Dog Buttons

This isn't about fastenings for canine clothes. It's about electronic buttons dogs use to communicate:

Talking Dog Buttons

The article explains the electronic sound board isn't meant to replace the natural canine modes of communication. It offers an additional way for owners to interact with their pets. How it works: "The sound boards for dogs have circular buttons with words on them, each pre-recorded to say the word when pressed." Dogs push the buttons with their noses. Regular, consistent training is required for an animal to learn the which button corresponds to which word and what the words mean. A dog will grasp the significance of "food," for instance, only if the human consistently says "food" when offering a meal. The technique consists of "basic operant conditioning," no different in principle from "training a dog to ring a bell to go outside."

Does the dog understand the words, though, or simply associate a particular stimulus (the sound of the word) with a specific object or outcome? This question arises especially with an expression such as "love you." How can the meaning of an abstract concept like that be demonstrated to an animal? It's not like opening a door in response to the sound "outside." While the dog might learn to link an affectionate action (e.g., licking) with the sound "love," it's quite a stretch to assume he or she "knows" the word's "meaning."

The world-famous Border Collie Chaser could identify over 1000 toys by name.

Chaser

Her trainer claimed she had the "ability to understand sentences involving multiple elements of grammar." But did she actually "understand" the words she recognized?

It's now known that parrots do more than "parrot" the sounds they've learned. They use words in context. The grey parrot Alex is a well-known example:

Alex the Parrot

According to his trainer, he displayed intelligence on a level with great apes and dolphins. Does that behavior imply understanding in the human sense?

In cases such as these, the crucial question is how we define "understanding."

I once read a comment about an ape who "talked" through a computer keyboard, declaring that when she typed, "Computer, please. . ." she didn't know what "please" meant. She was only pushing a button that she'd been trained to use for introducing a request. How does that differ from the way a human toddler uses "please," though? To him or her, it's probably just a vocal noise required to induce adults to listen favorably. (As some parents say, "What's the magic word?")

A traditional hard-line behaviorist (if any exist nowadays) would maintain that nobody, animal or human, "understands" anything in the popular sense of the term. All behavior ultimately arises from stimulus and response, whether on a simple or complex level. Consciousness is a meaningless epiphenomenon. Free will doesn't exist.

If, as most of us believe, consciousness and the ability to choose do exist in humans and some animals, where do we draw the line to say certain creatures do or don't possess these traits? Maybe understanding is a continuum, not a sharp binary.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Animal Immortality

Some animals with amazingly long lifespans compared to ours, including one that can survive potentially forever, the "immortal jellyfish":

Animals with the Longest Lifespans

The most incredible is the glass sponge, possibly living up to 15,000 years. Corals and giant barrel sponges are not far behind. Other animals on the list, while impressive, fall within more imaginable ranges, e.g., Greenland sharks (400), ocean quahogs (225), and giant tortoises (possibly up to 250). It's noteworthy that all the most long-lived creatures aside from the bowhead whale (200) are invertebrates or cold-blooded vertebrates. What stops us from attaining such venerable ages? Elephants, at the bottom of the page, have about the same maximum lifespans as humans.

The Wikipedia article on the glass sponge goes into great detail about its biology and ecology but doesn't speculate why it can live so much longer than most animals:

Hexactinellid

"Biological immortality" enables some rare species to avoid aging and thus theoretically live forever. In practice, though, they're not truly deathless, since they can succumb to disease or predators.

Here's a page about the jellyfish with that extraordinary gift:

Immortal Jellyfish

In response to stress, it can hit a "reset button" and revert to its immature polyp stage. The regenerated polyp grows into an adult genetically identical to its previous incarnation. This process of "transdifferentiation," in which "an adult cell, one that is specialized for a particular tissue, can become an entirely different type of specialized cell," is being studied by scientists in search of new ways to "replace cells that have been damaged by disease." Suppose a sapient creature had a similar life cycle? If we did, would we recognize it as a type of "immortality" we'd want? Would memory and learned skills carry over from one phase of the cycle to the next? Bacteria, reproducing by fission, are technically deathless, but if they had individual identities, would that individuality be preserved through their descendants? In musing on the immortal jellyfish, the article raises the question, "If all of an organism’s cells are replaced, is it still the same individual? The genes are the same, of course."

If we consider the issue from that angle, however, almost all the cells in our bodies get replaced throughout a lifetime, too, many of them over and over. Nevertheless, we think of ourselves as the same persons, with continuity of memory, experience, and identity.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

A Plant-Animal Hybrid?

Here's a Wikipedia entry about the emerald green sea slug, a mollusc living in marshes, pools, and shallow creeks, which feeds on algae and incorporates their chloroplasts into its own body. It thereby not only turns green but gains the ability to nourish itself with sunlight:

Elysia Chlorotica

The slug can "capture energy directly from light, as most plants do, through the process of photosynthesis." Once it has established a stable population of chloroplasts, this creature has "been known to be able to use photosynthesis for up to a year after only a few feedings." Some research suggests that a slug may "possess photosynthesis-supporting genes within its own nuclear genome."

