Understanding and Choices

One of the questions that people often ask is: do you tell Bow what to do or is that just what he chooses to do? For instance, when he is eating oatmeal, did I tell him to use the spoon?

No, I didn't tell him to use the spoon. I provided the spoon, and I told him to eat "nice". What does that mean? Mostly it means, don't make a mess. Be considerate of the fact that I have to clean up after you. But it does not mean you have to use Emily Post etiquette. It's the way I was raised. I didn't have to be perfect in my decorum, but I understood that I should not cause others more work than was necessary.

Everything with Bow is give and take. He does not always do exactly what I ask of him, but he takes reasonable suggestions under consideration. 

In trying to help me think of ways that I might prove what Bow knows, a colleague recently asked me if Bow would respond well to being rewarded for answering a question. We tried that more than once. He intentionally gave the wrong answer, every single time. It was not a random thing. It was better than chance! He was being obstructive because he resented the test,

So what was the reward we offered? It was chocolate. And he loves chocolate and does not get it all the time. But he wants to be given it as a treat, not a reward. He will do all sorts of nice and surprisingly considerate things, but not for a reward.

Bow is well fed. He has more than enough to eat. Yes, he does tell us what he wants to eat and when he is full. But he is not talking to us for a reward, and he would stop talking altogether, if he thought we were playing some kind of manipulative trick on him in our language use.

Well, why don't we just stop feeding him? He would probably be more cooperative then. Some people have suggested that. 

I would never do that. Withholding food is not ethical. It's wrong. And it would destroy the relationship of trust that I have built up with Bow. So all our language use remains in context. And as long as it's in context, then it's not a double blind test and will not pass muster for scientific purposes.

Well, how about if he were holding the hand of someone who did not speak his language? Then what he wrote would have to be coming from him, right? Remember, he only holds the hands of people he trusts. But, yes, something like that did happen once. The intern's name was Katie Thurston, And Bow did not entirely trust her, because she had a British accent. And he played a trick on her, by using a pun in Hebrew, and then just a spelled out Hebrew word, before he agreed to tell her in English that he was full. 

In Hebrew, the number seven is spelled שבע. But that is also how you spell the word for sated, meaning full.  He was being very tricky when he pointed at the 7, and of course Katie did not know what he meant. The next thing Bow spelled after the  7 to let Katie know he was full was מלא, which literally means full. But she did not know that Hebrew word.  Then, when she did not understand that, he spelled "because I am full," in answer to her question about why he did not want to eat.

Above is the transcript of that exchange.  It is not replicable, meaning that we can't get Bow to do that over and over again on command. It was something that he chose to do at the time, and like all real language use, it was a once in a lifetime exchange. You can't tell him: "Say that again." He won't.

Does Bow understand what we say to him? Yes. Does he obey commands? No, but he sometimes follows suggestions, when he himself decides it is a good idea. In all those cases, there is nothing context-free about it.

Real language use never is context free. It's a matter of give and take, a little cooperation and a little bargaining and making do with less than perfect results. 

Neighbor Dog

It's nice to be snug as a bug in a rug at home, and to be able to contemplate the inside of one's mouth -- to think inward thoughts.

Bow has the luxury of doing just that for as long as he likes. But he also likes to go outside and brave the elements.

Yesterday morning, it was windy and cold and it looked as if a storm was approaching.

We seemed on the verge of a storm.

Every direction you looked, it looked as if something big was about to happen in the sky.

Bow went inside and then went out again, and as a way to keep warm, he displayed.

Leo obliged Bow by engaging him, while Brownie remained aloof.

But there was no storm. Things settled down. In the afternoon, as I was going for my regular walk, I spotted a dog going into my pasture, entering from the road into the bushy underbrush. I decided to pretend that I did not see that, because the last thing I wanted was a confrontation about neighbor dogs on my property. Maybe if I ignored the dog, the dog would ignore me.

But he didn't ignore me. He came right up and greeted me as if we were old friends, and for a moment I was disoriented, and I thought he looked just like my old dog Osiris, who was born near Harrison, Arkansas and whose photo is always on my mantel. He died before I went to grad school.

