FAIR USE NOTICE

FAIR USE NOTICE

A BEAR MARKET ECONOMICS BLOG

Occupy Animal Rights

This site may contain copyrighted material the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. We are making such material available in an effort to advance understanding of environmental, political, human rights, economic, democracy, scientific, and social justice issues, etc. we believe this constitutes a ‘fair use’ of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law.

In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, the material on this site is distributed without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for research and educational purposes. For more information go to: http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/17/107.shtml

If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for purposes of your own that go beyond ‘fair use’, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.

FAIR USE NOTICE FAIR USE NOTICE: This page may contain copyrighted material the use of which has not been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. This website distributes this material without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for scientific, research and educational purposes. We believe this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in 17 U.S.C § 107.

Read more at: http://www.etupdates.com/fair-use-notice/#.UpzWQRL3l5M | ET. Updates
FAIR USE NOTICE FAIR USE NOTICE: This page may contain copyrighted material the use of which has not been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. This website distributes this material without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for scientific, research and educational purposes. We believe this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in 17 U.S.C § 107.

Read more at: http://www.etupdates.com/fair-use-notice/#.UpzWQRL3l5M | ET. Updates

All Blogs licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 3.0

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Dogs Decoded



NOVA beta

Dogs Decoded

How smart are dogs, and what makes them such ideal companions? Airing July 3, 2013 at 9 pm on PBS Aired July 3, 2013 on PBS

Originally aired 11.12.11


Program Description

This program will be available for streaming July 4–July 11, 2013. "Dogs Decoded" reveals the science behind the remarkable bond between humans and their dogs and investigates new discoveries in genetics that are illuminating the origin of dogs—with surprising implications for the evolution of human culture. Other research is proving what dog lovers have suspected all along: Dogs have an uncanny ability to read and respond to human emotions. Humans, in turn, respond to dogs with the same hormone responsible for bonding mothers to their babies. How did this incredible relationship between humans and dogs come to be? And how can dogs, so closely related to fearsome wild wolves, behave so differently?