An article discussing its biology in less technical language:

The Green Sea Slug Steals Photosynthesizing Power from Algae

The caption on that page declares the emerald green sea slug a true "plant-animal hybrid."

Could a human being -- maybe a superhero mutant -- live on light by photosynthesis, like a tree? I've read this wouldn't be physiologically feasible because that lifestyle requires a mainly stationary existence of standing around exposing a large amount of surface area to the sun for many hours per day. Elysia Chlorotica, however, seems to live like an animal and yet derive nourishment from the sun. Suppose a larger creature with intelligence comparable to ours could do that? Wouldn't that make a cool alien species?

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

The Smartest Animals

Here's yet another list of the supposedly most intelligent nonhuman animals, or at least a selection of them:

11 of the World's Smartest Animals

How is intelligence defined for purposes of this kind of categorization? The article focuses on what scientists have discovered about any given animal’s "self-awareness, self-control, and memory, all of which influence how well a creature processes information and solves problems."

The list intrigues me partly because of a couple of unexpected creatures highlighted alongside the obvious ones. I expected to see animals such as chimpanzees, bonobos, dolphins, raccoons, pigs, elephants, and octopuses, plus birds such as ravens and parrots. But pigeons? Horses? And why don't dogs make the cut? Unlike chimps, they understand what we mean when we point to an object, probably because they've evolved for millennia to live with humans.

Raccoons might be prime candidates for evolving to replace us if we went extinct. Their forepaws, which they use like hands, could give them a technological edge over such potential rivals as pigs or dolphins, which lack manipulative appendages. Incidentally, bears are also good at breaking into locked spaces and opening receptacles such as coolers. The most intelligent animals on the list, chimpanzees and bonobos (formerly known as pigmy chimps) have small, threatened populations, whereas raccoons presently thrive in great numbers in many human-dominated environments. I also like the idea of an octopus-dominated world, though. Granted, their reign would be confined to the aquatic realm, but imagine if they evolved to overcome their main disadvantages, their short lifespans and solitary nature. An octopus species that mutated to survive for many years after procreating instead of dying as soon as they reproduce could pass on accumulated knowledge to their young, a process that might encourage development of social bonds. Has any SF author written about a mainly watery planet with octopus-like inhabitants as the dominant sapient species?

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Animal Facial Expressions

A study at the University of Kansas Medical Center "discovered that cats use nearly 300 distinct facial expressions to communicate with one another":

Cats' Facial Expressions

In contrast, humans have 44 different facial expressions, and I was surprised to read that dogs have only 27. Feline expressions of emotion often involve ear movements and whiskers, however, so it's not so strange that they have more "distinct" expressions than we do. I was also surprised that cats' "facial signals" play such a large part in their communications with each other. As this article points out, cats are more social than people usually assume.

Chimpanzees convey a lot of information to each other by subtle facial movements:

How Chimps Communicate with a Look

Lisa Parr, director of the Yerkes National Primate Research Center, discusses how small changes in expression can communicate different emotions. Chimps were tested on how well they could distinguish and identify the significance of other chimps' facial expressions. Studying these behaviors in chimpanzees may contribute to better understanding of human nonverbal communication.

Dogs may have developed some types of facial expressions specifically to communicate with us:

How Dog Expressions Evolved

Of course, as this article mentions, a lot of canine communication occurs through body language. Maybe that's why they haven't evolved as many variations on facial expressions as we have. Also, scent plays a vital role in dogs' experiences of the world, a sensory dimension we almost entirely lack compared to canines.

Quora features questions about why animals of the same species tend to look so much "alike," while human beings have distinct individual appearances. Some answers explain, in addition to the human-centered bias that causes us to make finer distinctions among members of our own species, that many animals have less variation in facial appearance than we do because they rely on other senses such as smell to recognize each other.

If intelligent Martians existed, we might think they all look alike, as the narrator of Heinlein's DOUBLE STAR does at the beginning of the novel. On the other hand, the Martians would probably have trouble telling Earth people apart.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Should Animals Have Human Rights?

I've recently reread Sharyn McCrumb's mystery novel IF I'D KILLED HIM WHEN I MET HIM, which includes a subplot about a woman who wants to marry a dolphin. That character argues that dolphins are intelligent, sensitive beings who should be treated as persons under the law. She also maintains that such a relationship wouldn't be animal abuse because male dolphins are quite -- assertive -- and have not infrequently attempted to mate with their keepers.

The upper intelligence range of some animals, such as dolphins, chimpanzees, octopuses, crows, and parrots, is said to overlap the lowest intelligence range of some human beings. Given this overlap, should highly intelligent nonhuman animals be granted rights equivalent to ours even though they don't belong to our species?

