Chapter 6

"Whose book is this?" She answered--"Father!" Then I showed her a glove and she told me it was mine. On 20 April, I showed her another glove belonging to a lady who was commonly known among us as "Mama" and Lola instantly replied with--"Mama!" This was followed by an important test in the afternoon of the same day. Four ladies, who were strangers to her had come to my father's place at Hohenheim, and in helping them take off their wraps I did not particularly notice where the different articles of clothing were laid. Lola was in the room at the time, I introduced the ladies to her singly and by name and later on sent her to fetch one of the hats. She fetched it and then sat expectantly before me. "To whom does this hat belong?" I asked. The answer was: "Sibol." I then asked Fräulein Sibold who was present if it really was her hat and she said--"yes." Lola had remembered the name quite well but had left out the final "d"--an omission due to the fact that I am in the habit of "swallowing" that letter when saying the name. On 29 December, 1916, I gave Lola a biscuit and she seemed more than usually delighted with its smell--as if there was something familiar about it. "Why ever are you so pleased?" I asked, to which she replied--"Mama!" And it had actually been sent by the aforementioned lady familiarly known as "Mama." I then showed her another biscuit, saying "Is this too from Mama?" but she answered "no!" "Do you dogs always know by smell?" I said--and she rapped "yes!" On this same day another test failed owing to the impossibility of ascertaining the true name of the article in question.

I had a new jacket trimmed with fur--a variety unknown to me, it was grey and slightly woolly. Lola could simply not tear herself away from it--the smell was so fascinating. I said to her: "Tell me what is delighting you so to-day?" She replied--"_mederesf_." Unable to make any sense of the letters I set them down in writing before her and asked her if any of them were wrong; to this she replied: "yes:" "Which?" asked I--she said: "2." (_the second_) "What should it be?" I queried; she rapped "n." "How many of these letters belong to the first word?" I continued. "2." "And to the second?" She gave a wavering six--(though it may have been _five_). So the words purported to be "ne deresf." I could make nothing of it and asked her again--"What _is_ deresf?" to which she gave the explanation: "ein tir." (tier = animal) "_An animal_? but I don't know the name! have you heard of it?" "Yes!" "Have we seen this animal?" "Yes!" "Where did we see it?" "Maulburg."[16] "In the house?" "No." "In the woods?" "Yes!" "Spell the name again!" "d r e s f." "And what is n e?" "dran" (a contraction of daran = on it). "On the jacket?" "Yes!" "Then you want to say that 'dresf' is on the jacket?" "Yes...." And Lola looked at me with the most imploring eyes as though I _ought to see that she was right_--as though _I ought to know it_.

[16] Maulburg, near Schopfheim, in Baden, where Lola had visited relations of mine.

"Are you _sure_ of the name?" I persisted--and she replied: "mittel."[17] Here we ended--and unfortunately I have not been able to ascertain so far what this particular variety of fur is!

[17] Mittel = unbestimmt (uncertain; from Mitte = middle.)

There have been more recent tests of this nature, about which I do not as yet feel in a position to give a definite opinion. They may possibly come into line with the theories held by Professor Gustav Jaegar, M.D., of Stuttgart and, if so, would place the subject in a new perspective. I will now only add what has so far come to my notice accidentally:

On 4 October, 1916, I said: "Lola, do you like to smell people?" "Yes!" "All people?" "No!" "How do I smell to-day?" "Tired." "Lola," I said, "do I sometimes smell horrid?" "Arger Eifersucht!" ( = great, or strong jealousy) "So you smell what I feel and when it changes?" "Yes." "With every one?" "Yes." "With horses too?" "No." "With dogs?" "Yes! yes!!"

On 5 October I asked: "Lola, do I smell the same?" "No!" "How do I smell?" "Angst" ( = fear, or anxiety). She evidently meant that I was uneasy on account of the amount of work.

"Lola," I continued, "how does Betty smell?" "Nach Angst" ( = of anxiety) "And anything more?" "Auch müd" ( = also tired). [N.B. Betty had held out the palms of her hands to the dog.] "And anything more?" "Ja--traurig" ( = yes--sad.) And I found later that this had been the true state of Betty's feelings at the time.

Lola was bright and fresh and this encouraged me to continue:

"What does Magda smell like?" "Afe." "Is that right?" "No--a f." "And what more?" "g e r e g t" "afgeregt? Isn't one letter wrong?" "Yes." "Which?" "1" "Then what should it be?" "Au." "Then you mean aufgeregt?" (excited) "Yes!"