Transcript

Dogs Decoded

PBS Airdate: November 9, 2010
NARRATOR: We are inseparable.
WOMAN 1 (Chocolate Lab Owner): We're best friends.
DR. BRIAN HARE (Duke University): Anywhere you find humans you will almost certainly find dogs.
NARRATOR: And they are smarter than we ever imagined. Astonishing new research is revealing that dogs are far more than merely tamed wild animals.
PROFESSOR DANIEL MILLS (University of Lincoln, England): What makes our relationships so special is the dog's ability to be able to read our emotions so effectively.
NARRATOR: Have they evolved a new kind of intelligence?
DR. JULIANE KAMINSKI (Max Planck Institute, Germany): Suddenly, there were dogs doing something that not even chimps could do.
NARRATOR: Have dogs developed a language to communicate complex emotions?
DOGS BARKING: Bark , bark, ruff, ruff.
ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI: Anger, fear, happiness, despair.
MAN 3 (Pug Owner): You can almost understand what they're thinking.
NARRATOR: Why do we love an animal that was once a fearsome predator?
How did dogs go from this to this? Is it in the genes or the way we treat them? And when did it all begin?
The bones tell one story.
Peter Rowley-Conwy (Durham University, England): We start seeing the first things 12,- or 13,000 years ago.
NARRATOR: The genes tell another.
Greger Larson (Durham University, England): One-hundred-thousand years or more.
NARRATOR: The answer is more important than you might think.
Greger Larson: Without dog domestication, civilization just would not have been possible.
NARRATOR: Dogs Decoded, right now, on NOVA.
MAN 1 (Irish Wolfhound Owner): Corrie! Come here.
NARRATOR: There are more dogs than babies worldwide, nearly half a billion.
MAN 1 (Dog Owner): Good boy. Sit.
NARRATOR: We treat them as if they are fellow human beings, with all the thoughts, feelings and emotions of a family member.
MAN 2 (Dog Owner): (Dog Owner): Good girl.
NARRATOR: It's an incredibly close relationship. We share our lives, our homes, even our beds with them.
WOMAN 1: We're very close. We're best friends.
WOMAN 2 (Dog Owner): Pippin sleeps with us. He loves being in the bed with his head on the pillow.
MAN 1 : He just seems to fit in.
MAN 2: She's there with my slippers, first thing in the morning. She's part of the family; she is the family.
NARRATOR: For decades, science has dismissed dogs as being unworthy of legitimate study, But all that has changed. Scientists are now attempting to understand dogs like never before.
What kind of bond do we really have with our dogs? Can we read each other's emotions? Are they smarter than we think? And how and when did this unique relationship develop?
DR. BRIAN HARE: Dogs are all over the world; they're everywhere. Anywhere you find humans, you will almost certainly find dogs.
DANIEL MILLS: We're now beginning to realize that we can answer certain questions in dogs that we can't really answer in any other species.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: There's been this explosion in dog research, I think, really, because they are specially tuned in to humans, and this makes dogs extremely interesting as a model.
NARRATOR: Here at England's University of Lincoln, Professor Daniel Mills specializes in veterinary behavioral medicine. He is using eye tracking technology, to probe how close our relationship really is.
DANIEL MILLS: What we're trying to do here is see the world from a dog's perspective, rather than just impose our own views as to how we think the dog sees the world.
NARRATOR: He's attempting to discover if dogs are as good at reading our emotions as their owners claim.
WOMAN 1: He'll know what I'm thinking even before it's turned into a thought bubble.
WOMAN 3 (King Charles Spaniel Owner): He is clearly an animal; I accept that he is totally an animal. I am not under any illusions that he isn't, but he's more knowing than I would expect an animal to be.
WOMAN 4 (Dog Owner): He will look at me with sorrowful eyes and then give me one big lick on the hand, as if to say, "It's alright."
MAN 2: It's this sixth sense that dogs have.
DANIEL MILLS: One of the things that a lot of people comment on is that dogs seem to be naturally attuned to them and be able to sense their moods and whatever. And part of our work here is actually to look into the scientific basis of that.
NARRATOR: The key to a dog's ability to read our emotions might lie in something we all do without knowing it.
DANIEL MILLS: When we express our emotions in our faces, we don't do it symmetrically. It's been shown that, if you take somebody's face when they're expressing some emotion like happiness or anger or something like that, there is a difference between the left and right side.
NARRATOR: Composite faces consisting of two right or two left sides look very different.
DANIEL MILLS: One of the theories is that maybe our emotions are more faithfully presented in the right side of our face, and that's the side that we tune in to.
And when we look at a face, we have what's known as a natural left-gaze bias, so you naturally look much more towards the left, i.e. the right-hand side, of somebody's face.
NARRATOR: Eye-tracking software demonstrates that, when presented with a human face, we nearly always look left first. Daniel Mills wants to find out if dogs use the same trick to read human faces.
DANIEL MILLS: Shifting the direction of your gaze, we thought, was fairly unique to people, until we started looking at dogs.
ANAÏS RACCA (University of Lincoln, England): Taz! Tazy!
NARRATOR: To test the theory, his team recreates this experiment with dogs.
ANAÏS RACCA: Moose, what's that?
NARRATOR: They present a series of images showing human faces, dog faces and inanimate objects and record the direction of a dog's gaze with a video camera.
ANAÏS RACCA: We found that dogs, when they are looking at pictures of dog faces or objects, they will look randomly on the left or the right.
NARRATOR: But, when it comes to human faces, they make a remarkable discovery.
ANAÏS RACCA: So now we have Taz looking at a human face. So, first she's looking in the middle of the screen, and here is the first eye movements on the left. She's in the middle and she's going on the left.
So, now, this is Moose, and then we can see really well that this is a left gaze; from here to here. We can see the white here. She's even moving her head.
NARRATOR: Does this mean dogs can read human emotions? As far as we know, no other animal has this relationship with the human face. And dogs don't do this with each other. This suggests that dogs have acquired a new skill enabling them to communicate with us on an emotional level.
DANIEL MILLS: Being able to detect when somebody is angry or potentially going to be harmful to them, you could understand that there may be a biological advantage in being able to read people's emotions and, equally, that it makes sense for a dog to approach somebody when they're smiling.
If dogs can read human emotion, and increasingly the scientific evidence is beginning to point in that direction, that's going to form the basis of a very powerful bond between human and dog.
NARRATOR: Evidence like this appears to underpin our conviction that dogs understand us in a way that other animals cannot.
But for many dog owners, this unique relationship is much more than a one-way street.
WOMAN 2: Well, I like to think we can understand him.
YOUNG GIRL 1: Yes, but he woofs and we talk.
WOMAN 2: That's because he wants to be part of the conversation.
WOMAN 4: If he's bored, he'll take a deep sigh and go, (imitates dog).
WOMAN 2: I think he's got a bark when he wants to go out, and I think he's got a bark when he hears strange noises.
WOMAN 4: Sometimes, when he tells the kittens off, he goes, (imitates dog), like that.
MAN 3 (Pug Owner): If you're in a certain mindset, you can almost understand what they're thinking.
NARRATOR: The idea that we can understand barking, almost like a language, has always been dismissed by scientists.
But, in Hungary, an experiment is underway, looking for evidence to back up the claims made by dog owners. Here in Budapest is one of the world's first research facilities dedicated to investigating the human/dog relationship. Dr ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI wants to see if humans really can understand dogs' barks.
Today, he's out on a field expedition, collecting recordings.
DR. ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI (Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary): Scientists used to think that barking is a random noise without any specific information or content. However, we have a different idea. Dogs might tell us something about anger, fear, happiness, despair. So these are basic emotions which I think humans might be able to recognize in the barking sound.
NARRATOR: To test this idea, Adam and his team act out a number of scenarios, provoking dogs to bark in different ways.
When other people listen to these recordings, will they be able to match the bark to the emotion?
ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI: Alone bark.
MAN 2: That sounds like a dog asking for attention.
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 1: It's anxious.
WOMAN 3: It's sad; distressed.
MAN 4: Wants to be let off a chain or something like that.
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 2: I think that one's playful.
WOMAN 2: Excitement.
MAN 2: It seems as though they're actually asking their owner for something.
WOMAN 4: It sounds as if it may want a ball or a toy or something. She could be playing with it.
YOUNG GIRL 1: Angry.
WOMAN 4: This is a sound that she would make if she saw somebody behind the fence walking along.
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 1: It's a stranger, I think. It's a stranger encroaching on her territory.
NARRATOR: The results of Miklósi's research are remarkable. It demonstrates a strong agreement between people about the meaning of different barks.
ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI: Overall, in the study, you could see that people can discriminate six barks, and most of them were quite successful in this.
NARRATOR: Dr. Miklósi has created a system to analyze the barks. It's helping him decode how dogs communicate meaning.
ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI: I measured the three features of this sound. One was the frequency, the other was the tonality, and the third was the interval between the barking sounds. And, probably, this is also what the judgment of people is based on when they are describing the bark in terms of emotional content.
NARRATOR: But what's more surprising is not our ability to interpret the barks, but what the barks reveal about dogs.
In the natural world, dogs' wild relatives, wolves, only bark as a warning. Amazingly, during the course of domestication, dogs may have evolved their elaborate vocal repertoire especially to communicate with us.
ÁDÁM MIKLÓSI: At the basic level, everyone can do it, and there is a good chance that barking is a very good means to communicate with humans.
NARRATOR: The evidence from these recent experiments seems to confirm what dog owners have asserted all along, that dogs and people are incredibly attuned to each other, in a way that no other two species are.
And new research techniques now allow us to study, more precisely, the nature of this bond.
Some scientists believe that our interaction has a biochemical signature that may be similar to what happens between a mother and baby.
MOTHER OF NEWBORN: It's really hard to describe. It's just an amazing feeling.
NARRATOR: In Sweden, Professor Kerstin Uvnas-Moberg has been studying the role of the hormone oxytocin in creating the bond between mothers and their newborns.
KERSTIN UVNÄS-MOBERG (Karolinska Institutet, Sweden): Oxytocin is a little, little peptide hormone. It's just nine amino acids. It's produced in a very old part of the brain, called the hypothalamus. And oxytocin helps the mother quickly establish the positive feelings and the bond to the baby.
NARRATOR: Each time a mother breastfeeds, she has a new release of oxytocin which may reinforce the bond.
KERSTIN UVNÄS-MOBERG: It's sort of, in a way, difficult to understand how you can be familiar with somebody who is actually a stranger so quickly, don't you think?
MOTHER OF NEWBORN: Yes.
NARRATOR: Professor Uvnäs-Moberg believes oxytocin plays a similar role in the bond between dogs and their owners.
To test the theory, blood samples are taken from dogs and their owners before and during a petting session.
KERSTIN UVNÄS-MOBERG: We had a basal blood sample, and there was nothing, and then we had the sample taken at one minute and three minutes, and you could see this beautiful peak of oxytocin. The fascinating thing is, actually, that the peak of oxytocin is similar to the one we see in breastfeeding mothers.
NARRATOR: Surprisingly, it's not just the owners who are affected. Blood samples taken from dogs reveal a similar burst of oxytocin.
KERSTIN UVNÄS-MOBERG: It is a mutual kind of interaction, you know. The owner touches with her hands, and they both smell, hear and see each other. That is a very nice way of triggering oxytocin release in the two of them.
NARRATOR: Oxytocin has a powerful physiological effect. It can lower the heart rate and blood pressure and may lead to reduced levels of stress. Research indicates that owning a dog could even extend your life.
KERSTIN UVNÄS-MOBERG: If you have a dog, you are much less likely to have a heart attack, and if you have a heart attack, you are three to four times more likely to survive it if you have a dog than if you don't.
NARRATOR: Our relationship with dogs goes back thousands of years. So how did it begin? Where did the first dog come from?
Darwin recognized our unique relationship with dogs, but even he couldn't say for sure which animal was the true ancestor of today's dogs.
It's a complex puzzle that both archaeologists and geneticists are working to solve.
Peter Rowley-Conwy: There's a huge amount of variation in present day dogs. Consider the difference between a Pekingese and a Great Dane. Could they really all be descended from one wild ancestor?
Greger Larson: It could have been a coyote that might have introgressed with a wolf, and then that may have been slightly selected upon to create one particular breed of dog, or jackals or African wild dogs. Any number of these other dog-like species that are out there must have somehow come together, and that's where that variation must have come.
NARRATOR: Until the advent of genetics, archaeology had few firm answers.
GREGER LARSON: All you have to play with are the bones. And so, when you look at the bones, if you don't have a very small flat-faced, round-headed pug in the archaeological record, you don't know where that came from.
Those are questions that, before genetics, you really couldn't answer.
NARRATOR: To unravel the evolutionary origins of dogs, geneticists compare D.N.A. from dogs with that of their wild relatives. Specifically, they look at mitochondrial D.N.A. sequences which pass, unchanged, down the maternal line. Since mitochondrial D.N.A. changes little over time, it can act as a kind of signature left by an animal's ancestors.
GREGER LARSON: Those markers, in domestic dogs, show them to be much more closely related to grey wolves than they are to any other species. There's no admixture, so we never see a mitochondrial signature of, say, an African wild dog or jackal or coyote in a domestic dog. And of the thousands upon thousands of mitochondrial D.N.A. that has been extracted from domestic dogs, every single one of them just looks just like a grey wolf.
NARRATOR: This controversy is settled; dogs are domesticated wolves. But a mystery remains: when and how did this change take place?
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: What is clearly a dog? Clearly, a dog is something which is clearly not a wolf.
Well, here's a wolf skull, and, as you can see, it's a long quite low skull with a relatively flat top. The teeth are quite large and the thing is quite narrow.
Compare that with a domestic dog. This is a cairn terrier, and, as you can see, the process of domestication has gone really quite a long way. The whole face is very much shorter; it's been contracted towards the brain case. The brain case itself has a much steeper front and a much more bowed upper surface, so if you found that, you would be in no doubt you were dealing with a domestic dog.
But this is a domestic Alsatian, and telling these apart, really, would be substantially difficult.
NARRATOR: And since early dogs were probably very wolf-like, it's hard to pinpoint when domestication happened, by looking at the shape of the bones.
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: The best I can give you is around 12-, or 13,000 years ago. We start seeing the first things that everybody would accept as being domestic dogs.
NARRATOR: But mitochondrial DNA offers a different set of clues.
GREGER LARSON: The original genetic dates that were coming out seemed to suggest that domestication was happening on a far earlier timescale than was suggested by anything in the archaeological record. The first dates that were coming out were on the order of a hundred-thousand years or more, which a lot of archaeologists raised their eyebrows at.
NARRATOR: It's hotly debated exactly when dogs were domesticated, but geneticists and archeologists agree on one thing: our relationship with dogs goes back thousands of years further than with any other pet.
It was a time when we were still hunter-gatherers.
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: Dogs were certainly the first animal to be domesticated, and they fit into hunting and gathering societies probably better than any other species out there.
GREGER LARSON: At this stage, when we're hunting and gathering and killing wild animals, after you finish with them, you're creating a relatively large pile of bone and leftover meat, things that these wolves would have been very attracted to. Those wolves that were able to take advantage of that resource and were a little bit less afraid and could approach the human camp were then setting themselves up into a closer relationship with humans.
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: We are carnivores; we are social carnivores. We hunt in groups, and we hunt in daylight. There are not many other species that do that. The wolf is a social carnivore that hunts by daylight, and, therefore, I think there's natural potential for teamwork between those two species.
GREGER LARSON: We became much better hunters with dogs. We are more successfully taking down large game, which means we have more food to eat, which means we can have more offspring, which means the overall populations of humans grow.
NARRATOR: Dog domestication may have helped pave the way for a fundamental change in human lifestyle.
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: It's hard to see how early herders would have moved and protected and guarded their flocks without domestic dogs being in place. And one has to wonder whether agriculture would ever really have made it as a viable alternative to hunting and gathering.
NARRATOR: Some believe that the influence of dogs on our development was not just important but pivotal.
GREGER LARSON: Dogs absolutely turn the tables. Without dogs, humans would still be hunter gatherers, and without that initial starting phase of dog domestication, civilization just would not have been possible.
NARRATOR: We look at our dogs and we see an intelligence, an ability to interact with us, unlike any other domesticated animal. But are dogs really that clever, or are they just dumb animals taught to perform tricks that mimic human behavior?
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 1 (Mutt Owner): I think she is very smart. She learns tricks fairly quickly.
MAN 3: If I am packing a suitcase they will go and sit in the suitcase because they know that suitcase is going to go somewhere.
WOMAN 4: When I'm talking to him, most of the time, his little head usually jilts to the side, as if he knows what I'm saying.
MAN 2: I do talk to her, and she picks up on what I say to her. I know it sounds stupid, but I do actually have a conversation with my dog.
NARRATOR: So how does the intelligence of a dog compare in the animal kingdom? New research is discovering that, in certain ways, dogs may actually think more like us than any other animal, including our nearest relative, the chimpanzee.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: Of all the questions around the evolution of human cognition, of course people would focus in on chimps, quite naturally, and suddenly there were dogs doing something that not even chimps could do.
NARRATOR: Cognitive psychologist Juliane Kaminski compares chimps with dogs, in a series of revealing experiments. At Leipzig Zoo, Kaminski is testing chimps to see if they can understand human gestures, like pointing, to find a hidden treat.
As simple as it seems to us, even our nearest primate relatives fail the task miserably.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: She's not really focusing on me, and she's simply making her own choice. Most of the time, you can see that she makes a decision, long before I give my gesture. She doesn't even wait for my information.
It's such an uncooperative interaction, so it's like really I'm providing information for her to find food, which is just simply something which would never happen in a chimp group, really. I mean a chimp wouldn't go, like, "Oh, look, there's the banana." And then another chimp could go and get it.
NARRATOR: Since we're the only species that makes this gesture, it would be remarkable if any animal could understand it. But dog owners take it for granted that their dogs respond to pointing.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: Good boy!
NARRATOR: For Kaminski, it's proof of their extraordinary social intelligence.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: If you really look at that gesture, it's an informative gesture. So it's, in its essence, a very cooperative interaction, so, I'm really helping you to find something. And for dogs, following, pointing seems to be very natural, and it makes dogs extremely interesting.
