If This Isn’t Dog Love, What Is?

Image copyright Edwin Barkdoll.

Recently my husband, Edwin, and I took our three dogs, Ruby, Elsie, and Hershel, for a walk along a beautiful stream near our home in Maine. At the end of the trail we discovered a new path that crossed the water and continued along the other side. We decided to come back on this new trail, but when the trail re-crossed the stream, the rocks that provided the stepping stones were icy and slick, and I didn’t want to risk slipping into the water. But Edwin, Ruby, and Hershel had no problem, and they crossed over.

Elsie – whom we think has border collie in her – wasn’t happy at all. She stayed with me but was constantly looking for a good place for us to cross, too. She’d look at me, start crossing, and if I didn’t follow, she’d return to me. At one point she must have thought she’d found the perfect spot for both of us, so she crossed; but when I couldn’t make it and continued on the other side of the stream, she became distraught. She cried out repeatedly with her high-pitched yelps, so agitated and upset, and finally returned to me, even though it meant leaving the pack and recrossing the stream. I never did make it across the stream, so Elsie just stayed by my side until we found our way back to the car from the other side and met up with everyone else. She was clearly happy when we were all back together.

I’ve been reflecting on Elsie’s behavior. If she does have border collie in her as we suspect, then generations of breeding have gone into her passion for keeping a “herd” together. But whether this is behavior bred into her or not, her emotions are real and deeply felt. She cannot stand to have us apart. But neither will she leave my side. She is the most loving, devoted dog. She hugs me. Literally. And when she does, she throws her head back in bliss and abandon (see photo). If this isn’t love, what is?

~ Zoe

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDxConejo talk: “Solutionaries”
My TEDxDirigo talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach
My TEDxYouth@BFS “Educating for Freedom”

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Occam’s Razor and Animal Cognition and Emotion

I’m sometimes startled by the lengths to which some scientists will go in insisting that nonhuman animals cannot feel, think, plan ahead, mourn, etc. In a recent Wired Science essay, “Stone-throwing Chimp Thinks Ahead,” author Michael Balter cites psychologist Sara Shettleworth’s article denying that the chimp in question actually planned ahead when he gathered stones to throw at visitors. The actual language Balter uses is whether “some humanlike animal behaviors might have simpler explanations.”

Occam’s Razor, the principle of accepting the simpler theory or hypothesis over a more complex or convoluted one, is normally accepted as a worthwhile guiding approach to adopting explanations; yet when it comes to animals, scientists often go out of their way to refute the simplest explanation, which is that many other animals are able to think, feel, plan ahead, mourn, and so on.

Anthropomorphism can be dangerous and misleading, and readers of my blog know how much I appreciate the scientific method for determining what is true and what is not; yet it’s ironic that Occam’s Razor is so quickly abandoned when it comes to anything related to animal cognition and feeling.

Isn’t is simpler to assume that other mammals evolved to learn from experience, plan ahead (what else are squirrels doing when they store nuts for winter), and to feel? Descartes’ belief that a dog’s yelp was akin to a robotic program rather than an expression of feeling is preposterous to anyone who’s ever spent any time with a canine, yet such outdated opinions about animal emotions are still normative among many scientists. It seems both silly and unscientific to believe that humans are unique in our capacity to feel and think, as if we didn’t evolve, along with other mammals, to have these capacities for a purpose. Such assumptions seem more the purview of those who deny the reality of evolution than those who embrace science.

But things are changing. Jane Goodall, who was once excoriated for naming the chimpanzees she studied in Gombe, is now a widely respected ethologist. Other ethologists, like Marc Bekoff who wrote the wonderful book, The Emotional Lives of Animals, are published regularly in respected journals. And stories about chimps thinking ahead make sense to most of us, even as the citations of those who deny this ability seem odd, old-fashioned, and unscientific.

For a humane world,

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

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The Depth of Animal Emotions

Image copyright Zoe Weil.

For my blog post today, I’m sharing a recent post I wrote for Care2.com, an online community for people passionate about creating a better world. Here’s an excerpt from “The Depth of Animal Emotions”:

“On January 14, we adopted a new dog. He was found tied to a tree a week earlier and brought to the veterinary clinic where my husband works. There he waited for his family to retrieve him. No one came, which meant, at week’s end, he needed a new home. About a year old, dirty, thin and matted, Henry Hershel (as we’re calling him) joined our crew of two dogs and a cat. He wasted no time in endearing himself to us and seemed very happy to join our family.