The Treehugger site discusses the concepts of rights and duties; it also distinguishes "animal rights" from the position of animal welfare. It states that animal rights advocates don't "want nonhuman animals to have the same rights as people":

What Are Animal Rights?

It defines the philosophy of animal rights as "the belief that humans do not have a right to use animals for our own purposes."

This page defines the basic tenets of animal rights, discusses specieism, and argues against the uniqueness of the human species:

Basic Tenets

This case from 2015 proposes legal personhood and the right to sue in court for chimps "detained" in a zoo:

Chimpanzee Detention

The article includes several relevant outside links and a timeline of some important animal-related cases in legal history.

Famed utilitarian philosopher Peter Singer, author of ANIMAL LIBERATION, goes further than the Treehugger article in some respects but less so in others. (His position allows for meat-eating and animal experimentation in some circumstances.):

Peter Singer

He holds that "the boundary between human and 'animal' is completely arbitrary," a belief that could plausibly be extended to an argument that nonhuman animals should have the same legal rights as Homo sapiens. This debate could gain urgent practical relevance if we ever meet extraterrestrial aliens who don't look anything like us.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Blood as a Youth Potion

Could techniques that restore markers of youth to old mice have any effect on human subjects?

Blood Transfusion Experiment in Mice

Cellular senescence, a "state in which cells stop growing and dividing," contributes to the aging of various tissues in the body. In one experiment, two mice were surgically spliced together, like Frankensteinian conjoined twins. The younger mouse showed signs of aging, while the old mouse gained some of the young one's youthful health. To distinguish blood-borne factors from other effects, the blood of old mice has been transfused into young ones, causing the recipients to show "increased expression of senescence biomarkers in the muscle, kidney, and liver." They also suffered loss of strength and endurance.

Senolytic agents, "drugs that eliminate senescent cells," when infused into the blood of the old mice, reduced the ill effects on the victims of the age-to-youth transfusions.

Conversely, transfusing the blood of young mice into old ones "decreased tissue damage in the liver, kidney, and muscles of old mice."

These studies remind me of a classic quasi-vampire story from 1896 (one year before DRACULA), "Good Lady Ducayne," by Mary Braddon. The wealthy title character has a reputation for being generous to her young, female paid companions. But why have they all mysteriously wasted away and died? It turns out that her villainous personal physician has been drugging the girls with chloroform and secretly draining their blood to transfuse it into their elderly employer, maintaining vigor unnatural for her advanced years. This method of forestalling the ravages of age sounds like obsolete pseudo-science. How surprising to learn that such a method might actually work, to some extent at least.

Unfortunately, neither senolytics nor the vital fluids of vigorous young people can presently act as a fountain of youth for human patients. If healthy blood could serve that purpose, negative social consequences such as exploitation of the incarcerated or the poor could result. Money or reductions in prison time might offer an irresistible temptation to "donate" blood to the privileged classes.

Special people whose blood confers health or immortality form a long-standing science fiction trope. For instance, THE IMMORTAL, a 1969-70 TV series, based on short stories by SF writer James Gunn, features a man whose transfused blood heals a dying millionaire. However, the effect wears off after a while. Naturally the rich man wants to keep the other one as a living blood bank, so the potential victim goes on the run. in Tananarive Due's African Immortals novels, beginning with MY SOUL TO KEEP, the Immortals of the series title keep their nature secret to avoid being hunted for their blood, through which their immortality can be passed on. If a human family or subspecies with rejuvenating blood existed, it seems all too likely that they might be imprisoned and bled for the benefit of the elite.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Quest for Longevity

The cover story of the January 2023 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, a 35-page article titled "The Science of Living Longer and Better," explores several different approaches, both theoretical and practical, to the goal of extending the human lifespan. The genetically programmed maximum age for us seems to be around 120 years. However, very few people make it that far.

Numerous drugs enable mice to live as much as 60% longer than normal. Why don't they work on people? Why do certain animals such as naked mole rats and some bats live significantly longer, in proportion to their size, than we do? Why do Greenland sharks live at least 250 years, maybe longer? Altering a single gene in a certain species of roundworms doubles their lifespan while keeping them youthfully energetic, but we're more complicated than worms. Why do people in some societies tend to enjoy longer, healthier lives than the average? Environment? Diet? Exercise? Other lifestyle factors? Some scientists have tried promising drug therapies on themselves, with mixed results. Animal studies show life extension outcomes from severe restriction of calorie intake, but, again, such a regimen hasn't produced similar effects on human subjects. Anyway, personally, if I could lengthen my lifetime by a decade or two that way, I wouldn't bother; adding on years of semi-starvation would be no fun.