NARRATOR: In fact, dogs are so tuned in to our social cues, they can even pick up on something as subtle as the direction of our gaze.
Humans have unique almond-shaped eyes with exposed white sclera visible on each side.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: One hypothesis is that we have evolved those eyes because we use it for communication. So, really, with human eyes, you can really tell easily which direction I'm looking.
NARRATOR: But these aren't skills that dogs use with each other. They are abilities dogs only use with us.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: I think it's very, very easy to imagine that they develop special skills in interacting with humans, because that's their new social partner, so they, kind of, learn to interpret human communication which is different from dog communication. So they, kind of, learn a second language. So you could probably say they are bilingual, yes.
NARRATOR: Even puppies as young as six weeks old seem to respond human gestures.
At least some of the time!
JULIANE KAMINSKI: If they learn it, they learn it very quickly, and it's obviously that they are ready to do it, so from the very beginning, they are ready to receive human communication.
NARRATOR: Dogs are primed to communicate with us, but just how smart are they? New research reveals their abilities extend way beyond what anyone thought.
Professor Kaminski has discovered a remarkable border collie, living in Austria, just outside Vienna. She's conducted a series of experiments and is amazed at the dog's intelligence.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: She can distinguish objects by name, which is really amazing. And she has, like, many, many words.
BETSY'S OWNER: Käse, das zebra…
NARRATOR: With a vocabulary of over 340 words, Betsy is pushing the boundaries of what we think dogs are capable of.
B BETSY'S OWNER: carotte, sandwich.
NARRATOR: Betsy's owner, who prefers to remain anonymous, explains how this all started.
BETSY'S OWNER: I think it was when she was four or five months old, when she spontaneously started to connect human words to items. When we were discussing shall we play with the rope or with the ball, she immediately started to bring those items. So it was actually her idea, and, from this time on, we started to really train her on different words. It was maybe one toy per week, and it worked.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: I think, on average, a well-trained dog maybe knows like fifteen commands or something. There are just a very few individuals who can do what she does.
I can tell that I can try it with my own dog and it doesn't work at all. So he could maybe distinguish two objects; she is able to use it easily, more than 300 objects. That's pretty amazing.
NARRATOR: Betsy's understanding of vocabulary rivals that of a two-year-old, so Kaminski wants to test her comprehension on other skills, as well.
WOMAN 5 (Teacher of Two-Year-Olds): Can you go find me one of them, over there? Yeah?
NARRATOR: Two-year-olds are just beginning to understand how to use symbols, such as scale models, in communication. Though it looks easy, it requires abstract thinking way beyond the capability of almost all animals.
But would Betsy be able to do this, too?
BETSY'S OWNER: Ja. Ist gut.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: This was something the owners had never tried before, so when I came and I said I want to do this, they were really like, "Oh, no way, that's not going to work." I was the first one doing that with her, and she had no problem doing it, right from the beginning.
This is surprising, because, in its essence, if I hold out an object, she turns it into something communicative, and that's so interesting.
NARRATOR: Children also begin to grasp that a drawing or photograph can depict a real object.
WOMAN 5: Thank you very much. Well done.
JULIANE KAMINSKI: In essence, the picture is something very different, as the object. So it's a, it's a piece of paper but…and it's two dimensional…but it's representing something, so she obviously interprets that as representing an object, a three-dimensional object, and that's so interesting that she does this. "I know exactly what you want. This is the one you want, and I'm going to go and get it for you."
BETSY'S OWNER: Ja gut. Super braves, Madchen, gut gemacht, super.
NARRATOR: Kaminski is unsure how many dogs might have similar abilities, but Betsy has shown that certain dogs may have the potential to be more intelligent than we ever thought possible.
So how did dogs acquire these unique abilities? Did these evolve over thousands of years, or is it, rather, the way dogs have been raised in a human environment?
Dogs and wolves are still the same species today. They can easily interbreed. Overall, wolves and dogs are 99.8 percent genetically identical. Given that they're biologically so similar, is it the way we raise them in our homes that makes a dog?
Researchers in Hungary set out to answer this question.
DR. KUBINYI ENIKÖ (Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary): We wanted to see whether the special relationships between humans and dogs are due to nature or nurture. So, we wanted to see what happens if a wolf is raised in a human environment, in a home, whether it would act like, like a dog or not.
NARRATOR: A litter of five-day-old cubs is taken from a wolf sanctuary outside Budapest. A group of young researchers are their adoptive parents, caring for them 24 hours a day.
As a control for the experiment, they already raised puppies. Now they aim to raise the wolf cubs in the same way.
KUBINYI ENIKÖ: So we were especially nice with, with our cubs, because we wanted to maintain a very good relationship with them. They were really cute, so it was not very difficult to carry them everywhere we were going. And we also slept together with, with the cubs.
So the bonding, it was good. I really liked my cubs, and there was a strong, really strong relationship between us.
NARRATOR: Then something changed. Despite raising the cubs in the same way as the puppies, at eight weeks, differences start showing up.
KUBINYI ENIKÖ: Dog puppies were always interested in what, what I was doing. There is a very strong cooperative tendency in dogs, and this was missing in, in wolves. They had their own ideas; they were not much interested in my activities.
NARRATOR: The researchers want to find out exactly what is going on and decide to run a series of tests comparing the wolf cubs with puppies of the same age. The puppies engage. The wolves don't.
Unlike dogs, the wolf cubs do not respond to pointing. In fact, they hardly make eye contact with humans at all. The cubs behave the same as they would in the wild.
KUBINYI ENIKÖ: She was really possessive. If she wanted to grab an object, it was really difficult to get it back. And if we wanted to open the refrigerator and have breakfast, the pup was immediately in the middle of the refrigerator and grabbed something. It is not like with a dog that you say, "No, you shouldn't." It just didn't care.
NARRATOR: The battles worsened.
KUBINYI ENIKÖ: After the second month, we started to have more and more conflicts, and the wolves wanted to destroy everything.
And of course, when the cub is a small cub, it's nothing, but when they reach 40 or 50 kilograms, you know, it starts to be really dangerous. We just could not keep them in the house anymore.
NARRATOR: After four months, the cubs had to be returned to the reserve. The experiment shows that upbringing has little impact. It's impossible to turn a wolf into a dog, no matter how much it is loved and nurtured.
KUBINYI ENIKÖ: So according to our experiences, the dog is not a socialized wolf at all. These differences we experienced in the communicative ability and in the social behavior of dogs, this is the effect of domestication.
NARRATOR: The differences must lie in the way dogs have been bred by humans over thousands of years. Their unique abilities are now part of their nature.
But how did dogs evolve these innate attributes? Can we figure out what made them tame? A remarkable experiment in Siberia may hold the key to understanding how wolves evolved into domesticated dogs.
Half a century ago, Soviet scientists set up a breeding program to see if they could domesticate silver foxes. Foxes are closely related to wolves. The project, which has attracted the attention of scientists across the world, is opening a remarkable window on the process of domestication.
Here on a farm, outside the city of Novosibirsk, the experiment still continues today, overseen by Dr Lyudmila Trut.
The breeding program began in 1959, when the first foxes were selected from local fur farms.
DR. LYUDMILA TRUT (Institute of Cytology and Genetics, Russia) [Dubbed]: We approached the animals in the cages and recorded their reaction to us. We could see that some of the foxes showed aggressive behavior, others were frightened; but only one percent of them showed neither signs of fear or aggression.
NARRATOR: This one percent is selected to become the founding generation of a new population of foxes. At every generation, the selection process is repeated, only the tamest foxes are allowed to breed. Within just three generations, the aggressive behavior begins to disappear.
LYUDMILA TRUT [Dubbed]: The radical changes came through in the eighth generation, when foxes started to seek contact with humans and show affection to them. The amazing thing was that cubs who had just started to crawl opened their eyes and started showing affection to humans by breathing heavily, wagging their tails and howling.
This kind of response was a big surprise to us.
NARRATOR: Half a century and nearly fifty generations later, the foxes are tamer than ever. It's an accelerated model of how dogs might have been domesticated from wolves.
In order to understand the role that genetics plays in the taming process, the scientists also bred a group of foxes to be more aggressive.
LYUDMILA TRUT [Dubbed]: It just bit my hand. I didn't even open the cage. I just put my hand out and it managed to bite me through the bars. This isn't a fox, it's a dragon.
NARRATOR: This experiment allows researchers to make unique comparisons between tame and aggressive foxes.
LYUDMILA TRUT [Dubbed]: We did an experiment with cross-fostering, where we gave aggressive cubs to tame mothers and vice versa. We found out that the mother's behavior does not influence that of the cub. This cub was brought up by a tame mother.
NARRATOR: The results are clear. The difference between tame and aggressive foxes is almost entirely genetic.
LYUDMILA TRUT [Dubbed]: We even took the experiment one stage further and transplanted embryos from aggressive mothers into tame mothers, but the results were the same. It proved that you can't change the gene of aggressiveness, and it will be kept and preserved for the next generation.
NARRATOR: Geneticists have already located several regions on the fox genome responsible for tameness. They're now taking blood samples from tame and aggressive foxes in an attempt to pinpoint the specific genes.
Dr. Anna Kukekova, the scientist leading this research team, makes the 5,000 mile journey to Siberia, to study the foxes.
DR. ANNA KUKEKOVA (Cornell University): Behavior is complex. We're pretty sure there will be not a single gene, but definitely the orchestra of genes which is responsible for this behavior.
NARRATOR: One fascinating result to come out of this experiment is the fact that tamer foxes are producing less adrenaline. With lower adrenaline levels, the foxes experience less fear and are less aggressive.
ANNA KUKEKOVA: He is like a doggy, you know, like the puppy who's very happy when somebody picks him up from the floor. It's unbelievable how they trust, how they trust people. And I just really admire this animal.
LYUDMILA TRUT [Dubbed]: So, within 50 years of our intensive selection process, this fire-breathing dragon has turned into a human friend.
If foxes were brought up in a domestic environment, interacting with other animals and humans, they would make fantastic pets. They are as independent as cats, but, at the same time, as devoted as any dog could be.
NARRATOR: One surprising result of this experiment is that, as the foxes' behavior changes, so does their physical appearance.
Just a few generations into the experiment, scientists noticed a curious phenomenon. The normal pattern and silver color of the coat changed dramatically in some of the tame foxes. Their tails often became curly instead of straight. Some young foxes kept their floppy ears for much longer than usual, and their limbs and tails generally became shorter than their wild counterparts'.
In effect, the tame silver foxes were beginning to look more like dogs.
BRIAN HARE: What this shows is that when you select against aggression, you get almost all the same suite of changes that you see when you compare dogs to wolves.
NARRATOR: Evolutionary anthropologist Brian Hare is visiting the breeding program in Siberia. He believes once you select for tameness, changes in appearance will naturally follow.
BRIAN HARE: I think the surprise, when thinking about dog origins, is that there's so many ways that dogs are different from wolves. So is it that you had to select for each of these traits individually?
Well, the answer from the fox work is no. If you just select for behavior, a lot of the morphological and physiological changes that we see between wolves and dogs, they just get dragged along.
You end up with this crazy variance, you know, floppy ears, curly tails, you know? All these other things that are really cute, to talk about, so you get a lot of stuff for free when you select against aggression.
NARRATOR: For Hare, this wide variety of physical traits reveals something fundamental about domestication.
BRIAN HARE: When you're selecting against aggression, what you're doing is you're favoring juvenile traits. Juveniles and infants show much less aggression than adults and, so, basically, you've frozen development at a much earlier stage. And so, you have an animal, as an adult, that looks and behaves much more like a juvenile.
It's amazing that you get all this variance that's hidden under the surface. It starts to express itself, and then, of course, later, people can directly decide, "I really like the one with the curly tail, and I'm going to take two of them, and I'm going to put them together." And then you can end up having dogs that, sort of, shift in ways people want them to go.
NARRATOR: In the past few hundred years, we've taken dogs' infantile features and emphasized them even further through selective breeding.
We've created hundreds of breeds to fulfill different roles, but some of them have been bred purely for their looks.
MORTEN KRINGLEBACH (University of Oxford, England): I think this kind of breeding really tells us a lot about what kind of people we are, what it is that we like about dogs.
YOUNG GIRL 2 (Dog Owner): I want you to describe Laddy in one word.
YOUNG BOY 1 (Dog Owner): Cute. Cute, yeah.
YOUNG GIRL 1: Cute, adorable and funny.
MAN 2: I just look at her and I, I just smile, particularly when she's sleeping. She's very, very cute.
NARRATOR: We all know we find them cute, but what is it exactly that makes us respond to dogs so powerfully?
Psychiatrist Morton Kringlebach has a theory as to why the way dogs look has such a profound impact on us.
MORTEN KRINGLEBACH: The need to nurture, I think, is something that is so deep in us that we find it very difficult to resist.
Dogs, puppies have very infant-like features, and maybe that's one of the reasons why we think they are, you know, so cute, is that they remind us of the infants that we, are, so to speak, programmed to like.
There's something about the way that the facial features are organized that makes us want to care for them, and it's about having a large forehead, it's about having large eyes, big ears. And there's something about that that almost unconsciously we cannot help ourselves but actually like.
How are you feeling in there?
We're just going to go one more scan.
NARRATOR: Dr Kringlebach is exploring how strongly we respond to these infantile features. He uses an extremely powerful machine, called a MEG scanner, that allows him to measure, in real-time, the brain's response to pictures of baby and adult faces.
MORTEN KRINGLEBACH: What we found was that within a seventh of a second, there was activity in the frontal part of the brain, just over the eyebrows, in the orbital frontal of cortex, that was present when you were looking at the infant faces but not when you were looking at the adult faces.
This part of the brain is very much involved in emotional responses, and so, what we think we may have stumbled across here, is really, in many ways, the brain equivalent of the parental instinct. There's almost like a wired-in automatic reaction.
Just as with the infant, when you are looking at dogs, you find it very hard to control your emotions. You find it very hard not to get that need to nurture.
MAN 2: Wow, look at that. What a nice belly.
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 1: Mushu, mushu.
YOUNG GIRL 2: Oh, Boo, you so do, oh, yeah.
NARRATOR: But when we treat dogs as if they were children, do we sometimes allow them to replace our children?
MORTEN KRINGLEBACH: They are, essentially, moving our focus away from having children onto having pets.
PETER ROWLEY-CONWY: I think we can think of little puppies brought home as parasites. They don't do anything useful, they're not perceived as a food source, they're not perceived as a guard dog. They are simply brought home for fun.
The cuckoo is perhaps quite a good analogy because the baby cuckoo, of course, being planted in somebody else's nest, prompts mother bird to look after baby cuckoo, even though there's nothing in it for the mother bird at all.
MORTEN KRINGLEBACH: I think it's safe to say that dogs have, evolutionarily, been very successful. If you compare them to wolves, you will see that wolves are now an endangered species, while dogs, of course, are all around the world.
NARRATOR: Whether they are viewed as parasites or as beloved companions, no one can deny the evolutionary success of the domesticated dog.
In fact, there are over 400 million, worldwide. And humans have created over 400 genetically distinct breeds.
Research on dogs is heading in exciting new directions. Geneticists have already mapped the genome of one breed, the boxer. Studying this genome, scientists now realize that it offers tremendous promise in curing human disease.
Dr. Elinor Karlsson, of the Broad Institute, was part of the team that mapped the boxer genome in 2005.
Elinor Karlsson (Broad Institute of MIT and Harvard): If you look in, you know, a population of humans, you'd have quite a lot of genetic variation across them. People would be quite different from one another. But, within a breed, dogs are very similar to each other.
NARRATOR: Dr. Karlsson believes that she can use that similarity to understand the genetics of human disease.
Elinor Karlsson: I think there are hundreds of diseases that are in common between dogs and humans. There is diabetes, there is various cardiac diseases, there is epilepsy, there's a lot of different cancers: bone cancers, breast cancers, brain tumors.
NARRATOR: Today, the team is taking blood samples from boxers, which are susceptible to a fatal heart disease called cardiomyopathy.
The D.N.A. in their blood could hold vital clues to the causes of the disease.
Elinor Karlsson: Once we had the dog genome sequenced, we could design a gene chip which would allow us to compare all of our sick dogs and our healthy dogs and find the genes that are causing diseases.
NARRATOR: Using a genotyping machine, Dr. Karlsson simultaneously analyzes thousands of regions of D.N.A. from boxers, with and without this disease.
Elinor Karlsson: So, what you see when you compare the sick dogs to the healthy dogs and go across the genome from chromosome 1 to chromosome 2 and across, is that most of the points are right near zero, and there's not a lot of differences between the healthy dogs and the sick dogs, until you get to chromosome 17. And there, all of a sudden, you have a huge number of differences. And this is really exciting, because this means that this is the region of the genome that holds the gene that's causing our disease.
NARRATOR: Now, with the mutation's identity known, the team is able to locate the corresponding gene in humans. It's accelerated a process that, without dogs, could have taken decades.
Elinor Karlsson: I think that there's probably a lot of diseases that are so complicated in humans, dogs, basically, give us a huge head start on that.
We can really say that dogs are good for our health.
NARRATOR: For a pet that has been around so long, dog research is a surprising new area of science.
Experiments have shown what dog owners have always suspected: after thousands of years of living together, dogs are attuned to us like no other animal.
MAN 2: It's a very important part of life to actually know a dog, and especially a dog that adores you like this. It's got to be good for yourself.
FEMALE RESEARCH PARTICIPANT 1: It's kind of impossible to have a bad day when you are coming home to a wet nose and a waggy tail, I think. I can't imagine life without her.
WOMAN 3: It's quite strange. We weren't lacking anything before we had him, and yet, now, we would feel we were lacking if he wasn't here.
MAN 1: They just enrich your life. They are the best thing ever. They keep you young.
NARRATOR: New research has taken our understanding of how dogs evolved to a whole new level, getting us closer to what exactly it means to be tame.
DANIEL MILLS: While we can have good relationships with a wide variety of animals, historically, our relationship with dogs seems to have been the longest one with any domestic animal.
GREGER LARSON: I think one reason that there are almost seven billion people on Earth is, in large part, due to the role that dogs have played in our evolutionary existence.
DANIEL MILLS: Personally, I don't think it's any coincidence that the dog is referred to as man's best friend.