6 October. "Lola, do I smell different to-day?" "Yes--strong" "Yes! go on?" "O w e." "We?" (weh = pain) "Like pain?" "No." "You meant like the exclamation--'O weh'?" "Yes!" "But what do I smell of?" "Of surogat" (!) The use of this word by Lola seemed to be abnormal and mysterious, so I said "I am sure you have never heard that word from me!" and she replied "No!" "Tell me the name of the surogat?" "1"--(which stands for "I will not tell!") "Tell me! for you know the word for it!" I insisted. "Yes!" "_Please tell me_?" "1"--"I will not be angry," I pleaded, "I will give you a biscuit." But Lola returned again a reluctant "1." "What is this 1 to mean, Lola--is it yes or no?" "4" ( = mittel). She would not look at me and while seemingly desirous of "insinuating" something, was yet not quite ready to make a frank acknowledgment of the implication. "Lola, tell me!" I exclaimed, and she rapped "Luigen." "_Lügen_?" (lying) "Ja--nein." "Lola! I won't be angry; do I smell of lies?" "Yes." "Here at home?" "Minchen." (München = Munich.) And then it suddenly dawned on me; an hour earlier I had told the dog that I was going to Munich and that perhaps she might go with me. Yet at the same time I was by no means so sure that this could be managed, and thought therefore of taking her to Stuttgart. People may smile when they read these things--indeed I have often smiled myself, but I cannot help it if Lola chooses to give such answers! Probably the future may bring me further enlightenment! There were many more occasions on which I was able to test Lola's quick nose in taking up the scent of human beings as well as of game and also the smell attaching to different articles. I need not particularize these, for anyone possessing a dog with a keen nose may know this as well as I do--or, even better.

SENSITIVENESS OF THE SKIN

The time at my disposal has unfortunately not been sufficient to enable me to engage on any very careful tests as to the sensitiveness of Lola's skin. Yet I have made certain preliminary notes as to what I hope to do in this connexion, and have also begun with a few tentative attempts. I first tried her sensibility to various degrees of warmth by teaching her the use of the thermometer. I made a drawing of a thermometer--according to its actual size--and added principal numbers and figures and also

at 100°, water becomes air = hot. at 0°, water becomes hard = cold.

and beneath this I wrote:

from 1-100 upwards, it becomes always hotter, from 0-40 downwards, it becomes always colder,

and I concluded with a few more verbal elucidations, and then fetched an actual thermometer on which I made her read me the temperature of the room. The next day I repeated this lesson and she read the thermometer again. After this I tested her as to whether she could give the temperature by the "feel," as it were, or whether the impression of the temperature was associated more immediately with a sense of comfort. She has so far always given the right temperature when asked, though I should add that I have only put the question to her about twenty times--and then when she has been in good health, so that I feel that the matter has not yet been sufficiently put to the proof, and I cannot, therefore, make any very definite statements with regard to this particular faculty. But I must add, that to two questions put to her on different days, she answered that she "liked her food best at 6° of warmth!" Now this chimes with the advice given in many a book on the care of dogs; "do not give them their food too hot"--and Lola's remark reminded me of this, though I might consider that "degree of heat" practically _cool_ ... yet it appeared to be what she desired. Nevertheless, this preference turned out shortly to have been erroneous and, as the result of a practical trial, Lola changed her mind and voted for anything "between 12°--16°!" Here is one more test I put with regard to her susceptibility to touch: I got someone else to trace figures with their fingers on the dog's back, placing myself so that I could not see what was being described; then I put the questions, and each time her replies tallied almost invariably. One put to her in this manner was: "2 + 3?"; and "5" was given at once. While "7 + 4?" elicited a prompt "11." Then a number was described and I said: "Twice this number makes?"; to which she replied "8," four having been traced on her back. We only tried this new test for a few days so that I can give no more exact details about it--excepting this, that on that particular day, she would only understand the figures _if inscribed in this manner on her back_! It evidently amused her immensely, and we could see that she seemed to "transfer her attention," as it were, elsewhere. But though this test had been so successful with numerals, it failed entirely with letters. This was incidentally an attempt on quite a small scale at carrying out the tests which had been successfully so put to the blind horse Bertho, by Karl Krall.