Stipulating the natural human upper age limit as about 120 years suggests that the Howard Families project in Robert Heinlein's METHUSELAH'S CHILDREN couldn't work the way the novel portrays it. By the date of the novel, the 22nd century, the typical Howard Families member lives to 150, retaining the appearance and vitality of a person in the prime of life. This situation exists before rejuvenation therapies are invented later in the story. Simply interbreeding bloodlines of naturally long-lived people couldn't extend their maximum ages past the 120-year limit if genes for such extension don't already exist. Moreover, real-life super-centenarians, however vigorous, still look their age, not so youthful they have to adopt new identities to avoid unwelcome attention. The only way the "Methuselahs" of Heinlein's novel could survive and remain young-looking to the age of 150 would be if Lazarus Long had already spread the mutated gene responsible for his apparent immortality through most of the Howard population. (Given the character of Lazarus as portrayed in the later book TIME ENOUGH FOR LOVE, that hypothesis seems not unlikely.) That explanation wouldn't work for the early generations such as Lazarus's own mother and her contemporaries, though. There's no plausible way mere selective breeding for a century or so could produce human beings who live over 100 years with the appearance of well-preserved middle age.

So if we want lifespans like Heinlein's characters, we'll have to develop futuristic technologies similar to those speculated about in the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC article. Even so, surpassing the natural limit of 120 years would seem to require something radically beyond those techniques, maybe direct alteration of DNA—such as the hypothetical "cellular reprogramming" mentioned in the article.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

The Female of the Species

I've just read a recent book called BITCH: ON THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES, by British zoologist and documentary filmmaker Lucy Cooke. It's a fascinating survey of the long-neglected status of females in biologists' studies of the animal kingdom—or should that be "queendom"? (Unfortunately, I'd be embarrassed to recommend it aloud by the title, a word I've ever spoken only in connection with dog breeding.) As the author describes the state of the field until recent decades, zoologists regarded males as the unquestioned drivers of evolutionary change, with females dismissed as "passive" and boring. She takes on the mission of demonstrating how wrong those scientists were.

She begins at the microscopic level, with gametes, revealing errors in the image of the female's egg as passively floating around waiting to be penetrated by one of the active sperm cells. In fact, the ovum has ways of controlling which sperm will be allowed to fertilize it. Chapter One, "The Anarchy of Sex: What Is a Female?" covers the development of the embryo, what determines its sex, and many examples of ambiguous sex among animals. Cooke goes on in subsequent chapters to explore the "mysteries of mate choice," in which females are much more active than had been assumed in the past, the assertiveness and competitiveness of females of various species, female-dominated animal social groups, how mating patterns can be a competition between male and female, sexual behavior in supposedly monogamous species, nonreproductive sexual encounters, the complicated nature of maternal behaviors, females who devour their mates, "primate politics," parthenogenesis, and the vital importance of older females in the societies of animals such as elephants and orcas. The final chapter, "Beyond the Binary," discusses intersex phenomena, animal homosexuality, and creatures who change sex. Some species can switch back and forth, and one fish is known to change sex up to twenty times in a day for optimal reproductive efficiency. Dedicated science-fiction readers will be reminded of Le Guin's aliens in THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS and the chieri in Bradley's Darkover series.

In 1981, anthropologist Sarah Blaffer Hrdy (yes, that's the correct spelling), whom Cooke often cites, published a book on a similar theme, THE WOMAN THAT NEVER EVOLVED. Her study, however, focuses more narrowly on primate and human females. Like Cooke after her, Hrdy's work emphasizes the masculine bias that led over a century of scientists to concentrate overwhelmingly on male animals' biology and behavior, treating females as mere footnotes to the main story. It's a bit mind-boggling that a wide-ranging study published in 2022 still has to start by clearing away that tangle of underbrush. Anyway, Cooke's entertaining and informative book illustrates that we don't have to seek very far on our own planet to find creatures whose biology and behavior may seem as alien as those of many fictional extraterrestrials.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

How Many Brains Does a Creature Need?

Leeches have 32 brains. Well, sort of. Each of its separate segments contains its own neuronal ganglion. As one answer on Quora puts it, "precisely it does not have 32 brains but a single brain that exists in 32 parts throughout the body," yet because each ganglion works independently, we might say it literally has a brain for each segment.

Is It True That a Leech Has 32 Brains?

Here's a page with thirteen wild and wonderful facts about animal brains:

13 Facts About Animals' Brains

Starfish have their neurons distributed through their arms instead of concentrated in a central location. A spider's brain is too big for its head and extends into its legs. Octopuses, similarly, keep two-thirds of their neurons in their tentacles instead of in the central brain. Thus, like spiders, they can perform amazingly complex feats with their limbs. The octopus, in fact, has the highest brain-to-body mass ratio of any invertebrate. This article explores octopus intelligence, including their ability to use tools:

How Smart Are Octopuses?