Participants

Kubinyi Enikö
Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary familydogproject.elte.hu/kubinyi_cv.html
Brian Hare
Duke University
Juliane Kaminski
Max Planck Institute, Germany www.eva.mpg.de/psycho/staff/kaminski/index.htm
Elinor Karlsson
Broad Institute of MIT & Harvard www.sabetilab.org/profile.php?id=ekarlsson
Morten Kringelbach
University of Oxford, England www.neuroscience.ox.ac.uk/directory/morten-kringelbach
Anna Kukekova
Cornell University
Greger Larson
Durham University, England www.dur.ac.uk/archaeology/staff/?id=5502
Ádám Miklósi
Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary etologia.aitia.ai/main.php?folderID=872&articleID=3864&ctag=articlelist&iid=1
Daniel Mills
University of Lincoln, England www.lincoln.ac.uk/dbs/staff/479.asp
Anaïs Racca
University of Lincoln, England www.lincoln.ac.uk/dbs/staff_profile/a_racca.htm
Peter Rowley-Conwy
Durham University, England www.dur.ac.uk/archaeology/staff/?id=164
Lyudmila Trut
Institute of Cytology & Genetics, Russia www.bionet.nsc.ru/indexEngl_normal.html
Kerstin Uvnäs-Moberg
Karolinska Institute, Sweden

 

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Apex Predators are Taking It to the Top

Where We Work How to Help News & Blogs Photos Wildlife

National Wildlife Federation




Large animals at the top of food webs may have as much influence shaping ecosystems as those at the bottom


03-11-2013 // Roger Di Silvestro

Large predators 1
 


IN THE 1990s, biologist James Estes noticed that something was going wrong with the sea otters he had been studying for the past 20 years along Alaska’s Aleutian archipelago. After decades of recovery from near extinction brought on by the fur trade, the otters were dwindling again under what proved to be a more natural force. “By 1997, it became clear to me that orcas were driving the otters down,” Estes says. “They really hammered them.” In some areas, 98 percent of the otters disappeared. Numbers in the Aleutian area fell from more than 100,000 before 1990 to perhaps 3,000 to 5,000 today.

After another 15 years of study Estes, an evolutionary biologist at the University of California–Santa Cruz, believes the sea otter decline is only one link in a series of ecological changes in the archipelago. The starting point was industrial whaling, which in the early 1900s decimated the large whales on which orcas fed in the waters off Alaska’s coast. The killer whales turned to preying on Steller sea lions, which can grow to 2,500 pounds, and caused the sea lion population, perhaps already stressed by climate change and by an intensive commercial fishing industry, to collapse. The orcas then turned to feeding on sea otters, which also may have been debilitated by pollution.

As the sea otters declined, other ecological effects arose: The sea urchins on which the otters fed expanded in number and began eating coastal kelp, destroying habitat that supports fish and other animals. Bald eagles, which fed on fish and sea otter pups, turned to preying on seabirds. Thus the loss of a large species at the top of the food web—whales—disrupted an entire ecosystem. “It’s probably more complicated than that, but that’s probably what’s at the base of it all,” Estes says.

A New View of Ecosystem Dynamics

 

A sea otter floats in waters off AlaskaHis work may be among the harbingers of a shift in how biologists view ecosystems and how conservationists protect habitat. “In the past, the default paradigm among biologists was that of bottom-up regulation of ecosystems, where the base of vegetation affected everything above,” says Sterling Miller, a bear biologist and NWF senior wildlife biologist. “But within recent decades scientists have increasingly recognized how important top-down effects are in keeping grazers and browsers from damaging the vegetative base of the pyramid and the cascade of smaller species dependent on this base.” Research by Estes and others underscores the need for strong protection of large consumers atop the ecological pyramid to ensure ecosystem health.


Many apex consumers are dwindling, part of a process that began more than 10,000 years ago with the extinction of such megafauna as the mastodon, giant ground sloth and saber-toothed cats and continued through the extirpation or drastic reduction of such species as Steller sea cows, elephant birds, dodos, brown bears, bison, gray wolves, tigers, rhinos and many more. A recent paper published in the journal Science cites this wave of destruction, caused largely by human activity, as “arguably humankind’s most pervasive influence on the natural world. This is true in part because it has occurred globally and in part because extinctions are by their very nature perpetual, whereas most other environmental impacts are potentially reversible on decadal to millennial timescales.”

The Science paper, “Trophic Downgrading of Planet Earth,” was the brainchild of both Estes and John Terborgh of Duke University, who has spent decades studying tropical rainforest ecology. Their research, which suggested that profound changes in ecosystems could come from the top down, led to the formation of a two-and-a-half-day conference about four years ago that produced the paper, a review of ecological research on large apex consumers written by Estes, Terborgh and 21 other scientists. “What’s important to me is the impact of the paper and its ideas,” Estes says. “Can we use it to influence people’s conceptions about ecosystems and what we do about them?”

The Wolf Connection

Like Estes’ sea otter studies, wolf research in Yellowstone National Park underscores the importance of apex consumers to ecological integrity. After control efforts wiped out park wolves in the 1920s, elk numbers rose, and the elk browsed areas they would have avoided if threatened by wolves. The result: reduced new growth of aspens on some mountainsides and of willows along streams.

When wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone in 1995 and 1996, a reduction in elk numbers began to show positive effects on tree and shrub growth, says William Ripple, director of Oregon State University’s Trophic Cascades Program and a coauthor of the Science report who has studied wolf, elk and plant dynamics in Yellowstone since the 1990s. In some areas, aspen and willow are growing taller and filling in the plant community, though not at all sites Ripple has studied. “Restoration takes time,” he says. “We’re only 17 years after wolf reintroduction, and we were 70 years without wolves. We need more time to see how Yellowstone unfolds.” Regrowth of willows along streams will shade and cool the water, reduce bank erosion and benefit many species that use such habitat, including songbirds and even beavers, which function as ecological engineers by reconfiguring streams.

The role of wolves in Yellowstone is not unique. In a paper published in 2011 in Geomorphology, Ripple and his Oregon State University colleague Robert Beschta point out that loss of mountain lions in Utah’s Zion National Park led to an overabundance of deer and that destruction of wolves in Washington’s Olympic National Park allowed elk to explode, in both cases affecting the growth of trees along streams and increasing factors such as erosion.

Apex Consumer Ripple Effects

Loss of apex consumers can even affect the occurrence of some diseases. The spread of Lyme disease, which can be deadly to humans, requires the presence of ticks, deer and deer mice, but, according to research published last year by Taal Levi of the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies and his colleagues, the ailment also is strongly linked with the extirpation of wolves in the East, which allowed coyotes to move in. Unlike wolves, coyotes kill mouse-eating foxes, which helps deer mouse populations to increase and the disease to spread.

Predators are not the only apex consumers driving changes in ecosystems. In one of the stranger tales from this field of research, a population of deer drove a population of black bears to extinction on 3,000-square-mile Anticosti Island at the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. At one time the forested island, punctuated with peat bogs, probably was home to only half a dozen species of land mammal, including the river otter, pine marten and two bat species. Only two, the deer mouse and black bear, ate plants.