A week after we adopted him, we went out for a couple of hours, leaving all the dogs at home, and my husband set up his computer to videotape our living room in our absence. …Nothing would indicate that Henry Hershel had been at all upset by our absence. But then we watched the video. Henry Hershel cried plaintively when we were gone, settling down for a while only to howl after 30 minutes, 45 minutes, 60 minutes, and so on.

…It’s amazing to me that there are people who believe that animals don’t feel. Henry Hershel shows every sign of feeling as deeply, if not more deeply, than humans. Whether what he was feeling during our absence was sorrow, fear, loneliness, yearning, anxiety, longing, worry, loss, or some combination of these or other emotions, I cannot be sure, but he is certainly feeling something. His utter delight upon our return offers a glimpse into his other, more positive feelings. Like us, his spectrum of emotions is wide.”

For a humane world,

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

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A Model of Courageous Parenting: Ducks, Dogs, and a Walk on the Beach at Sunset

The night before solstice, I walked my dogs, Ruby and Elsie, down to the shore just before sunset. A seal was basking in the last rays of the day on a rock about 100 feet off the shore. A loon cried. Sea gulls soared above us, calling. The dogs and I walked along the shore past the few houses to the long stretch of undeveloped coast, when suddenly a Mallard sprung out in front of us, walk-limping, flapping what appeared to be useless wings, apparently struggling and in great distress. I quickly got Ruby and Elsie on lead so that they couldn’t harm her, as I pondered what to do. My husband is a veterinarian, so I knew I could get the duck medical care quickly if I could catch her. But within moments, I realized what was really going on. From where the duck had first emerged, I heard little chirps.

I’ve heard of mother birds pretending to be injured and flapping around on the ground to draw predators away from their young, but I don’t recall ever seeing this before. And with such drama and commitment, too. This Mallard flapped and limped and struggled for a nearly a quarter of a mile, staying just ahead of us as we dutifully followed (well, that’s the direction we were headed anyway). When finally she felt we were far enough away, she flew to the ocean, keeping an eye on us on the whole time.

What a clever, brave, and good mom she was. She fooled the dogs, who never thought to investigate those duckling chirps. Why do so many of us humans doubt that other species can love their young as we do; can use intrigue and manipulation like the best of us; can feel and love and suffer?

For a humane world for all beings,

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

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Prepare to Be Amazed By the Humble Starling

I grew up in Manhattan where I was exposed to few species of birds, primarily just sparrows and pigeons. Pigeons were commonly referred to as rats with wings, but I thought they were lovely, and I enjoyed watching the usually elderly people (described as eccentric and generally avoided) feeding them in the park. The pigeons surrounded their benefactors, cooing and alighting on their shoulders. So while pigeons were largely despised, there were those of us who loved them.

I remember the first time I saw a European starling. I was startled by such a gorgeous bird, with a bright yellow beak and lavender, turquoise, and green iridescent feathers shining amidst their otherwise speckled feathers. I asked the person with me what kind of bird was that!? She was shocked that I didn’t know what a starling was. Introduced into the U.S. in the late 1800s, they are now considered an invasive species that competes with native birds and ruins crops. I understand that problem, but the consequence of being branded as a pest can be pretty awful for individual animals who, through no fault of their own, are poisoned and trapped in droves.

I believe it’s important to appreciate each species with whom we share this planet – even if, through our unwise actions, we’ve introduced them into places they didn’t naturally arise. It’s important, because when we vilify another species, whether passenger pigeon (now extinct because of the genocide we perpetrated upon them), or mosquitoes (now resistant to more and more pesticides), we often cause more harm than good. We have a habit of making choices that are both unwise initially, and unwise in response.

I don’t have an answer to how to solve the problems caused by introduced species, but in the case of the European starling, it’s worth pausing to marvel at these incredible birds. Then perhaps we can attempt to generate solutions that are best for all: humans, the environment, and other species.

Prepare to be amazed:

For a healthy and humane world,

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

Image courtesy of Rachel Davies via Creative Commons.

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Rubie, Elsie, and the Stick

Most days, I walk my dogs, Ruby and Elsie, down to the ocean. Invariably, Elsie finds a stick to bring home, although stick is really a misnomer. Little Elsie is more likely to carry home a small tree than a stick, and Ruby and I anxiously check our backs because Elsie tears along the path with the stick, banging it into us at high speed if we’re not quick enough to scoot off the path and into the woods. Ruby has taken to jumping aside long before Elsie can ram that stick into her. This morning, I was not so quick. Elsie came up so suddenly that the stick whacked the back of my legs. I sternly said “No, Elsie,” and she looked chagrined. She begin running through the woods with it and avoiding me, but because it’s hard to carry a tree in your mouth through the woods, she changed the angle, carrying it to the side so that the length of the tree was parallel to her body rather than perpendicular to it. What a smart girl, I thought. Yet, why shouldn’t she be smart? Why should I be at all surprised that she’d modify her behavior at my command? She does it all the time.