On the other hand, although we consider ourselves the planet's superior life form because of our intelligence, the humble sea squirt doesn't appear to value brainpower very highly. In the transition from its immature, mobile phase into an adult rooted in one spot, it "eats" its own brain. Among other animals that seem to consider brains optional, a cockroach can survive a long time with no head (until it starves to death). Then there's the famous case of a chicken named Mike, who lived for eighteen months after being (mostly) decapitated:

Mike the Headless Chicken

So maybe we members of the species Homo sapiens ("wise human") should be a bit more modest about the power to rule Earth through our intelligence? Maybe alien visitors would single out ants or termites as the dominant species, since there are so many more of them than us, and their excavations produce significant effects on the landscape. Or how about grasses? Not only do they cover much of the globe, they obviously employ us as their servants to help them spread and thrive.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Urban Wildlife

The July 2022 issue of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC includes an article titled "Why Cities Are Going Wild." It's about wild animals who've adjusted to living in urban areas, often by feeding on the stuff human residents discard. For instance, numerous black bears hang around in Asheville, NC, with a human population of about 95,000. I was surprised to read that coyotes have established themselves in most major cities and in all states except Hawaii. Chicago, for instance, hosts about 4,000 coyotes. Many omnivorous mammals are "changing their behaviors as they learn urban survival skills." Bears learn when it's trash pickup day. Coyotes look before crossing the street. Nobody who lives in a neighborhood with raccoons would be surprised at their talent for breaking into closed containers. Skunks also display cleverness in adapting to urban environments.

Studies have found that not only do city-dwelling wild animals behave differently from their rural and wilderness cousins, such as becoming more nocturnal to avoid people, often they also prosper in terms of gaining weight and producing more offspring. The latter phenomenon doesn't always grant long-term advantages, though; in some populations of urban bears, fewer cubs survive to maturity than in the wild.

Animals can hardly be blamed for "invading" our spaces. In many areas they were there first, and our cities and suburbs have spread to encroach on their territories. Here's an article focusing particularly on big felines in two "megacities," Los Angeles and Mumbai, where mountain lions and leopards (respectively) have learned to coexist with people:

Big Cats, Big Cities

Authorities in those cities have experimented with ways to share space with the big cats, such as building bridges for them to overcome the problem of habitat fragmentation. (I can't help visualizing a leopard reading a "Leopard Crossing" sign at the end of a bridge, even though that's obviously not how the system works.) Public education reduces human-animal clashes and promotes a live-and-let-live policy. "Both cities have learned that trying to capture, kill or relocate the cats isn’t the answer." Moving the creatures away from the urban centers doesn't help prevent conflicts, because they or others like them just move back in. One California wildlife expert points out, “It’s better to have a stable population, than one where hierarchies and territories are disrupted.”

For me, the most intriguing information in the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC article is that raccoons seem to be evolving greater intelligence as they're challenged by increasingly complex human efforts to deter them. People's attempts to thwart trespassing raccoons have led to an "innovation arms race." If we're "actually creating smarter animals" by giving them "increasingly difficult problems to solve," could raccoons be poised to take over the "intelligence" niche if we ever go extinct? Or maybe to share that role with us in some future post-apocalyptic reversion to a preindustrial world? After all, they already have a head start with hand-like paws. In the novel WICKED and its sequels, sapient animals live alongside the human residents of Oz (although as second-class citizens). Imagine a sapient raccoon delegation calling on a city or state government to demand equal rights.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Communicating with Pets

Netflix has a new series called THE HIDDEN LIVES OF PETS. Although it sounds as if it should reveal what our pets do when we're not watching, it actually deals with the intelligence, sensory perceptions, etc. of domestic animals. Dogs, cats, and birds feature prominently, of course, but also such creatures as rabbits, small rodents, turtles, and even soccer-playing goldfish. The episode about communication between people and animals includes a lot of video footage about a dog named Bunny who has become famous for learning to use electronic push-buttons to "talk." This system goes way beyond the battery-operated collars that attempt to translate canine barks and body language into verbal messages (prerecorded and linked to various dog behaviors by the owner):

Petspeak Collars

Here's an article about Bunny, who became the subject of a research project at UC San Diego after she and her mistress, Alexis Devine, amassed millions of TikTok followers:

Bunny the Talking Dog

This dog communicates by pressing buttons on a floor mat, each activating a prerecorded word. As the article mentions, this system is similar to the experiments in which apes learn to select symbols on keyboards to express their wants. At the age of 15 months (in November 2020) Bunny had mastered 70 buttons, including terms such as "scritches," "outside," "play," and "ouch." More problematic words such as "more," "now," "happy," and even "why" are included. While watching the video clips on the Netflix program, I wondered whether an animal could really grasp an abstract concept such as "why." Our dog responds appropriately to quite a few words in addition to the basic commands, such as "upstairs," "downstairs," "inside," "outside," "food," "leash," and "plate." All those refer to concrete objects or actions, though.