In the 1890s a landowner introduced about 200 white-tailed deer to Anticosti as part of a plan to turn the island into a paradise for hunters. In the absence of efficient predators, the deer rocketed to 50,000 individuals within a few decades, noshing away shrubs that produced a key bear food: berries. Because the island’s forests lacked nuts and seeds and its waters offered few salmon, local bears had to pack away about a third of their body weight daily in berries to make it through winter. As the deer wiped out the shrubs, the berries disappeared, and so did the bears. Researcher Steeve Côté of the Department of Biology at Quebec’s Laval University reported the extinction in the journal Conservation Biology in 2005, crediting his paper as “the only documentation of a large herbivore extirpating a successful and abundant carnivore from a large ecosystem.”


Two baboons grooming each other in Africa


In the Science paper, Estes and his colleagues proposed that “many of the ecological surprises that have confronted society over past centuries—pandemics, population collapses of species we value and eruptions of those we do not, major shifts in ecosystem states, and losses of diverse ecosystem services—were caused or facilitated by [changes in apex consumers].” Examples:

Destruction of sharks in recent years along the U.S. Atlantic coast allowed cow-nosed rays to stage a population explosion; heavy feeding by the rays later caused a collapse in bay scallop fisheries.

• In East Africa, the introduction in the 1800s of rinderpest, a viral disease that infects a variety of hoofed animals, decimated populations of such browsers as wildebeest and buffalo, resulting in more woody vegetation, which in turn increased the extent and frequency of wildfires. In the 1960s, game and livestock managers eradicated rinderpest. As large ungulates recovered in the early 1980s, woody vegetation declined, grasslands returned and the frequency of wildfire fell off across the region.

Industrial whaling in the 20th century resulted in the loss of large numbers of plankton-consuming great whales, which are now known to sequester carbon in the deep sea when they die and sink, rotting at the ocean bottom. The decline in whales resulted in the transfer of approximately 105 million tons of carbon into the atmosphere, contributing to climate change.

• The reduction of lions and leopards in parts of Africa has led to population outbreaks of olive baboons, which are drawn into increased contact with people by the monkeys’ attraction to sources of human food. The interaction is causing higher rates of intestinal parasites in both people and baboons.

The authors of the Science article reasoned that the critical role of apex consumers in ecosystem integrity must be included in conservation plans “if there is to be any real hope of understanding and managing the workings of nature.” This conclusion bears profound implications for conservation. “The science is showing that the large predators at the top of the food web are important to the function of ecosystems,” Ripple says. “In short, conserve the large predators so the natural interactions can take place.”

Deposing the King of Beasts

 

Lion pride on Africa's Seregetti


A study released last December reported that lions are rapidly declining across Africa because human population growth and land development have reduced the cats’ habitat by 75 percent. Published in Biodiversity and Conservation, the paper indicated that only 67 regions remain in Africa where significant lion populations can survive, but only about 15 of the sites are home to at least 500 of the big cats. Lions may number fewer than 32,000 animals continent wide.

How this decline will affect African ecology is hinted at in the effect that lion and leopard reductions have had on olive baboons. But, says Luke Hunter, president of Panthera, an organization devoted to wild feline protection, evidence suggests more far-reaching effects. In South Africa, for example, where wildlife is restricted mostly to parks and other protected areas, herds of large ungulates can destroy grassland habitat if lions are absent. The big predators keep zebras, wildebeest and other prey on the move, helping to foster more biologically diverse grassland-woodland mosaics. “Without lions and other top carnivores preventing ungulate populations from localizing, you end up with a golf course that easily collapses ecologically,” Hunter says.

Removing lions from native habitat sets in motion a cascade of ecological changes. “The interactions are so complex, but once you pull the string, it starts unraveling,” Hunter says. For example, he speculates that vultures, already dwindling across Africa from eating the carcasses of livestock treated with an antibiotic toxic to the scavengers, are likely to face even worse inroads as the loss of lions cuts into their primary source of food, the remains of large prey killed by the cats.

But, Hunter says, the relationship of a large predator to other species “is so complicated that the lion decline isn’t universally detrimental.” Lions and spotted hyenas can suppress cheetah populations that share their habitat. In some African nations lions survive only within protected areas like parks, so cheetahs are increasing outside parks. As lions decline, cheetahs have an edge in rebounding.


NWF in Action: Protecting Apex Consumers

NWF has worked for decades to protect large species such as the grizzly bear, bighorn sheep and Florida panther. The Federation played a lead role in returning wolves to Yellowstone National Park in the 1990s, and last year, working with the Assiniboine and Sioux tribes, helped obtain more than 60 purebred Yellowstone bison for release on the Fort Peck Reservation in eastern Montana. During the past decade, NWF has used a market-based approach to retire more than 500,000 acres of livestock grazing rights on federally administered lands in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem to safeguard habitat for native wildlife. See nwf.org/restoringbison.

Roger Di Silvestro is a senior editor for National Wildlife.

Support NWF's Work to Conserve Wildlife >>


Related Resources

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Ethical Dog

Science News




 
Cover Image: March 2010 Scientific American Magazine See Inside

The Ethical Dog

Looking for the roots of human morality in the animal kingdom? Focus on canines, who know how to play fair
Every dog owner knows a pooch can learn the house rules—and when she breaks one, her subsequent groveling is usually ingratiating enough to ensure quick forgiveness. But few people have stopped to ask why dogs have such a keen sense of right and wrong. Chimpanzees and other nonhuman primates regularly make the news when researchers, logically looking to our closest relatives for traits similar to our own, uncover evidence of their instinct for fairness. But our work has suggested that wild canine societies may be even better analogues for early hominid groups—and when we study dogs, wolves and coyotes, we discover behaviors that hint at the roots of human morality.

Morality, as we define it in our book Wild Justice, is a suite of interrelated other-regarding behaviors that cultivate and regulate social interactions. These behaviors, including altruism, tolerance, forgiveness, reciprocity and fairness, are readily evident in the egalitarian way wolves and coyotes play with one another. Canids (animals in the dog family) follow a strict code of conduct when they play, which teaches pups the rules of social engagement that allow their societies to succeed. Play also builds trusting relationships among pack members, which enables divisions of labor, dominance hierarchies and cooperation in hunting, raising young, and defending food and territory. Because this social organization closely resembles that of early humans (as anthropologists and other experts believe it existed), studying canid play may offer a glimpse of the moral code that allowed our ancestral societies to grow and flourish.

Playing by the Rules

When canids and other animals play, they use actions such as vigorous biting, mounting and body slamming that could be easily misinterpreted by the participants. Years of painstaking video analyses by one of us (Bekoff) and his students show, however, that individuals carefully negotiate play, following four general rules to prevent play from escalating into fighting.

Communicate clearly. Animals announce that they want to play and not fight or mate. Canids use a bow to solicit play, crouching on their forelimbs while standing on their hind legs (above). Bows are used almost exclusively during play and are highly stereotyped—that is, they always look the same—so the message “Come play with me” or “I still want to play” is clear. Even when an individual follows a play bow with seemingly aggressive actions such as baring teeth, growling or biting, his companions demonstrate submission or avoidance only around 15 percent of the time, which suggests they trust the bow’s message that whatever follows is meant in fun. Trust in one another’s honest communication is vital for a smoothly functioning social group.

Mind your manners. Animals consider their play partners’ abilities and engage in self-handicapping and role reversing to create and maintain equal footing. For instance, a coyote might not bite her play partner as hard as she can, handicapping herself to keep things fair. And a dominant pack member might perform a role reversal, rolling over on her back (a sign of submission that she would never offer during real aggression) to let her lower-status play partner take a turn at “winning”. Human children also behave this way when they play, for instance, taking turns overpowering each other in a mock wrestling match. [For more on childhood play, see “The Serious Need for Play,” by Melinda Wenner; Scientific American Mind, February/March 2009.] By keeping things fair in this manner, every member of the group can play with every other member, building bonds that keep the group cohesive and strong.

Admit when you are wrong. Even when everyone wants to keep things fair, play can sometimes get out of hand. When an animal misbehaves or accidentally hurts his play partner, he apologizes—just like a human would. After an intense bite, a bow sends the message, “Sorry I bit you so hard—this is still play regardless of what I just did. Don’t leave; I’ll play fair.” For play to continue, the other individual must forgive the wrongdoing. And forgiveness is almost always offered; understanding and tolerance are abundant during play as well as in daily pack life.

Be honest. An apology, like an invitation to play, must be sincere—individuals who continue to play unfairly or send dishonest signals will quickly find themselves ostracized. This has far greater consequences than simply reduced playtime; for instance, Bekoff’s long-term field research shows that juvenile coyotes who do not play fair often end up leaving their pack and are up to four times more likely to die than those individuals who remain with others. Violating social norms, established during play, is not good for perpetuating one’s genes.

Fair play, then, can be understood as an evolved adaptation that allows individuals to form and maintain social bonds. Canids, like humans, form intricate networks of social relationships and live by rules of conduct that maintain a stable society, which is necessary to ensure the survival of each individual. Basic rules of fairness guide social play, and similar rules are the foundation for fairness among adults. This moral intelligence, so evident in both wild canines and in domesticated dogs, probably closely resembles that of our early human ancestors. And it may have been just this sense of right and wrong that allowed human societies to flourish and spread across the world.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR(S)

MARC BEKOFF is professor emeritus of ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Colorado at Boulder and a scholar in residence at the Institute for Human-Animal Connection at the University of Denver. JESSICA PIERCE is an ethicist and associate faculty at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center at the Center for Bioethics and Humanities.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Trouble for a Mail-Order Dog

Salon Home
Topic

Noble Beasts

Thursday, Oct 20, 2011 8:00 PM Eastern Daylight Time

The trouble with a mail-order dog

I'm a dog lover but would I buy one over the Internet? Maybe

german shepherd
Topics:

Anybody who knows me knows that I’m a fool for a dog. Not every dog that ever lived; rodent-size yappers leave me cold. However, to my wife and me, a house without tooth-marked chair legs and tumbleweeds of hair in the corners barely qualifies as a home.

That pungent odor that makes fastidious visitors wrinkle their noses on rainy days? That’s the smell of unconditional love.

Some years back, I phoned my veterinarian pal Randy about a newspaper article reporting that academic psychologists had decided that dogs feel emotions. I asked if he that found newsworthy. Never one to mince words, he said “A [bleeping] dog is emotions with a nose.”

Google “dogs greeting soldiers” and watch a few online videos of deliriously happy animals greeting their masters returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Anybody who remains dry-eyed must never have experienced canine devotion.

Almost as puzzling as dog haters are people who keep pets but have no earthly idea how the animals think and feel. Cesar Milan has made a handsome living off dog owners whose cluelessness makes “The Dog Whisperer” one of the funniest things on TV.

Close

Arkansas Democrat-Gazette columnist Gene Lyons is a National Magazine Award winner and co-author of "The Hunting of the President" (St. Martin's Press, 2000). You can e-mail Lyons at eugenelyons2@yahoo.com. More Gene Lyons

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Ideas for Defraying High Veterinary Costs for Pets

TRAVELS WITH MY DOG

OBSERVATIONS ON THE GLOBAL SCENE


Ideas for Defraying High Veterinary Costs for Pets

Posted by Raja on October 3rd, 2011 — Posted in Health

Tags: , , ,

Working hard looking for answers.

We promised we would research what pet owners can do in case of high costs and low funds for veterinary care. There is no magic solution, we discover. BUT there are lots of options and you must persist and follow through.

