Lola Part 7

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 antic.i.p.ation 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.

Towards the end of May I thought I would teach her fractions, and she apparently understood what I meant, but for a beginning I could only put questions, such as: "How many _wholes_ are there in 20/4, 12/4, or 11/2" etc. Indeed, I was at first at a loss as to what form of expression I should use here--so as not to come into collision with those already resorted to, thus giving rise to confusion. At first I thought it might be more convenient to let her rap out the denominator with her right paw and the numerator with her left--but I soon came to see that even with 3/16, this method could no longer be maintained. At length I let her simply rap out the numerator--then I would ask for the denominator, and let her rap this, so that in the case of 3/16 she rapped the 3 first with her right paw; then gave the denominator, i.e.

1 rap with her left paw and 6 again with her right. This mode or procedure came quite naturally to her, and so it was retained. The questions were practised in the following manner:--"How do you rap 3/8, 12/6?" etc., and I followed this up with easy exercises such as: "How much is 2/8 + 1/4?" the simplified answer being "1/2." I had, as may be imagined, already given her repeated and detailed explanations on the subject before she was capable of giving such answers as "1/2," to the above question. Simplifying was also practised separately thus: "Simplify 20/16!" Answer: "1-1/4." this being given with "1 r" (pause) "1 r" (another pause); "and the denominator?" "4 r." To anyone following her actions, the meaning would appear quite distinct. I now determined that she should add together numbers having different denominators--as, for example: 1/4 + 1/3, and here I had myself to cogitate as to how this ought to be done, for at school, my enthusiasm for arithmetic had never been great and much of what I had then learnt has been forgotten. So I talked the question over with a friend--in Lola's presence and out loud--and finally arrived at the solution. As she had been listening most of the time while we sought, found, and discussed the solution, I soon ventured to put a few tests to her, and the answers proved that she had actually been listening while our conversation was going on, and that what we had talked about had lingered in her memory. By the way, it is reported of Jean Paul Richter, that when on some occasion a friend came to him desirous of talking over some matter, the nature of which none other was to know, Jean Paul said to his poodle, who was under the table: "Go outside, we want to be alone!" The dog vacated, and the poet remarked: "Now, sir, you can talk, for no one will hear us!"

Lola solved the following problems:

"1/5 + 1/3 = ?" A. "8/15." "1/7 + 5/8 = ?" A. "43/56."

"1/2 + 1/3 = ?" A. "5/6." "1/4 + 2/5 = ?" A. "13/20."

As the problems always took me longer than they did her I never checked them at the time, but went over them later, after she had given all her answers. I did this moreover, so that she should have no opportunity of tapping my thoughts and thus rely on me; indeed, I really _forced_ her to do her own thinking. For even if I did begin to calculate I did it so slowly, that she was rapping out her reply long before I was done. I say all this to my own shame, for Lola must have her due--and I never had a head for arithmetic myself!

When she knew how to calculate time, I put the following question to her: "How many minutes are there in an hour and a half--less thirty minutes?" Answer: "60." "How many hours are there in 240 minutes?"

Answer: "4." By this time Lola had also learnt the value of money.

About the end of April, 1916, she could distinguish between such coins as 5 Pfennige, 10 Pfennige, 50 Pfennige; 1 Mark, 2 Mark, and 5 Mark, and could compute the value of the Mark in Pfennige. When showing my friends what she could do in the way of arithmetic, her money sums were a special feature and delighted everybody. Here is an example, the date being 31 May: I put the question: "12 Mark less 4 Mark 10 Pfennige?"

adding--"Tell me the Mark!" Answer: "7." "And the Pfennige?" "90" (i.e.

7 Mark 90 Pfennige.) Question: "What coins do you know?" Answer: "5, 10, 50; 1, 2." "And what are they all?" "Fenig." (i.e. Lola's mode of spelling Pfennig.) "Lola, how much of a Mark are 50 Pfennige? The answer has to do with fractions." Answer: "1/2." "How much are 225 Pfennige?" "2-1/4." "And 20 Pfennige?" "1/5." "And 60?" "3/5." "And 3/20 Mark, how many Pfennige?" "20." _"No!_ "8/20 Mark?" Answer: "15."

Towards the close of 1916 I taught her to raise numbers to various powers. At this she was slow in the beginning, but ultimately mastered it fairly well. She could soon answer such questions as--"3^3 = ?" with "27." And--"4^2 = ?" with "16," doing so, moreover, with ease; but up to now I have not been able to take her any further in the matter of extracting roots; in the first place I have had little time to give to it, and secondly, I am by no means on very sure ground there myself! I might, of course, have rubbed up my own rusty arithmetic had my interest in this particular accomplishment of Lola's been greater.

But--for my own part, I attach greater importance to the psychological side of this question, and would far rather probe and delve within the depths of her dog-soul, exploring the extent of her other abilities, since arithmetic has already some brilliant exponents in, for instance, Krall's horses.

WORKING WITH OTHER PERSONS.

