Speaking of dogs (as we were indirectly in contemplating the Late Great Dog Food Question), I’ve been reading an entertaining book by psychologist Alexandra Horowitz called Inside of a Dog. In it, she proposes to help us appreciate the canine umwelt—the dog’s unique way of experiencing the world—by understanding what and how a dog sees, smells, hears, senses, and thinks. Based on what we know to date of dog physiology and psychology, she suggests we can figuratively get inside a dog’s mind.
As intellectual exercises go, it’s great fun, and the insights you gain are slightly different from Cesar Milan’s dominance-and-submission theories. She points out that though dogs probably are descended from wolves, after tens of thousands of years spent living with humans, they’re not wolves, and their mentality, intellectual capacity, and social interactions are markedly different from those of wolves. This has some amusing implications.
The book isn’t especially well written and in places it’s poorly edited, especially near the beginning. She doesn’t start to get on a roll until almost half-way through, but once she does hit her stride, her story gets pretty interesting. We’re amazed by how “smart” (human definition) dogs are about some things and how obtuse they appear to be about others…quite reasonably, on reflection, in light of what dogs and humans do to get by in the world.
At one point, Horowitz reflects on the extent to which dogs understand the meaning of human speech, specifically their skill at recognizing individual words. She suggests they respond to the prosody of speech—its patterns and musical “meaning”—but they’re not always good at recognizing individual words. Says she,
Try asking your dog on one morning to go for a walk; on the next, ask if your dog wants to snow forty locks in the same voice. If everything else remains the same, you’ll probably get the same, affirmative reaction. The very first sounds of an utterance seem to be important to dog perception, though, so changing the swallowed consonants for articulated ones and the long vowels for short ones—ma for a polk—might prompt the confusion merited by this gibberish.
Hmmm…. A challenge! To paraphrase a less than perfectly articulate robot, “I love a challenge!”
But first, what the heck is a swallowed consonant? Simon Mumford, an English instructor, tells us a “swallowed consonant” happens when a speaker elides a consonant in such a way that it can barely be heard or can’t be heard, as in “I got a cold” for I’ve got a cold. Doesn’t seem to apply in the substitution of polk for walk, but what the hey. Every writer needs an editor.
So, to try this on Cassie the Corgi:
HUMAN: arising, walking up the hall, and paraphrasing the daily liturgy with accustomed verve: Do you want to go for a smoggy talk?
DOG evinces puzzled expression.
HUMAN evinces continued verve: C’mon! Let’s go for a smoggy talk!
DOG’s expression morphs to utter befuddlement.
HUMAN: Smoggy talk! Smoggy talk! Hurry up! Let’s go for a SMOGGY TALK!
Still appearing mystified, DOG eyes HUMAN with evident curiosity and takes a few tentative steps after it.
HUMAN: Gathers collar, leash, package of dog mound baggies, and hat.
DOG, viewing HUMAN‘s activities: Arf!
DOG dances toward front door.
HUMAN: It’s time for a smoggy talk!
DOG, whirling in circles: Arf arf arf arf ARF!
HUMAN: “Smoggy talk,” eh? {snort!} Here, hold still while I get this collar on you.
DOG and HUMAN exit, stage left.
So, alas, it does not appear that dogs deduce meaning from tone, emphasis, prosody, or brute human verve. It also appears that this particular dog can tell the difference between “doggy walk” and “smoggy talk.”
Arf, she said. Arf.
That is so interesting – I always assumed that it was the tone of voice that dogs understand rather than the words. But besides the evidence provided by your Cassie the Corgi, just this last week I read about a study where researchers taught a dog over 2000 words. Or maybe it was 1000 words? Anyway, it was a Border Collie and without a doubt this dog demonstrated understanding of words.
Horowitz mentions that dog, or one like it. Apparently they taught the dog the words for something like 2,000 different toys (who would think there were 2,000 toys for dogs…). And yeah, as I recall she did say it was a border collie. Amazing!
The tone theory might perhaps hold water with me with regard to dimmer bulbed dogs. The bright ones are perfectly able and complicit in understanding and obeying shenanigans suggested to them for the first time by strangers they’ve decided to like such as (pardon the language): “Hey, go over to R’s desk and fart.”
Said suggested has been followed by said dog meandering into the appropriate room, standing silently by the correct desk for the amount of time needed to do the deed and walking out of the room again.
I know that dog’d never been *trained* to do that, nor was he ever trained to keep track of whose turn it was to throw the ball for him in round robin keep away/fetch, and yet he does. Try confusing him with “bring ME the ball” out of turn and you’ll get a quirked brow and flick of the tail as he gives it to person who did not last throw it.
Heck, after being importuned too many times for attention when I was busy, I told him: “Look, if you want up, get up. If you just want out to pee, go talk to D.”
Dog went to yodel at D and peed mightily.
I think they know words.
Dogs are non verbal thinkers and their memories are more visual than verbal.
We have a GSD (German Shepard Dog) that will react to visual hand commands. Yes I can command him with my hand.
On the other paw we have 3 mini Daschunds that only know their names when called and the command ‘stay’. Other than that they are muttheads
As for the Daschunds they hear memories, like the sound of the keys I pick up to unlock the gate when the Mrs. comes home from work. Keys jingling, means treats in a few minutes. Also when we are grilling and I open the ziplock bag that has the cheese slices in it for the burgers, they hear it and are underfoot in a heartbeat. This breed has the cheese gene.
Mr. Dusty our GSD just yawns.
Years ago we had a Sheltie who knew the names of her toys, I could ask her to fetch maybe 10 different toys and she would always get the correct one.
We’ve had a plethora of dogs over the years and I would have to say our GSD is the most loyal and obedient dog we have.
Here is a link to a friends website on how dogs think: http://www.jyetara.com/think.html ( They raise GSD’s)
Yet on another paw the Mrs. has allowed our mini Daschunds to be spoiled and I did allow that but I am training them in secret when she is not home.
Sit means sit even when you are dealing with a dog that doesn’t have much going on as far as legs go.
Oh, I forgot when I speak Spanish to my dogs they have no clue.
I’m sure they like the sound of my voice but they don’t understand.
Who wants to go outside.
Quién necesidades para ir afuera.
They don’t know that. They just look at me.
My mom used to have me and my siblings rolling on the floor when she’d say this to our dog in a happy tone of voice, “Bad dog, we’re going to boil you in oil!” No matter what awful thing she said, the dog would be bouncing around like wonderful wonderful things would happen. Then in a somber tone, she would say, “Good dog, good dog” and the dog would then act sad. I guess our dogs weren’t as smart as your Cassie. 🙂