Small Charities: There are hundreds of small charities that offer grants for pet owners. If your pet is a pure breed dog or a service dog, there are charities associated with those specific categories and online research reveals your options pretty easily. But bear in mind, charities are not bottomless. Apply at the end of the fiscal year and you are scraping bottom. And applications take time.

Charitable Vets: Sometimes vets can discount care and even trade care for work such as cleaning facilities, walking dogs or doing painting and repairs. Do not feel shy to ask the primary vet in a businesslike and professional way. We keep in mind that each veterinary office is, at root, a business and vets need to pay lots of bills to keep the doors open; to negotiate work for care is not a right, but a wonderful blessing when it happens. Not all vets have the wiggle room to commit to care for work structures. If you get lucky, please follow through on all commitments so this kind of good faith can continue between some vets and some patients. If you have been seeing the same vet for years, the relationship should be well enough established that your vet can meet your request at some level.

Animal Shelters are always assisted by charitable vets. Your local shelter’s administrator may share the list. Most communities have several local shelters, civic and private.

Veterinary Schools: Some veterinary schools offer discounted care. Your pet’s care is always overseen by a supervisor who is an experienced vet. Your pet is not a lab animal, but a true patient in these situations. To find out if a veterinary college is near you, use an online search engine looking up veterinary programs by state. Contact information is often at the bottom of the home page. Call the program’s main number; ask to be connected to the specialist who can tell you about discounted veterinary care by supervised learners. If this situation works out for you, remember you are still the consumer and you still have rights and agency regarding your pet’s care. Assist the program by bringing copies of all previous medical records and list of current meds.

Clinical Trials: Eligible pets with a variety of conditions can participate in Clinical Drug and Treatment Trials, especially when existing treatment has been ineffective. The ACI, Animal Clinical Investigation, LLC in Washington, DC at http://www.animalci.com/about is a good resource to investigate opportunities.

Meds: If your pet’s prescriptions are too expensive, ask your vet to consider another manufacturer or a generic. You may also look on the box, read the name of the manufacturer, search engine the main office, and call to ask to whom you should speak to see if there are any donated meds for hardship cases. It never hurts to ask and veterinary medicine manufacturers indeed do donate thousands of prescriptions yearly for free. The skill here is to keep asking until you reach the administrator who can handle your request. Do not accept “no” from the receptionist ever!

Loans: Yes, your bank can issue small loans for veterinary care. Loans of 10,000 and under are not too difficult to negotiate if you have any collateral or credit at all. Getting a grant is much nicer, but getting a loan happens much more easily, and sometimes you do not have time to wait.

Save up: If your vet warns you that cataracts or kidney stones or liver trouble are on the horizon, now is the time to begin to scrimp and set cash aside. Every vet visit is an opportunity to hear the early warning and plan.

This post was not as cheerful as I hoped it would be. Our research reveals that being professional, proactive and persistent will help in your quest for easement of high vet costs.

Here’s wishing all of you health and happiness every day!

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

How did the dog become our master?

new yorker.com/




A year ago, my wife and I bought a dog for our ten-year-old daughter, Olivia. We had tried to fob her off with fish, which died, and with a singing blue parakeet, which she named Skyler, but a Havanese puppy was what she wanted, and all she wanted. With the diligence of a renegade candidate pushing for a political post, she set about organizing a campaign: quietly mustering pro-dog friends as a pressure group; introducing persuasive literature (John Grogan’s “Marley & Me”); demonstrating reliability with bird care.

I was so ignorant about dogs that I thought what she wanted must be a Javanese, a little Indonesian dog, not a Havanese, named for the city in Cuba. When we discovered, with a pang, the long Google histories that she left on my wife’s computer—havanese puppies/havanese care/how to find a havanese/havanese, convincing your parints—I assumed she was misspelling the name. But in fact it was a Havanese she wanted, a small, sturdy breed that, in the past decade, has become a mainstay of New York apartment life. (It was recognized as a breed by the American Kennel Club only in the mid-nineties.) Shrewd enough to know that she would never get us out of the city to an approved breeder, she quietly decided that she could live with a Manhattan pet-store “puppy mill” dog if she could check its eyes for signs of illness and its temperament for symptoms of sweetness. Finally, she backed us into a nice pet store on Lexington Avenue and showed us a tiny bundle of caramel-colored fur with a comical black mask. “That’s my dog,” she said simply.

My wife and I looked at each other with a wild surmise: the moment parents become parints, creatures beyond convincing who exist to be convinced. When it came to dogs, we shared a distaste that touched the fringe of disgust and flirted with the edge of phobia. I was bitten by a nasty German-shepherd guard dog when I was about eight—not a terrible bite but traumatic all the same—and it led me ever after to cross streets and jump nervously at the sight of any of its kind. My wife’s objections were narrowly aesthetic: the smells, the slobber, the shit. We both disliked dog owners in their dog-owning character: the empty laughter as the dog jumped up on you; the relentless apologies for the dog’s bad behavior, along with the smiling assurance that it was all actually rather cute. Though I could read, and even blurb, friends’ books on dogs, I felt about them as if the same friends had written books on polar exploration: I could grasp it as a subject worthy of extended poetic description, but it was not a thing I had any plans to pursue myself. “Dogs are failed humans,” a witty friend said, and I agreed.

We were, however, doomed, and knew it. The constitution of parents and children may, like the British one, be unwritten, but, as the Brits point out, that doesn’t make it less enforceable or authoritative. The unwritten compact that governs family life says somewhere that children who have waited long enough for a dog and want one badly enough have a right to have one. I felt as the Queen must at meeting an unpleasant Socialist Prime Minister: it isn’t what you wanted, but it’s your constitutional duty to welcome, and pretend.

The pet-store people packed up the dog, a female, in a little crate and Olivia excitedly considered names. Willow? Daisy? Or maybe Honey? “Why not call her Butterscotch?” I suggested, prompted by a dim memory of one of those Dan Jenkins football novels from the seventies, where the running-back hero always uses that word when referring to the hair color of his leggy Texas girlfriends. Olivia nodded violently. Yes! That was her name. Butterscotch.

We took her home and put her in the back storage room to sleep. Tiny thing, we thought. Enormous eyes. My wife and I were terrified that it would be a repeat of the first year with a baby, up all night. But she was good. She slept right through the first night, and all subsequent nights, waiting in the morning for you past the point that a dog could decently be expected to wait, greeting you with a worried look, then racing across the apartment to her “papers”—the pads that you put out for a dog to pee and shit on. Her front legs were shorter than her rear ones, putting a distinctive hop in her stride. (“Breed trait,” Olivia said, knowingly.)

All the creature wanted was to please. Unlike a child, who pleases in spite of herself, Butterscotch wanted to know what she could do to make you happy, if only you kept her fed and let her play. She had none of the imperiousness of a human infant. A child starts walking away as soon as she starts to walk—on the way out, from the very first day. What makes kids so lovable is the tension between their helplessness and their drive to deny it. Butterscotch, though, was a born courtesan. She learned the tricks Olivia taught her with startling ease: sitting and rolling over and lying down and standing and shaking hands (or paws) and jumping over stacks of unsold books. The terms of the tricks were apparent: she did them for treats. But, if it was a basic bargain, she employed it with an avidity that made it the most touching thing I have seen. When a plate of steak appeared at the end of dinner, she would race through her repertory of stunts and then offer a paw to shake. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it!

She was a bit like one of Al Capp’s Shmoos, in “Li’l Abner,” designed to please people at any cost. (People who don’t like Havanese find them too eager to please, and lacking in proper doggie dignity and reserve.) The key to dogginess, I saw, is that, though dogs are pure creatures of sensation, they are also capable of shrewd short-term plans. Dogs don’t live, like mystics, in the moment; dogs live in the minute. They live in and for the immediate short-term exchange: tricks for food, kisses for a walk. When Butterscotch saw me come home with bags from the grocery store, she would leap with joy as her memory told her that something good was about to happen, just as she had learned that a cloud-nexus of making phone calls and getting the leash and taking elevators produced a chance to play with Lily and Cuba, the two Havanese who live upstairs. But she couldn’t grasp exactly how these chains of events work: some days when she heard the name “Lily” she rushed to the door, sometimes to her leash, sometimes to the elevator, and sometimes to the door on our floor that corresponds to the door on the eighth floor where Lily lives.

But she had another side, too. At the end of a long walk, or a prance around the block, she would come in with her usual happy hop, and then, let off her leash, she would growl and hiss and make Ewok-like noises that we never otherwise heard from her; it was a little scary at first, like the moment in “Gremlins” when the cute thing becomes a wild, toothy one. Then she would race madly from one end of the hall to the other, bang her head, and turn around and race back, still spitting and snorting and mumbling guttural consonants to herself, like a mad German monarch. Sometimes she would climax this rampage by pulling up hard and showing her canines and directing two sharp angry barks at Olivia, her owner, daring her to do something about it. Then, just as abruptly, Butterscotch would stop, sink to the floor, and once again become a sweet, smiling companion, trotting loyally behind whoever got up first. The wolf was out; and then was tucked away in a heart-drawer of prudence. This behavior, Olivia assured us, is a Havanese breed trait, called “run-like-hell,” though “Call of the Wild” might be a better name. (Olivia spent hours on the Havanese forum, a worldwide chat board composed mostly of older women who call themselves the small dogs’ “mommies,” and share a tone of slightly addled coziness, which Olivia expertly imitated. Being a dog owner pleased her almost more than owning a dog.)

But what could account for that odd double nature, that compelling sweetness and implicit wildness? I began to read as widely as I could about this strange, dear thing that I had so long been frightened of.

Darwinism begins with dogs. In the opening pages of “On the Origin of Species,” Darwin describes the way breeders can turn big dogs into small ones, through selective breeding, and he insists that all dogs descend from wolves. This was proof of the immense amount of inherited variation, and of the ability of inheritance, blended and directed, to take new directions. “Who will believe that animals closely resembling the Italian greyhound, the bloodhound, the bull-dog or Blenheim spaniel, etc.—so unlike all wild Canidae—ever existed freely in a state of nature?” Darwin wrote. Out of one, many.

Ever since, what we think Darwinism says has been structured in part by what we think it says about dogs. Darwin’s instinct was, as usual, right. Dogs do descend directly from wolves; the two species can still breed with one another (producing many scary-looking new back breeds). The vexed issue is how long ago they parted ways, and why. The biological evidence and the archeological evidence are at war: DNA analysis points to a very remote break between wolves and dogs, certainly no later than a hundred thousand years ago, while the earliest unequivocal archeological evidence for domesticated dogs dates to just fifteen thousand years ago or so.

One haunting scrap of evidence is a grave site in Israel, twelve thousand years old, where what is undoubtedly a dog is embraced in death by what is undoubtedly a woman. It suggests that the dog, completely doglike—smaller cuspids and shorter muzzle—was already the object of human affection at the dawn of the age of agriculture. The fullness of this early relation suggests the classic story of domestication, that of the master man and the willing dog. The historian of science Edmund Russell summarizes this story in his new book, “Evolutionary History”: “Some brave soul burrowed into a wolf den, captured cubs, brought the cubs back to camp, and trained them to hunt by command.” Before long, “people realized that tame wolves (dogs) could perform other tasks too. . . . Breeders manufactured each variety by imagining the traits required, picking males and females with those traits, and mating them.” If you needed to rid your camp of badgers, you bred one long, thin dog to another until you had a dachshund, which could go down a badger hole. The problem with this view, Russell explains, is that it implies a level of far-sightedness on the part of the first breeders that defies all evolutionary experience: “Wolves do not obey human commands, and it is hard to imagine that people persisted in raising dangerous animals for uncertain benefits far in the future.” To see a Butterscotch in a wolf would have required magical foresight, as if our Paleolithic fathers had started breeding leaping mice in the hope that they would someday fly.