Scientists at the Comparative Cognitive Lab "comb through" the Bunny videos rather than checking only a sample. “We want to make sure we’re not just getting cherry-picked clips.” They also watch for the possibility that the dog might be reacting to subtle cues from her human partner instead of recognizing what the buttons represent. And could she "understand" words at all in the sense we mean it? Even Bunny's owner believes she's "made an association between pressing a button and something happening" rather than learning language as we do. On the other hand, human infants start by simply associating sounds with objects, too. Fitting the words into the brain's inborn grammar template comes a little later.

The Petspeak collar and Bunny's button mat remind me of the "voder" the Venusian dragon in Robert Heinlein's BETWEEN PLANETS uses to "talk." Since the highly intelligent dragons don't have vocal organs suitable for human speech, the dragon character wears an electronic device that converts his communications into audible English sentences. It doesn't duplicate the STAR TREK universal translator, being programmed only for dragon-to-English conversion, but in the distant future something like it might be used to communicate with extraterrestrials.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

The Most Intelligent Animals

Well, maybe not THE most in absolute terms, but this page lists six of the top candidates:

6 of the World's Most Intelligent Animals

The only one that surprised me was the pig. While I knew they were smart, I didn't know that in some categories they're thought to rank with dolphins. The other five on the list are the two most obvious, dolphins and chimpanzees, plus ravens, octopuses, and elephants.

Each paragraph on the page includes links to several other sites offering more information about the particular species and how its intelligence has been studied.

Although not mentioned on that web page, other species that would plausibly evolve sapience might include raccoons and bears. Both of them have the ability to manipulate objects and are already smart enough to defeat with ease many human attempts to keep them out of buildings, vehicles, and containers. Until our family bought better-designed garbage cans some years ago, we had to tie the lids on to protect the trash from raccoons. As for bears, you've probably seen photos or videos of them breaking into houses and cars. Scary! Maybe Yogi and Boo-Boo have a basis in fact.

As usual, this topic makes me wonder whether we'd recognize human-level intelligence in analogous alien species if we met them on distant planets. Their languages might not consist of sounds as ours does. (Maybe sapient octopuses would communicate by changing their colors.) Suppose lack of manipulative appendages, as with dolphins, prevented them from inventing material technologies we would recognize as such? What if, like dolphins and octopuses, they inhabited an environment (e.g., water) difficult for us to explore? Also, an ethical question comes to mind: If we don't exercise sufficient respect toward quasi-intelligent species we already know about on our own planet, will be behave ethically toward creatures we've yet to meet on strange new worlds?

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Ranking Dangers

The March-April issue of SKEPTICAL INQUIRER contains an article titled "The World's Most Deadly Animal," by Harriet Hall. The various candidates for this honor are ranked by the number of human beings they kill annually. A character in Robert Heinlein's TUNNEL IN THE SKY declares humans to be the deadliest animals. The villain in Richard Connell's classic short story "The Most Dangerous Game," who hunts his captives like wild beasts, would agree. Hall's list of the top ten most dangerous animals comes from this source:

Science Focus

Sharks and black widow spiders, which many people might think of when "deadly creatures" come to mind, don't even make it into the top ten. Lions do, barely, at the bottom. Hippos, elephants, and crocodiles beat them. The human animal (counting only homicides) rates second rather than first. The deadliest animal on Earth as quantified by people killed every year? The mosquito.

As Hall points out at the beginning of her article, our tendency to overlook mosquitoes and another high-ranking insect, the assassin bug, highlights the "availability heuristic." Facts and incidents that stick in our minds because of their sensational content tend to be perceived as more common than they actually are. There's a widespread attitude of, "Why is it getting so hot, and how did we get into this handbasket?" when in fact teenage pregnancy, adolescent illicit drug use, violent crime, drunk driving fatalities, and the worldwide number of deaths in battle have all decreased over the past few decades. We sometimes forget that frightening incidents and trends make headlines BECAUSE they're unusual, not commonplace. The occasional shark attack draws much more attention than thousands of malaria-causing mosquito bites.

Steven Pinker, in the section on phobias in his book HOW THE MIND WORKS, postulates that adult phobias are instinctive childhood fears that haven't been outgrown. These universal fears, which fall into certain well-defined categories, reflect the threats most hazardous to our "evolutionary ancestors"—snakes, spiders, heights, storms, large carnivores, darkness, blood, strangers, confinement, social scrutiny, and leaving home alone. In modern cities, the brain's fear circuitry often fails to function for optimal protection. "We ought to be afraid of guns, driving fast, driving without a seatbelt. . . not of snakes and spiders." Children have no innate aversion to playing with matches or chasing balls into traffic; instead, a survey of Chicago school kids revealed their greatest fears to be of lions, tigers, and snakes. Many writers of horror fiction draw upon intuitive awareness of our hard-wired terrors. The cosmic entity in Stephen King's IT targets children because, while adults obsess over mundane hazards such as heart attacks and financial ruin, children's fears run deeper and purer.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Games Cyborg Brains Play

Researchers at Cortical Labs have designed "cyborg brains," composed of living human brain cells atop a microelectrode array in a petri dish, informally labeled "mini-brains."