As may readily be imagined, it is by no means easy to induce an animal to work with any person it does not regard as its accepted teacher. On such occasions, it will behave like a small child, and be restless and even intractable. Often, too, while apparently willing, there may be something unfamiliar in the way in which a question is put (a matter for which no one can be blamed!), this resulting in the impossibility of getting an answer. Sometimes, too, the hand proffered to receive the replies is not held either straight or flat enough, or may not have the right slant that will enable the paw to rap without slipping off. Or, again a hand will be held too high, and thus cause much inconvenience to the animal. Then too, questions are carelessly worded, and seem strange to the method of thought to which its regular instructor has accustomed it, fresh explanations being then required to achieve any results at all. And so it comes, that only those can work successfully with animals who have already been frequently present at the teaching, and are then willing to try their luck, calmly and tranquilly--and quite alone with the animal, so as to carefully develop their own apt.i.tude, as well as gain the confidence of their charge. It is true that in the case of the horses, others, besides Herr Krall, frequently did work with them. Indeed, my father got excellent answers from them, although he had to do with them for only a short time. But the matter seems rather more difficult with dogs; for one thing, they do not stand in front of a board--independently, so to speak--as do the horses; nor are they, from the beginning of their career as habitually accustomed to a variety of persons about them, at least, not to the extent that horses are. And yet they are sometimes quite ready to work with others, this being the case with Lola when I took her to Stuttgart, on a visit to a lady she already knew--Fraulein M. D., and who had put a few questions to her when here at the farm, questions which she had answered quite correctly. At Stuttgart there was a larger circle of listeners, and Lola sat in their midst upon a table. Fraulein M. D.

stood beside me, and I asked her to put the question. I do not now remember what the question was, but I had extended my hand for the reply. Lola, however, turned to the speaker, and tapped the correct answer on that lady's arm, giving the second--and equally good one on Fraulein M. D.'s proffered hand. Lola is also in the habit of answering my people with either "yes" or "no" as the case may be, and on one occasion--when I was away from home, having gone to Munich for three weeks--she remained with Frau Kindermann at Hohenheim, and during that time, gave replies to all kind of questions put to her by that lady, as the following report will show:

"REPORT OF FRAU PROFESSOR KINDERMANN IN HOHENHEIM

"On my asking Lola: 'Where is your mistress?' she answered--'minchen!' (Munchen). When I showed her the portrait of my son Karl and asked--'Of whom is this a picture?' Lola at once replied 'Karli.' On 28 October, I received a hamper of vegetables from my mother--known to Lola as 'Mama,' to whom she had been on a visit at Easter. Lola sniffed all the hamper over, then jumped about and wagged her tail joyfully--so I inquired: 'Do you know who the hamper is from?' 'Yes!' 'Then tell me!' 'Mama!' She did a few sums with me every day; told the time; the days of the week, and the temperature. Several acquaintances bore witness to the good work she did--and Lola told them her age--after she had been given the year of her birth. If I happened to be absent minded, Lola knew at once how to deceive me, for she seemed then, instinctively aware that I was not a match for her."

Lola also solved many little sums set her by my friend, Fraulein M. D.

(at the time that lady had been staying with me on the farm to gain first-hand experience in the work), and on one occasion when Fraulein M. D. said, "Where is your mistress?" Lola spelt out that I was in the "segenhaus," which was quite true, I having told her shortly before that I was going there. To the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the maids, Lola sometimes elected to work in the kitchen, with the little seven-year-old son of the housekeeper, and it is reported that her answers were frequently right. I feel sure, in fact, that Lola would work with anyone who was adapted to work with her, and that she would give as good an account of herself, with them, as she does with me.

THE QUESTION OF POSSIBLE INFLUENCE

Eighteenth May, 1916. Lola, who since the middle of April has been accustomed to giving her own independent, and often lengthy, answers, was now rapping very well. Her replies were to the point, decidedly apt, and often quite unexpected. Moreover she usually stuck obstinately to her own way--should I happen to think that something was incorrect, until--on giving in--I sometimes had to acknowledge that she had been right after all. Now, on the 18 May I said to her: "Lola, you must write to my father and thank him for the biscuits, he will then send you some more. This is the way to write a letter, one begins--'dear Father,' or just 'dear,' and then one tells what one is thinking about, you must, therefore, thank him--and when the letter is finished--you must put 'love from Lola'." Now then--begin. Lola started rapping out without further delay, and continued rapidly and "fluently"--so to speak--her letter running as follows: "lib, nach uns kom, ich una ..."

(here I interrupted her, believing her about to say "ich und Henny") and asked "is this right?" She said it was: "but, Lola," I urged, "be sure you are careful! ought this not to be a 'd'?" "No!" she said. I was at a loss to make out where this "a" came in, but told her to go on--and Lola rapped: "... artig eben, oft we, kus ich!" So the "una"

had been part of "unartig"! ( = "dear, come to us, I have just been naughty, often pains, kiss (you) I." Here she showed that she was quite certain in her own mind, and that in spite of my suggestions as to the form her letter should take, she was yet bent on following her own ideas, since there was no trace of "thanks!" Besides which, instead of concluding with "Lola," as I had proposed her doing, she elected to a.s.sert herself by putting _ich_ = "I!") "Naughty" referred, probably to a _strafe_ she had had about a quarter of an hour earlier for chasing the game, and the "often pain" to headache and to being tired. Anyway, this letter seems a brilliant proof of "independent thinking," and I shall be able to give several more equally fresh and original replies in a later chapter.[19]

[19] Chapter XVIII, "Spontaneous Answers."

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!" "Gehort," ( = 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.