And so countering this view comes a new view of dog history, more in keeping with our own ostentatiously less man-centered world view. Dogs, we are now told, by a sequence of scientists and speculators—beginning with the biologists Raymond and Lorna Coppinger, in their 2001 masterwork, “Dogs”—domesticated themselves. They chose us. A marginally calmer canid came close to the circle of human warmth—and, more important, human refuse—and was tolerated by the humans inside: let him eat the garbage. Then this scavenging wolf mated with another calm wolf, and soon a family of calmer wolves proliferated just outside the firelight. It wasn’t cub-snatching on the part of humans, but breaking and entering on the part of wolves, that gave us dogs. “Hey, you be ferocious and eat them when you can catch them,” the proto-dogs said, in evolutionary effect, to their wolf siblings. “We’ll just do what they like and have them feed us. Dignity? It’s a small price to pay for free food. Check with you in ten thousand years and we’ll see who’s had more kids.” (Estimated planetary dog population: one billion. Estimated planetary wild wolf population: three hundred thousand.)

The dog maven Mark Derr, in his forthcoming book “How the Dog Became the Dog,” offers a particularly ambitious and detailed version of how the wandering wolf became the drifting dog. He adds to the Coppingers’ story many epics and epicycles, including a central role for Neanderthal dog-lovers. Though Derr’s book, given the fragmentary nature of the evidence, is sometimes a little fantastical, his motive, only half-disclosed, is touching: Derr isn’t just a dog fancier, one realizes, but a kind of dog nationalist, a dog jingoist. He believes that what was an alliance of equals has, in very recent centuries, been debased to produce Stepin Fetchit dogs, like Butterscotch, conscripted into cuteness. Dogs began as allies, not pets, and friends, not dependents.

At a minimum, the theory of the drifting dog can point to some living proof, though not of a kind likely to bring joy to the dog-dignifiers. As the British anthrozoologist John Bradshaw points out in his new book, “Dog Sense,” even now most dogs drift—not as equals or allies but as waifs. In Third World towns, “village dogs” hang around, ownerless, eating garbage, fending for themselves, and getting beaten off only when they become nuisances. (There’s a reason that it’s called a dog’s life.) The usual condition of a dog is to be a pigeon.

The catch is that, from an evolutionary point of view, these village dogs are already dogs. They illuminate the problem. Since the domestication of the dog predates agriculture, dogs couldn’t have wandered into settlements; there were no settlements. They couldn’t have wandered with hunter-gatherers, because other wolf packs would have marked and owned the next territory. There just doesn’t seem to have been enough time for the slow development from wandering wolf to drifting proto-dog without the single decisive intervention of someone to nudge the wolf toward dogdom. “The scenario of self-domestication is very hard to envision if people were still wandering seminomadically, and the evidence says they were,” the anthropologist Pat Shipman says firmly in her book “The Animal Connection: A New Perspective on What Makes Us Human.” Anyway, why didn’t hyenas and foxes, which have been around for just as long, discover the same advantage in hanging close to people as wolves did?

One explanation, favored by Bradshaw, supposes a classic Darwinian mutation, a full-fledged “sport” of nature. At some point, a mutant wolf appeared, by chance, which was not just marginally tamer but far more biddable than any other creature. This sounds odd, but, as Bradshaw points out, dogs are odd, essentially unique—the only animal on earth that needs no taming to live with people while still happily breeding with its own. The ability of dogs to make a life with us isn’t a product of their being man-bred; it was the change that let men breed them.

More is at stake here than a speculation about the history of one pet species. If the new story is more or less right, and dogs chose to become dogs (meaning only that the tamer, man-friendly wolves produced more cubs than their wilder, man-hating cousins), then the line between artificial and natural selection seems far less solid, and the role of man at the center less fixed. Indeed, Russell suggests that even our distinct breeds may be more drifts than decisions: “Unconscious selection probably played a more important role than methodical selection because it was simpler and brought benefits in the present. . . . Keeping the dogs best at a certain task in each generation would have steadily enhanced the desired traits.” There may be a providence in the fall of a sparrow; but there is Darwinian contingency even in the hop of the Havanese.

What a dog owner, with the full authority of fourteen months of dog, suggests might be missing from these accounts is something simple: people love pets. Bradshaw, though he likes the drifting-dog theory, observes that we needn’t justify the existence of pet dogs in our early history by arguments about their value as food or tools. The norm even in the most “primitive” hunter-gatherer societies is to take a pet even though—as with the dingo pups that the Aborigines take in Australia—it always goes “bad” as an adult, and is of no help in any task at all. (The dingoes are feral descendants of domesticated Asian dogs, with their social genes somehow wrenched awry.) For that matter, people do live with modern wolves—presumably made more paranoid by millennia of persecution—even now. As Bradshaw writes, “Humans will keep puppies purely for their cuteness.” The most useful role a pet may play is to be there for the petting. The way dogs are used now might be the way we use dogs.

Another strange and haunting scrap of evidence about early dog and man is in the Chauvet cave, in southern France: a set of twinned footprints, twenty-six thousand years old, of an eight-year-old child walking side by side, deep into the cave, with what is evidently some kind of hound—a small wolf or a large dog. It may turn out that the tracks come from different times (though their paired strides seem well matched). But for the moment the evidence seems to show that the first dog in all the record was there as the companion of a small boy.

Or girl? Olivias have always wanted Butterscotches. The willing wolf may have wandered into the circle beyond the firelight, but the dog may well have first emerged on the safer side of the fire as the dream companion of a child.

The range of evolutionary just-so stories and speculations is itself proof of the way dogs have burrowed into our imaginations. Half the pleasure of having a dog, I could see, was storytelling about the dog: she was a screen on which we could all project a private preoccupation. In addition to the real dog, each child had a pretend version, a daemon dog, to speak to and about. Luke, our sixteen-year-old, imagined Butterscotch as an elderly, wise woman from the Deep South. “Lez not point the finger, childun,” he would have her say when she did something naughty. Olivia had her as a hyper-intense three-year-old, full of beans and naïveté. “Oh, and then they took me to the Park, and then we had little scraps of steak, and, oh, Skyler—it was the best day ever,” she would report the dog saying to the bird, with the breathlessness of a small child. Even the grownups had a fictive dog who lived alongside the real one: my wife’s dog was a year-old baby she had loved and missed (she especially loved the early-morning off-leash hours in Central Park, when the dawn belongs to charging dogs and coffee-sipping owners); mine was a genial companion who enjoyed long walks and listening to extended stretches of tentatively composed prose. Once, I was playing recordings of Erroll Garner on piano, that bright, bouncing, syncopated plaintive jazz sound, and Olivia said, “That’s the music Butterscotch hears in her head all day.”

What music does a dog hear in her head all day? Our dog was so much part of the family that we took human feelings and thoughts for granted and then would suddenly be reminded that she experienced the world very differently. Once, we saw her standing at the top of the steps leading to the sunken living room of our apartment. She began to whine and, as she rarely did, to bark—stepping forward to intimidate some creature we couldn’t see, then fearfully stepping back. We were sure from the intensity of her barking that there must be a rodent down by the baseboard that the brave little dog had spotted. Finally, one of us noticed that I had thrown a dark shirt over the back of the white sofa; I picked it up and came toward her with it. She whimpered and then began to staunchly defy her fear by barking again. That was it! She was terrified of a piece of empty brown material. When we tried the experiment again, she reacted again—not so strongly, but still.

So, what music? There is a new literature of dog psychology, to go along with and complement that on dog history. There are accounts of bad dogs cured, like “Bad Dog: A Love Story,” by Martin Kihn; of good dogs loved, as in Jill Abramson’s “The Puppy Diaries”; of strange dogs made whole and wild dogs made docile; of love lives altered by loving dogs, as in Justine van der Leun’s “Marcus of Umbria: What an Italian Dog Taught an American Girl About Love.” The most scientific-minded of the new crop is Alexandra Horowitz’s well-received “Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know.” (The title comes, winningly, from a fine Groucho joke.) Horowitz, a former fact checker in these halls, has gone on to become a professor of psychology at Barnard, and she’s written a terrifically intelligent and readable book, a study of the cognition of those who don’t quite have it. She details the dog’s sensorium. Dogs have a wildly fine nose for scent: we can detect molecules in parts in the million, dogs in parts in the billion. She explains why they sniff each other’s rear—there’s an anal gland peculiar to dogs, its secretions as different each from each as a voice—and why that behavior remains mysterious: dogs don’t seem to recognize the distinct smell of other dogs and always return to sniff again; yet no dog likes having it done to him.

On either side of the scientific dog writer, Horowitz or Bradshaw, one senses the phantoms of two alpha writers: Cesar Millan, television’s “dog whisperer,” and John Grogan, the “Marley & Me” memoirist—the pseudo-science of the dog as pack animal, on the one hand, and the sentimental fiction of the all-sympathetic dog, on the other. Horowitz tries to disabuse us dog owners of the Millanesque notion that dogs are really pack creatures looking for an alpha hound to submit to. Dogs, she explains, are domesticated animals, and to treat them as though they were still in a pack rather than long adapted to a subservient role in a human family is as absurd as treating a child as though it were “really” still a primate living in a tree.

Above all, Horowitz details the dog’s special kind of intelligence. When other intelligent animals are presented with a deduction or “object permanence” problem—a ball vanishes into one of two boxes; which box did it go into?—most of them solve the problem by watching where the ball goes. The dog solves the problem by watching where his owner looks. Dogs are hypersensitive to even the slightest favoring actions of the owner, and will cheerily search for the treat in the box the owner seems to favor even if they have seen the treat go into the other. This was the ancestral bet that dogs made thousands of years ago: give up trying to prey on the prey; try pleasing the people and let them get the prey. Dogs are the only creatures that have learned to gaze directly at people as people gaze at one another, and their connection with us is an essential and enduring one.

Yet Horowitz recognizes, too, the threat of the overly humanized view of the dog. She loves dogs in general—and her own mongrel hound, Finnegan, in particular—but throughout the book are rueful hints, perhaps partly inadvertent, that what the science shows is that the entire dog-man relation is essentially a scam, run by the dogs. Certainly, the qualities inherent in breeds—nobility, haughtiness, solidity, even the smiling happiness of the Havanese—are tricks of our mind, where we project primate expressions of inner mood into canine masks. The Havanese isn’t happy and the Shih Tzu isn’t angry and the bulldog isn’t especially stolid or stubborn; they are just stuck with the faces, smiling or snarling, we’ve pinned on them through breeding. And the virtues we credit them with—whether the big ones of bravery, loyalty, and love or the smaller ones of happiness, honesty, and guilt—are just as illusory. “Maxie looked so guilty when I found her chewing the treat box that it was just hilarious,” a “mom” will write on the Havanese forum—but these are illusions, projected onto creatures whose repertory of consciousness is very much smaller. Loyalty, longing, and even grief are, the evidence suggests, mere mimic emotions projected into two far simpler ones that dogs actually possess: adherence to the food-giver and anxiety about the unfamiliar.

