Post by Brooke on Jun 22, 2004 21:13:06 GMT -5
Lassie started the 'smart dog' revolution; science reaffirmed it
MIKE ARGENTO
Monday, June 21, 2004
About two weeks ago, scientists at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany, released their findings in a study that concluded that dogs might be a lot smarter than a lot of us think or that dogs just might be a lot smarter than a lot of us.
Scientists found that the subject of their study, a 9-year-old border collie named Rico, had learned at least 200 words and was capable of crude reasoning, much like cable bloviator Bill O'Reilly. Now, I don't know how, exactly, they figured out how the dog knew at least 200 words. Maybe they had Rico write an essay or bark the words or host his own cable show.
When word got out about the study, first published in the journal Science, the scientists were inundated with e-mail from dog owners who claimed their dogs were at least as smart as Rico, if not smarter. Dog owners claimed their pets were capable of abstract thought and were able to perform complex tasks such as fetching, leg-humping, landing the Space Shuttle — all remarkable feats for animals who routinely drink out of toilets.
The scientists were terribly excited about this. Psychologist Julia Fischer told the San Francisco Chronicle, "With all the other claims we're receiving from other owners, we'll have a chance for much more research into this question." The question, of course, is whether dogs can learn language. But their research, if it branches out to dog owners, will examine a whole other issue — that dog owners always think their dogs are the smartest things on four legs since Lassie. It is all Lassie's fault. Lassie made people believe that dogs were brilliant creatures who were able to communicate the idea that Timmy had fallen down the well with a few barks. Lassie's brilliance, of course, stood out because her owners, the Martins, were blithering idiots. Timmy was always falling down wells and his dad spent half his life trapped under an overturned tractor and June Lockhart, after leaving the farm, went and got herself lost in space.
If it weren't for Lassie, Timmy'd still be down that well. Of course, he'd be about 60 years old by now. And probably dead. Lassie gave all dog owners hope that their canines weren't simply dumb animals who ate things they found on the street. Lassie made people believe their dogs were geniuses. Until now, dog owners only had anecdotal evidence that their dogs were the canine versions of Albert Einstein. The mere fact that your dog managed to hork up a half-dead bird on the kitchen floor instead of the living room carpet is viewed as an accomplishment on the order of discovering the Theory of Relativity. But now, the good folks at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology have provided some scientific evidence to back up the notion that your dog is at least as smart as people who have shows on cable. Which is good news to people, such as myself, who talk to their dogs.
Now, I'm not talking about the kind of people who talk to their dogs as if they are deaf, mentally challenged 2-year-olds. You know what I'm talking about — the kind of people who say things like "Would Fluffy like to go for a walkee?!" in a voice so saccharine and perky that it would rot Katie Couric's teeth. Those people obviously don't believe their dogs are smart at all. They believe, obviously, that their dogs are deaf, mentally challenged 2-year-olds. I'm talking about people who carry on conversations with their dogs, who rely on their dogs for advice on life's perplexing questions, who talk to their dogs because they (the dogs) are good listeners and rarely interrupt and almost never contradict you when you say something stupid. I talk to my dog — Homer the flatulent retired racing greyhound — a lot, usually while we're out walking. Now a lot of people think Homer is — how can I put this politely — dumb, mostly because he always has an expression on his face that says, "Huh?" and he frequently tries to run through the door to the back porch. In his defense, Homer sleeps 20 hours a day, eats food off unattended plates and pretty much spends his days lying on the couch wondering when he's going to eat again while I'm at work earning money to buy food for him. He's probably a lot smarter than people give him credit for. So we'll be walking along and I'll say something like, "Sure is a mess over there in Iraq."
And Homer will look at me with an expression that says either, "I understand" or "I want to pee on that telephone pole." It's hard to tell. Then, I'll move on to other topics, such as an article I read recently about the creation of the universe and how the universe may be shaped like a big doughnut. "How about that, Homer? A big doughnut."