Bow looks at a photo of Osiris

But then I realized it was just Cowboy. the neighbor dog. And Cowboy wanted to join me in my walk. I didn't invite him, but when he saw that I was going for a walk on my mowed path, he decided he would lead the way.

Just to be certain he didn't lose me, Cowboy kept turning back to make sure I was still on the path.

What I found most interesting was the way he stuck to the path, when he could easily have gone exploring in the underbrush. If you did not know any better, you might have been convinced that he had been trained not to leave the well-trodden path. However, that was not the case. When we parted ways, he went to explore the brambles and the narrow footways the deer and rabbits and coyotes had made among the trees and bushes. It was just that as long as we were keeping company, he understood that I would not stray from the path, so neither did he.

If we were in an American city, Cowboy, with no apparent collar or tags, would be considered a stray. But since we are living in the country, people know who he is and where he lives, and since he does not cause any harm, he is tolerated. Even I tolerate him, because he does not go near the fence to tease my dogs, the way some latchkey dogs have been known to do when their masters are away.

Should dogs be allowed to roam? It's a question that I've thought about before. In Taiwan, even in the cities, there are stray dogs who are well behaved and well fed, even though they are not owned.

The Strays of Tamsui

Feral dogs, people will warn you, can form packs and attack livestock, other dogs and even people. I know this, not just because I have been told, but because I have seen it out here with my own eyes, before there was even a "shelter" in this county. Dogs got shot when they broke the rules.

I don't let my own dogs roam, just as I would never allow Bow to go out under the present conditions. I am a very cautious person. But I can't help but feel that when we get used to a certain context, such a society that is intolerant of stray dogs and stray children and homeless people, we are moving one step closer to our own imprisonment and that of our children.

Stray dogs and stray children used to be the hallmark of every human city, and while their presence was sometimes an eyesore and a nuisance, I would rather see them roam free than all get institutionalized and/or adopted. I would rather see dogs adopting humans than humans adopting dogs. Brownie, for instance, chose us.

Cowboy reminded me yesterday that a dog out on his own can be well behaved and trustworthy, and that it takes a certain type of community to allow us to see that this, too, is a possibility.

Misconceptions about Food and Eating

I saw a stunning picture  yesterday on Frans de Waal's public Facebook page. ( As it is not my photo, I will not show it here, but you have only to follow the link.) It was a golden eagle in mid-flight, with a knife in its left claw. A photographer had been cutting up meat to lure the eagle, but the eagle ignored the meat and took the knife instead. Smart eagle!

You can download the entire article here: On the Origins of Language: Humans, Non-humans and the Transmission of Information

This reminded me of a review article I wrote once about a book on the evolution of language out of pre-language. One of the articles in that book had made the claim that as soon as food was placed before an animal, the animal could not help eating it. It was supposed to some kind of unthinking reflex!

Tell that to a squirrel!


That is demonstrably not true. I gave a long list of counterexamples in my article, from many different families in the animal world.

And now we have the additional example of the golden eagle who preferred a knife over meat. And no, I don't think that particular eagle was a vegetarian! He just preferred the tool to the product of its use.

Bow enjoys the finer things in life on Thanksgiving

Why are there so many bizarre claims about food and eating when it comes to attempts to delimit humans from other animals as some kind of special case? And why are there so many other misconceptions about food? I can't tell you, for instance, how many animal rights advocates try to convert people to vegetarianism. "You like chimpanzees," they will say, "so you should become a vegetarian." Why? Chimpanzees are not vegetarian. Why should I be? What is wrong with these people and their reasoning faculty?

Humans are no better than other animals in our need for food, our willingness to kill to get it, or our preying on others. But are we also no worse. We are, after all, just another species. We all like to eat. It is a universal that we share. But we won't eat just anything. We are choosy, unless our choices are severely curtailed. We like fine foods and presentations matters.  And when we get a chance to use utensils manufactured by others, we often do.