These experiments as to her susceptibility to touch, or pressure, led to one slightly different, and which cannot as yet be said to have gone beyond its initial stages. I took a set of weights of 5, 10, 20, 30, 100, 200, 400, and 500 grammes, and also others of 1 and 2 kilo, and told Lola she must learn to know how heavy a thing could be. Then I placed the weights separately between her two shoulder-blades, naming them beforehand somewhat as follows--and having first written out a chart for her which set forth in a plain and easy form what I was going to say:

125 grammes = 1/4 lb. 250 grammes = 1/2 lb. 500 grammes = 1 lb. 1000 grammes = 1 kilogramme 100 lb. = 1 zentner

I then explained this carefully and questioned her at once:

"How many pounds are 375 grammes?" Answer: "3/4."[18] "How much are 1,000 grammes?" Answer: "2." I had intentionally refrained from putting questions as to figures that were on her chart which I had left lying before her; and after she had given her replies in accordance with the pressure she had felt between her shoulders, I tested her ability at guessing where greater differences of weight were in question. On two occasions she gave the right answers, namely "1 pound" and "2 pounds," I having put the question so as to obviate superfluous spelling. I then showed her the weights, placing them in a row before her, naming them again and saying: "Which is the heaviest?" She answered "4." As a matter of fact, the heaviest of these weights, the two-pound one, was actually standing fourth. I continued: "And now?" (I had for this question transposed the weights--unseen by Lola.) Answer: "1." Which was quite right! Then--"Where is the 100 grammes?" "3." "Where is 50 grammes?" "2," and "Where is one pound?" "5." Her answers, as will be seen, were perfect; she had learnt to understand what was expected of her in this test with great rapidity.

[18] Fractions will be touched on in a later chapter on "Advanced Arithmetic."

Indeed, more elaborate tests might have been undertaken but, unfortunately, I had little leisure at the time, and was without the assistance of any educated person who might have helped me in the work. As, however, the "spade-work" in this particular field of experiment seems now to have been accomplished, many additional and interesting details might result--given the right opportunity.

It may, perhaps, be a matter of surprise, that I should have undertaken these three separate tests, and left them in their initial stages, instead of working persistently at one in particular, and thus, maybe, putting the time to better use. The reason was the old and troublesome one which was always cropping up and causing me no little worry: _Lola's interest must not be allowed to flag_. In the course of a fortnight or three weeks, for instance, I have not dared to embark on more than _one_ test, not even continuing that one for as many as five consecutive days. This is why the three tests, above narrated, followed close one upon the other, while I took care to turn Lola's attention from them in between, making her go over all sorts of sums and spelling exercises. Should I have persisted in fixing her attention I should only have defeated my true object, and made her stale for future undertakings. In fact, I only engaged in these three, by way of giving a greater sense of _completeness_ to the idea, and also in order to fire the ambition of others embarking upon work of a similar nature.

FORECASTING THE WEATHER

On 2 May, 1916, at a season, therefore, when farmers are generally somewhat exercised as to the coming hay-harvest, and may well wish they had some contrivance--or knew of some method whereby they could ascertain, at all events, a few days in advance what the weather is going to be, a thought flashed into my mind. At first it raised a smile, it seemed so ridiculous and impracticable, yet there could be no harm in trying. I knew that most animals, such as birds, game, etc., sensed the approach of rain at least several hours before it began to fall. But the subject is one that has not yet come sufficiently under notice, so that we do not know whether they may not sense the atmospheric changes over an even longer period. We humans are not in a position to discover how animals come by their knowledge, we can only conclude that Nature has equipped them with more delicate "chords," so to speak, and that upon these highly strung chords she can sound a warning of her impending changes, since these, our humbler brethren, stand in more imminent need thereof. It is common knowledge that animals sense earthquakes long in advance of the actual shock, and this can only be accounted for in some such way. At the time of the earthquake in 1912, Rolf, at Mannheim, crept into a corner _several hours_ before it took place, and on being questioned, replied: "Lol hat angst, weiss nid vor was." (Lol is frightened; doesn't know at what.) It was quite useless trying to get further particulars as to his fears, for an earthquake was an entirely new experience to him; at a repetition of the event his remarks would, doubtless, be of greater interest and importance. Now as the weather is a matter that concerns animals, and with which they are also familiar, I determined to see how far I could get with Lola on this subject. So I taught her as follows:

For sun = s. For rain = r. For some rain = b (ein Bischen = a little).

and to test her in this matter, I questioned her as to the last few days--here she answered correctly. Then I began:

"What about to-day?" Lola replied: "b" ( = it is raining a little). I now felt sufficiently encouraged to ask her concerning the days ahead, and received the following answers:

For 3 May = s (sun). For 4 May = s (sun). For 5 May = b (some rain). For 6 May = nein (no = don't know).

I told these forecastings of Lola's to several friends who, like myself, were watching the weather with anxiety. Rightly enough! the sun shone on 3 May; on that very day therefore I continued putting my questions--and Lola again prophesied:

For 6 May = r (rain). For 7 May = b (a little rain).