Although Elsie doesn’t speak English, she has learned far more “human” than I have learned “dog” in our amazing cross-species relationship. She adjusts to me daily, reading my voice, my posture, my movements, my moods, my desires, and tweaking her own behavior to meet both my and her own needs. I have done little to adjust to her, expecting that she will be the one to change – to go to the bathroom only when I let her out and where I expect her to go, to eat only when I provide food and not to eat or chew on the various things in the house that are off-limits (like the CDs and the furniture), to lick only as much as I am comfortable with and no more, to get off the bed on command but know that she is generally welcome to sleep there as long as she doesn’t take “my” space, to “obey” sit, stay, come, lie down, high five, hug, leave it and a few other choice commands, not to mention learning to carry her sticks a new way through an obstacle course of woods rather than a wide open path. She continues to learn how to better suit me while I blithely carry on with no concerted effort to speak her language or follow her “rules.”

Yet I know that her life is an utter joy largely because of the home and life we’ve created for her and Ruby and Griffin (too old now to run to the ocean). I’m happy she’s willing to always adjust so that the back of my legs won’t be whacked by her stick obsession.

Zoe Weil
Author of So, You Love Animals: An Action-Packed, Fun-Filled Book to Help Kids Help Animals, Moonbeam Gold Medal winner for juvenile fiction, Claude and Medea: The Hellburn Dogs and Most Good, Least Harm

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Finding Joy in My Dog Elsie

I’ve shared my home with seven dogs in my life, and none have had quite as much “personality” as Elsie, who joined our family one year ago. When my husband, Edwin, brought Elsie home from the veterinary clinic where he works, I agreed to a trial weekend. We already had three dogs, one of whom was old and dying from cancer, and the last thing our household needed was a 6-month-old, non-housebroken dog. Besides, Edwin wasn’t supposed to have been at work that day, as we had been planning a camping trip that weekend. But a hurricane dashed those plans, and Edwin forgot something at work and so went into the clinic on a Saturday morning just as Elsie, who’d come in as a stray 10 days earlier, was about to be picked up by a local shelter.

When Elsie arrived in our house she walked in fairly confidently, despite the fact that the house was already full of dogs, two of whom were much bigger than she. In one swift move, she plopped down on the floor, as if signaling her intention to stay. And stay she has, taking her place in our family and my heart as the funniest, most engaging, most loving dog I’ve ever known. Elsie makes eye contact like nobody’s business, but not aggressively. When Elsie looks at you it’s as if she’s trying to pour out her overflowing, enthusiastic heart. I have never felt so adored in all my life as I do by Elsie.

This summer has been a joy for Elsie. If she has tired out our 7-year-old dog, Ruby, and if none of us are willing to play stick, Elsie will simply play stick by herself. She has collected a couple of very large sticks (more like branches), and she keeps them in a specific place by the kiwi arbor. When she wants to play with them she picks one up and runs around with it, and then throws it up in the air and catches it, and then chews it for awhile, leaving it by the arbor for next time. And when she gets hot from such activity, she trots down to the pond and goes for a swim.

Elsie is so attentive that as soon as I awake in the morning, even before I open my eyes, she jumps on the bed (or, if she’s already on the bed, slinks up it), to greet me. She’s learned not to paw me or lick me on my face (I don’t like either of these behaviors), but to give a teeny lick on my hand and rest her head on my body to say good morning. And then I pet her, and we are both so happy.

It’s hard to describe the joy that Elsie brings me. The best way I have of understanding it is by observing her. She is joyous in a way I can only imagine, and lucky for me, I experience a measure of it in her presence.

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Claude and Medea: The Hellburn Dogs, and So, You Love Animals: An Action-Packed, Fun-Filled Book to Help Kids Help Animals

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A Dog’s Purpose

I recently finished A Dog’s Purpose, a novel by W. Bruce Cameron. I loved this book. Told in the first person by a dog, I don’t think I’ve ever read anything that rang so true about the inner lives and thoughts of our canine companions. Reading this novel has me looking at and relating to my own dogs differently, and I thank a novelist for the gift of this new insight and appreciation.

I love fiction, but I admit that sometimes I feel like I’m indulging myself by spending time with a novel instead of with non-fiction that will “teach” me more and enable me to do more and better work in the world. (This is ironic because I have an Master’s in English Literature!) The truth is that there are those novels that so transform us that we become better people because of them.

Check out this book!

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm

(Image is of Zoe and one of her rescued dogs, Elsie.)