Unplanned Persimmons

Bow examines the persimmons he is eating

When I first moved here in 2001, there were no persimmon trees on the property. I owned five acres of pasture, and another five acres that were lawn, orchard and woods and where the house stood. But I let the pasture go, stopped mowing it, and in thirteen years time it has grown all sorts of trees and bushes and vegetation that was not there before. A friend once asked me: "How do you grow trees on your land?" The answer: "Just stop mowing." That's it. That's all it takes.

The trees just kind of sneak up on you, when you're not looking. You don't watch them rising up from saplings, because the grass is too high to see that. You  don't  cry over each one that dies, because you never even knew it was there. You only see the ones who made it, long after their roots are securely fixed deep in the ground. 

I noticed my first persimmon tree around Halloween a year or two ago. It was completely bare, except for this round orange fruit that reminded me of pumpkins. It was a little spooky to see a tree all decked out like that, when all the others were in mourning or near-death hibernation. I called it my Halloween tree.

You're not supposed to pick the fruit until after the first good frost, otherwise it will be too bitter to eat.

No matter how beautiful and smooth it looks, you have to wait until the skin has been shriveled by the frost to pick it. Some of the persimmons burst as they fall to the ground when you shake the tree. Be sure to wash them before presenting them to the chimpanzee in your life.

Presentation is everything. I use Blue Willow China

Bow loves persimmons.

He eats them very daintily. 

He is not sure he wants to eat the skin and definitely won't swallow any of the seeds.

But he loves the sweet stuff that is in the middle, and he will go to a lot of trouble to eat it all.

It's nice to have free fruit that you neither planted nor watered. It's like getting a bonus you never expected.

After Bow finishes, I have a bowl full of seeds, which I throw outside in the yard, to fall where they may. Most will never find fertile ground and will not become new trees. Nature is wasteful that way.  But that's how paradise works. That's why we have so many persimmons to eat free of charge. One out of many sprouts from the ground, and no one can know which one it will be! Isn't that better than planning?

What Bow Knows

Bow knows a lot of things. But he's not telling. "Why won't you help me prove it?" No answer.

Bow selfie taken yesterday
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Why would a subject not tell a researcher everything? Why isn't every student eager to show how smart he is? Why wouldn't all people who know a language want to share that knowledge with the world?

Well, sometimes it's because they feel the less strangers know about it, the better. Like the speakers of Maidu who feel knowledge is power, and they would rather their language die with them than hand it over to strangers:

Maidu Speakers Won't Share

"We believe the way you reach richness in life is through knowledge. It gives you power and it is your responsibility to use that wisely. If you pass that knowledge on, you are responsible for the outcome. If someone misuses the knowledge you give them, if they use it to hurt someone, you as the person who gave it to them, are responsible for that hurt."'

Bow seems to feel the same way. A long time ago, someone said in his presence that if people knew what he could do, they would kill him. At the time, he took it very much to heart. Today, I'm not sure that's what's motivating him to keep mum. I think he just has a very good life, and he does not want to risk changing it.

There are many others who keep their light hidden. There are students in high school who make sure they don't excel because they don't want to be geeks or losers. They intentionally keep expectations about their achievements lowered, because they don't want to be used for their minds.

Not everyone wants to prove how smart he is or share what he knows. Unfortunately, that is not true of me. I do want to share, I do want people to know.

So there's a conflict between what I want and what Bow wants.  Is there a way to prove what a subject knows without his cooperation? And if there were a way to do that, would it be ethical?

THE LIFE OF A RACING GREYHOUND

by Anita Hammond, Guest Blogger

AT THE FARM

Greyhounds are bred and raised at specialized greyhound “farms” which have facilities tailored to the needs of racing dogs. Until they are weaned, the pups stay with their mother in a small enclosure called a “whelping box” which is has clean, soft bedding and is climate-controlled. The whelping box has plenty of room for the brood mama to stretch out and for the puppies to explore safely. There is also an area where the mother can get away from the pups to relieve herself, eat, and get some exercise. As soon as they are born, the pups start to receive handling from people. Many farms are family businesses, so the pups may be handled by children as well as adults. It is important that the pups be socialized at an early age. If not, they will be hard to handle during later training.