We’ve all heard the accounts of dogs leaping to the rescue, pulling children from the water when the ice cracks, and so on, but Horowitz points out that, in staged situations of crisis, dogs don’t leap to the rescue or even try to get help. If a bookcase is made to fall (harmlessly, but they don’t know that) on their owner, they mostly just stand there, helpless and confused. The dog may bark when it sees its owner in distress, and the barking may summon help; the dog stays near its family, even when frightened, and that may be useful. But the dog has no particular plan or purpose, much less resolution or courage. This doesn’t mean that the recorded rescues haven’t happened; it’s just that the many more moments when the dog watches its owner slip beneath the ice don’t get recorded. The dog will bark at a burglar; but the dog will also bark at a shirt.

Maybe, though, Horowitz and Bradshaw are too quick to accept the notion that the dog is merely a creature of limited appetite and reinforced instinct. Not so many years ago, after all, people in white lab coats were saying exactly the same things abut human babies—that they were half blind, creatures of mere reflex and associative training, on whom their dottle-brained moms were projecting all kinds of cognition that they couldn’t actually process. Now psychologists tell us that babies are intellectually rich and curious and hypothesis-forming and goal-directed. One wonders if something similar isn’t about to happen with pets. The experts, Bradshaw especially, tell us that Butterscotch sits by the door all afternoon because she has been unconsciously trained to associate Olivia’s after-school homecoming with the delivery of treats. But what would be so different if we said that she sits by the door because she is waiting patiently for Olivia, has a keen inner sense of what time she’ll be home, and misses her because they play together and enjoy each other’s company, which, of course, includes the pleasures of good food? This is the same description, covering exactly the same behavior, only the first account puts the act in terms of mechanical reflexes and the other in terms of desires and hopes and affections. Our preference for the former kind of language may look as strange to our descendants, and to Butterscotch’s, as it would if we applied it to a child. (The language of behaviorism and instinct can be applied to anything, after all: we’re not really falling in love; we’re just anticipating sexual pleasure leading to a prudent genetic mix.)

But, if the reductive argument seems to cheat dogs of their true feelings, the opposite tendency, which credits dogs with feelings almost identical to those of humans and with making the same claims on our moral conscience, is equally unconvincing. In the forthcoming “Loving Animals: Toward a New Animal Advocacy,” Kathy Rudy, who teaches ethics at Duke, makes the case for dog equality just as strongly as Derr does in his more narrowly evolution-minded book. Rudy believes that dogs have been as oppressed and colonized as Third World peoples have, and that what they need is not empathy but liberation. She has a confused notion of something that she calls “capitalism,” and which is somehow held uniquely responsible for the oppression of animals, including dogs. Of course, only advanced capitalist societies have started movements for animal rights; precapitalist societies were far crueller to animals, as are non-capitalist modern ones. (Consider the state of zoos and animals in the Eastern bloc or in China.) But her love for dogs is evident throughout. She tells us that “it would not be an overstatement to say that most of the important and successful relationships I’ve had in my life have been with nonhuman animals,” and she makes a passionate case for treating animals as equals in rights, not as commodities to be cynically exploited for research or even, I suppose, for family bonding.

The trouble with arguments for treating animals as equals is that the language of rights and responsibility implies, above all, reciprocity. We believe it to be wrong for whites to take blacks as slaves, and wrong for blacks to enslave whites. Yet animals themselves are generally far crueller to other animals in the wild than we are to them in civilization; though we may believe it to be unethical for us to torment a lion, few would say it is unethical for the lion to torment the gazelle. To use the language of oppression on behalf of creatures that in their natures must be free to oppress others is surely to be using the wrong moral language. A language of compassion is the right one: we should not be cruel to lions because they suffer pain. We don’t prevent the lion from eating the gazelle because we recognize that he is, in the fine old-fashioned term, a dumb animal—not one capable of reasoning about effects, or really altering his behavior on ethical grounds, and therefore not rightly covered by the language of rights. Dogs, similarly, deserve protection from sadists, but not deference to their need for, say, sex. We can neuter them with a clear conscience, because abstinence is not one of their options.

This is why we feel uneasy with too much single-minded love directed toward dogs—with going canine, like Rudy in her dog-centered love life. It isn’t the misdirection so much as the inequality, the disequilibrium between the complex intensity of human love and the pragmatism of animal acceptance. Love is a two-way street. The woman who strokes and coos and holds her dog too much unnerves us, not on her behalf but on the dog’s. He’s just not that into you.

The deepest problem that dogs pose is what it would be like if all our virtues and emotions were experienced as instincts. The questions about what a dog is capable of doing—how it sees, smells, pees, explores—are, in principle, answerable. The question of what goes on in the mind of a dog—what it feels like to be a dog—is not. In this context, Horowitz cites a classic article by the philosopher Thomas Nagel, “What Does It Feel Like to Be a Bat?” Nagel’s point was that the only way to know what it is like to be a bat is to be one. He writes:


It will not help to try to imagine that one has webbing on one’s arms, which enables one to fly around at dusk and dawn catching insects in one’s mouth; that one has very poor vision, and perceives the surrounding world by a system of reflected high-frequency sound signals; and that one spends the day hanging upside down by one’s feet in an attic. In so far as I can imagine this (which is not very far), it tells me only what it would be like for me to behave as a bat behaves. But that is not the question. I want to know what it is like for a bat to be a bat. Yet if I try to imagine this, I am restricted to the resources of my own mind, and those resources are inadequate to the task.

Though we can know that dogs live by smells, not by words, we can’t really imagine what it would feel like to be a creature for which thoughts are smells. We, creatures of language who organize our experience in abstract concepts, can’t imagine what it’s like to be in the head of a being that has no language. To have the experiences while retaining our memory of humanness would make us a human in a dog suit, not a dog. We would have to become a dog, for real; then, reborn as a human, we couldn’t explain to ourselves, let alone someone else, what it’s like to be a dog, since the language of being-like isn’t part of what being a dog is like.

Yet, for all the seemingly unbridgeable distance between us and them, dogs have found a shortcut into our minds. They live, as Horowitz and Bradshaw and Rudy, too, all see, within our circle without belonging to it: they speak our language without actually speaking any, and share our concerns without really being able to understand them. The verbs tell some of the story: the dog shares, feels, engages, without being able to speak, plan, or (in some human sense) think. We may not be able to know what it’s like to be a dog; but, over all those thousands of years, Butterscotch has figured out, in some instrumental way, what it’s like to be a person. Without language, concepts, long-term causal thinking, she can still enter into the large part of our mind made up of appetites, longings, and loyalties. She does a better impersonation of a person than we do an approximation of a dog. That it is, from the evolutionary and philosophical point of view, an impersonation, produced and improved on by generations of dogs, because it pays, doesn’t alter its power. Dogs have little imagination about us and our inner lives but limitless intuition about them; we have false intuitions about their inner lives but limitless imagination about them. Our relationship meets in the middle.

One day, around Christmas, I got a mixed box of chocolates—milk for Olivia, darks for me—and noticed, in the evening, that some were missing, and that Butterscotch had brown around her muzzle. “She’s eaten chocolate!” Olivia cried. Chocolate is very bad for dogs. She went at once to the forum. “My hand trembles as I write this,” she typed, “but my baby has eaten chocolate!” Blessedly, we got an avalanche of counsel from Havanese-lovers all over the world: check her, watch her, weigh a chocolate, weigh the dog, keep an eye on her all night. Finally, I put her to bed in her back room, and promised Olivia I would monitor her. Olivia chewed her lip and went to bed, too.

It can’t really be dangerous, I thought; I mean, these creatures eat out of garbage cans. At four in the morning, I went in to check on her. She stirred at once, and we looked at each other, shared that automatic enigmatic gaze that is the glue of the man-dog relation. I stayed with her until the light came, annoyed beyond words at the hold she had put on our unwilling hearts. She made it through the night a lot better than I did.

Dogs aren’t the Uncle Toms of the animal world, I thought as dawn came; they’re the dignified dual citizens who plead the case for all of mute creation with their human owners. We are born trapped in our own selfish skins, and we open our eyes to the rings of existence around us. The ring right around us, of lovers and spouses and then kids, is easy to encircle, but that is a form of selfishness, too, since the lovers give us love and the kids extend our lives. A handful of saints “love out to the horizon,” circle after circle—but at the cost, almost always, of seeing past the circle near at hand, not really being able to love their intimates. Most of the time, we collapse the circles of compassion, don’t look at the ones beyond, in order to give the people we love their proper due; we open our eyes to see the wider circles only when new creatures come in, when we realize that we really sit at the center of a Saturn’s worth of circles, stretching out from our little campfire to the wolves who wait outside, and ever outward to the unknowable—toward, I don’t know, deep-sea fish that live on lava and then beyond toward all existence, where each parrot and every mosquito is, if we could only see it, an individual. What’s terrifying is the number of bad stories to which I was once inured, and which now claim my attention. A friend’s dog had leaped from a window in a thunderstorm and only now could I feel the horror of it: the poor terrified thing’s leap. Another friend’s dog had been paralyzed, and instead of a limping animal I saw a fouled friend, a small Hector. My circles of compassion have been pried open.

We can’t enter a dog’s mind, but, as on that dark-chocolate night, I saw that it isn’t that hard to enter a dog’s feelings: feelings of pain, fear, worry, need. And so the dog sits right at the edge of our circle, looking out toward all the others. She is ours, but she is other, too. A dog belongs to the world of wolves she comes from and to the circle of people she has joined. Another circle of existence, toward which we are capable of being compassionate, lies just beyond her, and her paw points toward it, even as her eyes scan ours for dinner. Cats and birds are wonderful, but they keep their own counsel and their own identity. They sit within their own circles, even in the house, and let us spy, occasionally, on what it’s like out there. Only the dog sits right at the edge of the first circle of caring, and points to the great unending circles of Otherness that we can barely begin to contemplate.

The deal that the dog has made to get here, as all the dog scientists point out, is brutal. I’ll act all, you know, like, loving and loyal, if you feed me. Yet don’t we make the same deal—courtship and gentle promises of devotion in exchange for sex, sex in exchange for status? Creatures of appetites and desires, who need to eat, and have not been spayed, we run the same scam on each other that Butterscotch runs on us. And a scam that goes on long enough, and works more or less to everyone’s benefit, is simply called a culture. What makes the dog deal moving is that you two, you and your dog, are less the willing renewers of it than just the living witnesses to a contract signed between man and wolf thirty thousand years ago. What’s in the fine print that you don’t read is that if you accept the terms it no longer feels like a deal.

Butterscotch, meanwhile, seems happy. She’s here, she’s there, a domestic ornament; she takes a place at the table, or under it, anyway, and remains an animal, with an animal’s mute confusions and narrow routines and appetites. She jumps up on visitors, sniffs friends, chews shoes, and, even as we laughingly apologize for her misbehavior and order her “Off!,” we secretly think her misbehavior is sweet. After all, where we are creatures of past and future, she lives in the minute’s joy: a little wolf, racing and snorting and scaring; and the small ingratiating spirit, doing anything to please. At times, I think that I can see her turn her head and look back at the ghost of the wolf mother she parted from long ago, saying, “See, it was a good bet after all; they’re nice to me, mostly.” Then she waits by the door for the next member of the circle she has insinuated herself into to come back to the hearth and seal the basic social contract common to all things that breathe and feel and gaze: love given for promises kept. How does anyone live without a dog? I can’t imagine.

ILLUSTRATION: JULES FEIFFE