Brain Cells Play Pong

The mini-brains were exposed to a simplified version of the game Pong, with no opponent, in which signals from the cyborg brains' neurons hit the "paddle" to propel the "ball." Brett Kagan, chief scientific officer at Cortical Labs, remarks on how fast the biological brains learn the game in contrast to current AI technology. Kagan compares the mini-brains' virtual environment to the Matrix in the movie by that name.

The next step would be to produce organic neurons "integrated with traditional silicon computing" for even more efficient learning. The mini-brains offer an example of intelligence of a sort—they can learn—without consciousness. But suppose they became aware of their own existence, environment, and purpose? What if they aspired to more of a purpose in life than playing solitaire Pong? Of course, they're far from complex enough for that step, but it's fun to imagine. . . .

I'm reminded of a spin-off series from the SWORD ART ONLINE anime and manga, in which virtual human beings are seeded into a computer-simulated world and programmed to evolve a culture. Circumscribed by strict rules built into their environment, they develop a civilization with laws, morals, social classes, and all the components of a society. Furthermore, these experimental life-forms awaken to consciousness. They experience emotions, aspirations, pains, and pleasures as their world grows over many centuries in their time but only months on the scale of outside "reality." Shutting down the experiment would effectively mean annihilating an entire population of living people.

So far, though, the mini-brains described in the article linked above have no experiences other than endless games of Pong. At the end of the article, there's a link to a page about a scientist who tried, with mixed success, to teach rats to play the first-person shooter video game Doom. Will a future mode of entertainment consist of watching lab animals and virtual intelligences compete against each other in computer game tournaments?

Happy New Year! And, to repeat the annual wish of Col. Potter on MASH, "May she be a durn sight better than the last one."

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Canine Conversations

A speech language pathologist, Christina Hunger, claims to have taught her dog, Stella, to "talk":

Can That Dog on Instagram Really Talk?

The communication method depends on a soundboard like those used by some apes, with the animal pushing buttons that stand for words. They produce sound recordings of words such as "outside" and "play." According to the author of the above article, Jane C. Hu, a cognitive scientist, there's little doubt that Stella "understands" the meanings of some buttons in the sense that she knows certain actions, in terms of choosing a button to push, cause certain results. Was she deliberately combining words to form a message when she pushed "outside" followed by "Stella"? Maybe. I'm highly skeptical, however, that she combined "good" and "bye" to make "goodbye" or that "'Later Jake' (Jake is Hunger’s partner), in response to him doing a chore, meant 'do that later'," and Hu seems to agree. Granted, it would be big news to discover "a dog could plan future events and express those desires," but does Stella's performance prove her capable of abstract thought to that extent?

I'm neither a cognitive scientist, a linguist, nor a zoologist. Reacting as an interested layperson, though, I don't go so far in the skeptical direction as a critic of ape communication I read about somewhere who dismissed an ape's situation-appropriate use of "please" as the animal's having been trained to push that particular key before making a request. How is that different from a toddler's understanding of "please"? He or she doesn't start out knowing what the word "means." It's simply a noise he has to make to get adults to listen when he wants something.

Another catch in interpreting Stella's dialogues with her mistress, as pointed out by Alexandra Horowitz, a psychology professor and expert on dog cognition, is that the dog's "vocabulary" is limited by the available buttons. Also, it's possible that Stella, instead of acting independently, may be responding to unconscious signals from her owner. Yet we know dogs do "understand" some words in the sense of associating specific sounds with things, people, and actions. A border collie (recognized as one of the most intelligent breeds) named Rico is famous for his 200-word vocabulary. After being ordered to go fetch any one of the objects whose name he knew, he could get it from a different room, a procedure that eliminated the risk of his picking up cues from a human observer:

Rico

Psychologist Steven Pinker, author of THE LANGUAGE INSTINCT, takes a dim view of attempts to teach animals some form of human language, as if learning to "talk" would prove the animals' intelligence. He maintains that rather than trying to induce apes and dolphins to communicate like us, we should focus on understanding their own innate modes of communication. He may have a point. If IQ were measured by how many different odors one could distinguish, how would our "intelligence" compare to that of dogs?

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Whale Culture

Do animals have culture, defined as the customs of a particular social group? Not too long ago, established science would have answered with a firm negative. Now, however, several examples of animal behavior are widely recognized as cultural. They're not merely cases of animals imitating others whose actions they observe, but of behaviors passed from generation to generation within a group and specific to that group. For instance, there's the well-known example of macaques on Koshima Island in Japan washing sweet potatoes in a stream or the ocean before eating them. One young macaque, Imo, started this custom, and long after her death, members of that colony still practice that behavior. Among chimpanzees, some groups use purposely modified twigs to "fish" for termites, while chimps in many other bands don't. Some species of songbirds "learn dialects and transmit them across generations." Even bumblebees learn from more experienced colony members which flowers to choose.