1 week old puppies

After they are weaned, at about 8-10 weeks of age, the pups remain together as a litter and are moved to a larger outdoor run with dog houses. The houses are usually insulated with straw for warmth, and the pups always have shade and water and are fed several times a day. In hot weather, they are usually given a kiddie pool to cool off in, or they have a spray mister. By the time they are 3 months old, they get ear tattoos which identify their litter and their date of birth.

 3 month old puppies

At about 6 months old, the pups are divided into pairs or small groups and moved to long parallel runs, from 100 to over 400 feet long, with individual or group dog houses. They love to run back and forth along the fence lines, chasing each other. All this running helps them build muscles and prepares them to race. At this stage, they are trained to accept a muzzle and walk on lead, they learn basic voice commands, and they are introduced to the “squawker” which will be used in later training.

 Dogs in a long run

At about a year to a year of age, the young dogs are moved to a kennel building similar to the one they will live in at the track. Each dog has a crate (sturdy metal cage) which is 3 feet wide, 4 feet long and 3 feet high. There is plenty of room for the dog to stand, turn around, lie down and stretch out. Crates are stacked two high; the male dogs go in the lower crates and the females are taught to jump into the upper ones. The crate will have some kind of bedding or padding for comfort, and the kennel will be air-conditioned and heated. Although some people think it is cruel to keep greyhounds in crates, many hounds feel secure and cozy in their crates and look forward to getting back to them after an outdoor run. The dogs can see each other, and there are people around, doing their routine jobs. A radio is often left on at night to keep the dogs company and drown out little noises that might otherwise startle them.

 Kennel crates

The dogs are “turned out” in groups into a large pen four or five times a day for about 45-60 minutes for exercise and elimination. They wear muzzles to protect themselves from accidental injuries while playing. Their crates are cleaned and bedding is changed daily while they are outside.

The dogs are fed once a day, plus an evening snack. There is a myth that racing dogs are fed impure or diseased meat. This is not true. The dogs get a balanced, nutritious diet which is designed to keep them at their racing weight. The main food is raw meat, mixed with vegetables and rice or pasta, plus nutritional supplements. The amount of food is calculated to keep each dog at its ideal racing weight. People sometimes think that greyhounds are starved because they look skinny, but they are solid muscle and bone, with almost no body fat. Greyhounds are athletes, and just like human athletes, they have to have exercise and eat a nutritious diet in order to perform at their best.

While living at the kennel, the dogs are taken twice a week to the training track where they learn to run on the oval track, use the starting box, and chase the lure. They develop their strength and speed in preparation for racing. Some large greyhound farms have their own training track. Others take the dogs to a specialized training facility.

Hounds chasing a lure

AT THE TRACK

When they are 18 months old, the dogs are moved into kennels at the track. The litter is not usually kept together at this point, and they may not all go to the track at the same time, or even to the same track. The dogs have “schooling” or practice races on the actual track and they go through the same routine they would for a regular race. The trainers keep records of each dog's performance and watch for any bad habits that need correction. After the required number of schooling races, a dog may be entered in a maiden race, sent back for further training, or if not suitable for racing, sent immediately into an adoption program.

There is a range of experience levels, or grades, in racing. Dogs start in the lowest grade. If they race well, they move up to the next grade. If they perform poorly, they are downgraded. A successful racer usually races until he or she is 4 years old. Exceptional dogs may continue racing to age 5, which is the mandatory retirement age.

And they're off!

A dog usually races once or twice a week. The length of the race is from 330 yards (3/16 mile) to 770 yards (7/16 mile) and it's over in less than a minute! The dogs scheduled to race that day are fed lightly in the morning so they do not have a full stomach at the time of their race, which could make them susceptible to gastric torsion when turning corners at high speed. It's not true that they are “starved” on race day to make them run faster. Greyhounds naturally love to run and to chase things. Before the race, the dog is weighed, examined by a vet and taken to a holding area. When it's time for the race, the dogs are dressed in their numbered racing jackets and each is led by a handler to the starting boxes. The dogs wear special racing muzzles which aid in determining the winner in photo finishes. When the box opens and the lure (usually a stuffed toy rabbit on a mechanical arm) starts moving, the dogs burst out of their boxes to give chase. The lure moves just fast enough to elude the fastest dog. After the race, the dogs are led off the track by their handlers. They are bathed or hosed down to cool off and are taken back to the kennel to rest before having their meal and getting turned out.