On the next day, 4 May, the sun shone once more--as she had said it would, and in the afternoon I asked her: "How do you come to know the weather, Lola? How do you do it?" "Raten" (guessing). In astonishment I said: "From whom have you got that word?" "Dir" (from you) "Have you heard me say it?" "Yes!" On the 5th there were a few drops of rain, and on the 6th two hours' heavy downfall, but on the 7th it was dry and sunny, so that it may be that I had taxed her powers of anticipation beyond their limit, for I had asked her far in advance of the 3rd. From time to time she then continued to give me "advance information" as to the kind of weather to expect, two days or, at most, three days were the test put, and for some time I was able to fully rely on her forecasts, and would arrange my work accordingly, being careful not to cut or mow when Lola had prophesied _rain_, etc.

One morning, the sort of day when one cannot be sure of what it means to do, rain or clear, I again sought my dog's advice! It was very important to me that the hay should be carried, while the weather was dry, but I should have preferred having it loaded up towards evening, as the carts were wanted for other work--if only I knew what to expect! Lola decided for "r" (rain) in the afternoon, so I had the hay carried at eleven--_at three the rain began_, but my loads were saved! A long period of wet weather followed; after this had continued for a fortnight--a beautiful morning broke, fine and clear, so that every one about the farm said--"at last it's going to be fine again!" I enquired of Lola--"Will there be sun to-day?" "No!" she said: "Then tell me what the weather will be to-day?" I urged. "r." I was loth to believe her, yet, by eleven, the rain had begun again. Now all this seemed very nice, and I was quite delighted, for the importance of such accuracy in agricultural work was incalculable, but I soon found that I was "reckoning without my host!" After she had--as I have shown--gone on rapping out useful and correct replies for some time, she got sick of it, began to rap out all sorts of nonsense; indeed, I knew at once from her listless and unfriendly manner that her interest was falling off, and that the replies she was giving were false. It seemed to me, indeed, that she was doing this obstinately and on purpose, so as to put me off asking any more questions! And--if so--she certainly gained her point. The lesson of this, is that one has to bear in mind that one is not dealing with a _machine_, but with a living being--and with one that is in many respects exceedingly "unreasonable" and particularly "self-willed."

I had been devoting myself to this work for some months, and had lost some of my earlier interest, but I started again three days ago so as to have another test to set down here. Lola proved to be up to the mark again, seemed interested, and I did my best to encourage her by saying: "You _will_ be pleased when you know _this_!" ... "This _is_ nice!" ... "See how much more a dog knows than many a man!" and so on. And as a result she announced on 5 January, 1917.

For 6 January = b (a little rain). For 7 January = r (rain). For 8 January = r (rain).

On 6 January, there was half a degree of cold, and snow fell later in the day. This answer was near enough, for she had not been taught "snow," yet the equivalent might doubtless be found in a little "rain," i.e. wet. On 7 January, we had a heavy fall of snow, and another on 8 January. So that this test succeeded, if we discount the snow instead of rain, a change occasioned by the colder atmosphere.

ADVANCED ARITHMETIC

As the reader will now know, Lola was already acquainted with the simpler modes of arithmetic--such as addition, subtraction, multiplication and division; and we continued practising these forms for some time, even though my mind was already busy planning other and more ambitious tests. Arithmetic had of late only been taken as a corollary to her other studies, but the time seemed to have come when further advance in this too, might be deemed desirable. Her ability to "reckon" had already proved itself of practical use in facilitating her other accomplishments, and I determined now to try and put it to a still more objective test, first of all in such simple forms as: "How many people are there here?" Answer: "7." "How many of them are women?" Answer: "6." "How many dogs are there in this room?" Answer: "1." "And who is that?" "Ich" (I). A little later I said: "Listen to me, Lola! There are thirty cows in the stalls; ten of those cows go to graze, and two cows have been killed, how many cows remain in the stalls?" Answer: "18." Then I said: "Six oxen are in the stalls--how many legs have six oxen?" Answer: "24." and so we continued, the right reply being generally given after this exercise had been repeated a few times.

In May, 1916, Lola learnt the big multiplication-table, doing so easily and quickly. She was at first slightly inaccurate in the higher numbers, for rapping out the "hundreds" with the right paw and the "tens" with the left--and then again the "ones" with the right gave her some trouble in the beginning. Yet such questions as: 3 + 14, 2 + 17, 4 + 20, were given without hesitation, since these did not come within the region of the hundreds. But in time she got used to the hundreds too--and even to thousands, and to these latter she applied her left paw, rapping the date 1916 thus: left paw 1; right paw 9; left paw 1; right paw 6.