presented us with her litter of pups on 22 June). Then Lola added a spontaneous remark on her own account for, seeing a biscuit in my hand, she rapped "I to eat!"

* * * * *

On 1 May little was forthcoming in the matter of arithmetic--with which we always began our lessons, for Lola rapped: "too tired."

3 May: In reply to my question as to what she had had to eat at the peasant's house she said: "milk."

The next day I asked her "where is my friend living now?" to which she answered. "Hanhof." (N.B. A name under which she includes the entire district). "What is the colour of the woods now?" And she answered. "Green." Then "Why are you looking at me so crossly?" "We." "In your head?" "Yes." "What has given you a headache?" "Learning."

8 May: Lola had been rolling herself about in some frightfully smelly mess--a thing she, like other dogs, never loses an opportunity of doing. "Do you _like_ that smell?" I asked. "Yes!" "But don't you know quite well that I do _not_ like it?" "Yes!" "Then why do you always do it again and again?" "I love it so!" The same afternoon, after her musical tests, the maid came into the room to lay the fire. "What is Kätchen doing at the stove?" I asked. "Fire," replied Lola.

The next day: "Lola! who do you like best of all people and animals?" "Ich!" (1). "If you mean _yourself_ you should say "mich" (myself)", so she at once rapped "mich!" "And after yourself?" "Dich!" ("thee," the familiar of you commonly used in German). A frank remark, at all events, and without the taint of human egoism!

10 May: Lola has been gnawing a bone: not knowing of what animal it was, I put the question to her and she replied: "re" (reh = deer). The truth of this being confirmed in the kitchen. I then asked: "What bones do you like best--deer, hares, wuzl" (this is her own name for a pig), "or ox?" Answer: "Wuzl!" "Are you pleased that you know more than other dogs?" "No." And then--as though after due reflection--"no!" (_Emphatically._)

11 May: I showed Lola a biscuit, shaped rather imperfectly in the form of a fish, saying: "What is this--an animal that swims in the water?" Reply: "Fish!" In this case I do not think she had really recognized it, but had named the only animal she knew of connected with water, which--after all--was rather clever of her!

12 May: "Lola!" I asked, "would you like to be a human being?" "No." "Why not?" I asked--showing her a biscuit. She (promptly): "I eat!" "No! not till you have answered!" "Because of work!" A little later I said: "Do you belong to me Lola?" Very energetically--"No!" "To whom do you belong then?" "To myself." "And to whom do I belong? do I belong to you?" "No!" "Whose Henny am I?" "Your own!" These amusing answers bear the very impress of the animal's sense of independence: she is loth to be considered a "chattel," like some chair or table!

17 May: In the presence of my friend and of two dogs I asked her--"Lola, why don't you like Dick?" (Dick being one of the dogs present.) "Too wild!" was Lola's comment. "What do you like best to eat?" "Ich ese wi so mag!" "Is that quite correct?" "No." "Which word should be different?" "4!" "Then what should it be?" "Ich." "So it is to be: ich esse wie ich mag?" "Ja!" ( = I eat as (or what) I choose.)

31 May: Lola did her sums badly, and I spoke very seriously to her; after which she improved, rapping out an independent remark: "say I am good!" She wanted to hear that I was ready to "make it up" again! That evening, some friends being present--I wrote on a scrap of paper--"bon jour!" showed it to her for a moment and then removed it, saying: "now rap what you have read!" And she rapped: "bon jur!" Having only missed out the "o"; the word had not been spoken, so that I had naturally thought to see the "o" among the other letters.