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Building Empathy and Critical Thinking: A Lesson About Animals

At our Summer Institute for teachers at the Institute for Humane Education, participant Betsy Messenger, who is the humane educator at the Catskill Animal Sanctuary in New York, created a lesson on animal issues that was so effective and powerful, I wanted to share it with you. She gathered our group outside and “borrowed” my dogs, whose only task was to run outside and do whatever they wanted to do. Our job was to simply observe them and record on paper the kinds of activities and emotions they were demonstrating in one column, and in another column write down whether we had ever experienced similar emotions. While the dogs demonstrated some acts that people don’t normally do, like tearing grass with their mouths, the emotions they displayed – curiosity, playfulness, attention-seeking, joy, abandon, and so on – were ones familiar to every person.

After observing the dogs, Betsy had us get into groups of four and stand shoulder-to-shoulder, facing one another. Then she drew a circle with chalk just outside of our feet. As we stood awkwardly in our groups, enduring the close contact that is not the norm for our species unless we are intimately connected with a person, Betsy asked us to imagine how we would feel if we were to have certain things done to us — portions of our bodies mutilated, for example — and had us consider how long some might be required to remain like this (a year). After a few minutes she gave us the reprieve to move out of our circles, and she shared with us the reality for chickens and turkeys raised for food and eggs in modern agricultural facilities: intense confinement, debeaking and toe removal, ill health, and so on. Finally, she shared the story of one turkey who was rescued from such a factory farm and showed us photographs of this particular turkey, a positive note on which to end the 20-minute activity.

What I loved about Betsy’s activity was the sequencing of observing another species and relating their behaviors to our own, the kinesthetic experience of pretending to be poultry in confinement, the information about modern confinement agriculture, and the happy ending for at least one turkey. We went on quite a journey in 20 minutes, and Betsy managed to include several elements of humane education in such a short time, including: providing us with accurate information; fostering our curiosity and critical thinking; instilling our reverence, respect, and sense of responsibility; and raising our awareness of choices we can make. So powerful. It reminds me of how much learning can happen in such a brief time when someone carefully crafts a varied and meaningful activity.

(Betsy will be writing this activity up to include in the free downloadable activities in the resources section at our website.)

Zoe Weil
Author of The Power and Promise of Humane Education

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Mice Show Pain on Their Faces…Just Like Humans

In a recent Wired science article, “Mice show pain on their faces just like humans,” we learn, just as the title implies, that in response to pain, mice grimace. The article points out that this might be no surprise to “pet owners and Cute Overload readers,” implying that if we paid even a modicum of attention to other species we would already be aware that they exhibit recognizable facial expressions in response to pain, but the author wrote this article anyway, as if this is some important scientific breakthrough, without, and this is the crux of this post, questioning the ethics of such experiments.

In order to “discover” that mice have similar facial expressions as humans when they’re experiencing pain, the experimenters inflicted pain upon them. Nowhere in the article does the author explore whether inflicting pain upon a non-consenting, sentient creature is ethical.

For decades, those who support animal experiments have argued that other animals are so similar to us that we can learn so much by experimenting on them. At the same time, they have argued that they are so different from us that we are justified in causing them to suffer and die in experiments that would be immoral if done to humans, consenting or not.

The irony of this particular experiment is that it points out a particular similarity between mice and humans that should, one would think, most undermine the argument that it’s ethical to experiment on them. If they are alike us enough to grimace in pain, making recognizable facial expressions of suffering, aren’t they like us enough to be worthy of protection from such abuse?

The great majority of the time when I read about animal research, the author never questions whether the research is ethical. Even when I was in Divinity School and read a book on pastoral care and counseling for victims of domestic violence, no one but I raised the ethical issue imbedded in the book, which cited Martin Seligman’s “learned helplessness” experiments. In these experiments, he administered severe, painful electric shocks to dogs, who howled out and urinated in response, and after preventing them from escaping “discovered” that the dogs eventually gave up even trying to escape. For this, Seligman became famous, and he is now renowned in the positive psychology movement and a former president of the American Psychological Association. His “learned helplessness” theory is cited again and again as a huge breakthrough, yet clinical observation of (and then aid to) victims of domestic violence or political prisoners would have revealed the same information, without the scientist purposefully causing terrible suffering to unwilling victims.

Whenever you are reading about experiments, in the news, in books, on blogs, please dig below the surface and ask yourself how this information came to be acquired and whether it is ethical. Until we question, we won’t see. Until we see, we won’t act.

Zoe Weil
Author of The Power and Promise of Humane Education and Most Good, Least Harm

Image courtesy of a_soft_world via Creative Commons.

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