Many people ask about injuries at the track. Injuries happen, just as they do in any sport. The rate of injuries for racing greyhounds is similar to the rate for other working dogs and active family pets. Track Data Systems, a company that keeps racing statistics, estimates 1 or 2 injuries per 1000 starts. The trainers and track owners do everything they can to minimize injuries by making sure the dogs are fit to run and that the track is in good condition. An injured dog can't run, so can't make money for its owner. There are vets who specialize in greyhounds at the track during the race and vets on call at all times at the kennel. Ideally, an injured animal is treated and returns to win races again. Good racers who are injured and can't return to racing may be sent back to the farm for breeding. Dogs who recover but can't race well can still make great house pets. The ASPCA and other anti-racing groups overstate the risks to the dogs from racing, and are lobbying to eliminate dog racing altogether. Remember that in greyhound racing, all injuries are reported, and most injuries are minor ones such as sprains.

LIFE AFTER RACING

Nowadays, about 95% of retired racers become pets through an adoption program or retire permanently to the farm where they grew up. Some racetracks, like Gulf Greyhound Park in Texas, have their own adoption programs. Off-track non-profit adoption groups may have kennels of their own, or they may depend on individual foster homes to keep the dogs while they are awaiting the right home.

Most dogs are from 3 to 5 years old when they come up for adoption, but there may be some younger ones who didn't race well and some older ones who have been used for breeding before adoption. They live to be 12-14 years old on average, so you will have many years of companionship with your adopted hound. Because these dogs have always had a lot of interaction with different people, they usually adapt quickly to family life.

Texan in his foster home

My husband and I have adopted two retired racing greyhounds, and we are serving as a foster home for racers waiting for homes. Our first greyhound never raced, and went straight from the farm into a foster program. Our second is a racer from a champion bloodline, who came to us after having two litters of puppies, who are now racing. We work with a small non-profit adoption group, Fast K9's Greyhound Adoption, which works with several local farms and trainers. Our job as foster parents is to make sure the new dogs get basic house training and have been introduced to strange new things like stairs, mirrors, life with cats, getting into and out of a car, and walking on slippery floors. The foster parents also bring their dogs to an open showing at a local pet store twice a month where they meet potential adopters. We make note of any behavior quirks or personality traits of the foster dog that might be a problem. For example, a dog with a strong prey drive would not be placed in a home with cats or small dogs which might be seen as prey. A dog that shows anxiety when left alone would be placed in a home with another dog or with people who are home most of the time and are willing to work with the dog to overcome its fears. Finally, our foster families and adoptive families serve as dog-sitters and vacation boarding homes for each other, so that our dogs are cared for when we are away by someone who knows and loves greyhounds.

Shirley, our first greyhound

Bow Helps Clean

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to have Bow in my life, and I complain rather loudly about the small cleaning chores that I have in the pens.

Yesterday afternoon, I looked around, and I saw that despite all the constant cleaning I do, there was some more thorough scrubbing required to get rid of accumulated grime. I was feeling kind of sorry for myself, so I complained to Bow that he wasn't keeping his pen clean enough, and that's why I had to scrub the floor. Bow watched me scrub and listened to me complain until he could stand it no more. Then he came and, silently, without saying a word or asking permission, he took the brush out of my hand and started scrubbing the floor himself.

He put a lot of elbow grease into it and kept doing it for some time.

I was so surprised!

Bow would never have done this if I had ordered him to. It was only because it was his own idea that it worked so beautifully. Later, I thanked him profusely for helping me, and he was so happy that I appreciated his help, he was practically jumping for joy