And Homer perks up because he likes doughnuts. Either that or a squirrel just ran by. Then, I mention the article that says dogs are a lot smarter than people think and Homer goes out into the street and tries to eat roadkill of indeterminate species. I don't think he saw the article.
ydr.com/story/mike/29789/
MIKE ARGENTO
Monday, June 21, 2004
About two weeks ago, scientists at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany, released their findings in a study that concluded that dogs might be a lot smarter than a lot of us think or that dogs just might be a lot smarter than a lot of us.
Scientists found that the subject of their study, a 9-year-old border collie named Rico, had learned at least 200 words and was capable of crude reasoning, much like cable bloviator Bill O'Reilly. Now, I don't know how, exactly, they figured out how the dog knew at least 200 words. Maybe they had Rico write an essay or bark the words or host his own cable show.
When word got out about the study, first published in the journal Science, the scientists were inundated with e-mail from dog owners who claimed their dogs were at least as smart as Rico, if not smarter. Dog owners claimed their pets were capable of abstract thought and were able to perform complex tasks such as fetching, leg-humping, landing the Space Shuttle — all remarkable feats for animals who routinely drink out of toilets.
The scientists were terribly excited about this. Psychologist Julia Fischer told the San Francisco Chronicle, "With all the other claims we're receiving from other owners, we'll have a chance for much more research into this question." The question, of course, is whether dogs can learn language. But their research, if it branches out to dog owners, will examine a whole other issue — that dog owners always think their dogs are the smartest things on four legs since Lassie. It is all Lassie's fault. Lassie made people believe that dogs were brilliant creatures who were able to communicate the idea that Timmy had fallen down the well with a few barks. Lassie's brilliance, of course, stood out because her owners, the Martins, were blithering idiots. Timmy was always falling down wells and his dad spent half his life trapped under an overturned tractor and June Lockhart, after leaving the farm, went and got herself lost in space.
If it weren't for Lassie, Timmy'd still be down that well. Of course, he'd be about 60 years old by now. And probably dead. Lassie gave all dog owners hope that their canines weren't simply dumb animals who ate things they found on the street. Lassie made people believe their dogs were geniuses. Until now, dog owners only had anecdotal evidence that their dogs were the canine versions of Albert Einstein. The mere fact that your dog managed to hork up a half-dead bird on the kitchen floor instead of the living room carpet is viewed as an accomplishment on the order of discovering the Theory of Relativity. But now, the good folks at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology have provided some scientific evidence to back up the notion that your dog is at least as smart as people who have shows on cable. Which is good news to people, such as myself, who talk to their dogs.
Now, I'm not talking about the kind of people who talk to their dogs as if they are deaf, mentally challenged 2-year-olds. You know what I'm talking about — the kind of people who say things like "Would Fluffy like to go for a walkee?!" in a voice so saccharine and perky that it would rot Katie Couric's teeth. Those people obviously don't believe their dogs are smart at all. They believe, obviously, that their dogs are deaf, mentally challenged 2-year-olds. I'm talking about people who carry on conversations with their dogs, who rely on their dogs for advice on life's perplexing questions, who talk to their dogs because they (the dogs) are good listeners and rarely interrupt and almost never contradict you when you say something stupid. I talk to my dog — Homer the flatulent retired racing greyhound — a lot, usually while we're out walking. Now a lot of people think Homer is — how can I put this politely — dumb, mostly because he always has an expression on his face that says, "Huh?" and he frequently tries to run through the door to the back porch. In his defense, Homer sleeps 20 hours a day, eats food off unattended plates and pretty much spends his days lying on the couch wondering when he's going to eat again while I'm at work earning money to buy food for him. He's probably a lot smarter than people give him credit for. So we'll be walking along and I'll say something like, "Sure is a mess over there in Iraq."
And Homer will look at me with an expression that says either, "I understand" or "I want to pee on that telephone pole." It's hard to tell. Then, I'll move on to other topics, such as an article I read recently about the creation of the universe and how the universe may be shaped like a big doughnut. "How about that, Homer? A big doughnut."
And Homer perks up because he likes doughnuts. Either that or a squirrel just ran by. Then, I mention the article that says dogs are a lot smarter than people think and Homer goes out into the street and tries to eat roadkill of indeterminate species. I don't think he saw the article.
ydr.com/story/mike/29789/