An article in the May 2021 issue of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, "Secrets of the Whales" (from which the above quote about birds comes), explores the cultural practices of whales and dolphins. (If you want to read this article and can't find a copy of the issue, maybe at the public library if it's no longer in stores, you can access it online only behind a paywall.) On the Pacific coast, northern and southern orcas have different greeting rituals, breaching habits, and the behavior or not of pushing "dead salmon around with their heads" (no reason given for this habit). Orcas in the two regions even vocalize with different "vocabularies." Yet in most ways the two populations are "indistinguishable," and their ranges overlap. Whale songs and other vocalizations vary from one group to another. Among humpback whales, new song arrangements that become popular spread over thousands of miles as other whales pick them up.

To traditional anthropologists, who considered culture—"the ability to socially accumulate and transfer knowledge—strictly a human affair"—the idea that animals could have culture would have "seemed blasphemous." Some biologists remain skeptical on this point. The majority, however, at least as surveyed in the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC article, are inclined to attribute this capacity to at least some animal communities over a wide variety of species. Modern zoology has undercut one after another of the supposedly unique human abilities. Toolmaking, language, and now culture no longer seem the sole possession of humanity. Hard-line materialists might draw the conclusion, "See, there's nothing special about us; we're mere animals, too." I prefer to see those discoveries as evidence that many animals aren't as simply "mere animals" as we've previously believed. They may have minds, although not the same as ours, and maybe—souls? As the article points out, "Whales reside in a foreign place we're just coming to understand." We've mapped the surface of the Moon far more extensively than the bottom of the ocean. With whales, we have the opportunity to delve into the lifestyles and thought processes of "sophisticated alien beings."

Good practice for meeting alien beings from planets other than our own!

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Me Tarzan, You Jane

Recently I've watched several Tarzan movies, including two of the classic Johnny Weissmuller films. It's always annoyed me that this version of Tarzan is so inarticulate, speaking in broken English although he seems to understand the nuances of standard English as spoken by Jane. The 1984 production GREYSTOKE: THE LEGEND OF TARZAN, LORD OF THE APES portrays him as eventually learning to speak grammatically, although he remains reserved and laconic. In Edgar Rice Burroughs' novels, Tarzan not only learns French and English in the first volume (TARZAN OF THE APES) but also becomes fluent in multiple other languages over the course of the series. Moreover, while still living with his ape tribe, he teaches himself to read English from children's picture books found in his dead parents' abandoned cabin. Which of these representations of Tarzan's language acquisition is more realistic, though?

Real-life "feral children"—those who've grown up with limited or no normal human contact—seldom acquire fully developed language skills in later life. (From my cursory skim of Wikipedia entries on the topic, possibly some do, but that's uncertain.) The majority consensus among linguistic scientists maintains that human children have a critical period for learning to speak normally. The innate "language instinct" needs material to work with during that window. Everyone knows the story of Helen Keller's childhood and how she learned language from her "miracle worker" teacher. Keller, however, didn't become blind and deaf until the age of nineteen months, so she had been exposed to the spoken word and had probably started learning to talk. Therefore, she didn't totally miss the "window" of the critical period. In recalling the moment when she realized the meaning of the sign for "water," she wrote that she experienced "a misty consciousness as of something forgotten — a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me." The concept of language, then, wasn't completely new to her but came as a "returning thought" of "something forgotten."

With these principles applied to Tarzan's development, does he have the required exposure to a template for language during the critical period of infancy and childhood? In Edgar Rice Burroughs' original novel, Tarzan is orphaned when too young to start talking to any meaningful extent. Since he's about a year old when his parents die, however, he would have heard conversations between them and begun to recognize some words, maybe even say one or two. So, like Helen Keller, he's exposed to language during the early imprinting stage. After his adoption by his ape mother, he grows up learning the speech of the great apes—the Mangani. It seems likely that the Mangani aren't any known variety of ape (certainly not gorillas, as in the Disney animated movie, because gorillas are explicitly mentioned as different from Tarzan's tribe) but rather, as Philip Jose Farmer suggests, an almost extinct "missing link" species. As portrayed in TARZAN OF THE APES and its sequels, they have a language, but a rudimentary one. It seems to consist entirely of concrete rather than abstract words, have a simple grammatical structure, and focus on present needs. The limitations of Mangani speech, however, wouldn't necessarily prevent Tarzan from learning fluent English as an adult. He might be compared to the children of pidgin speakers (people with no language in common who invent a simplified mode of communication, a "pidgin" dialect). In many known cases, those children have used their parents' speech as the basis for a fully developed "creole" language. Tarzan's achievement of teaching himself to read with no prior knowledge of what books are might strain the reader's disbelief, but as we can tell from how easily he picks up new languages in later life, the author portrays him as a natural linguistic genius.

In the Weissmuller movies, Tarzan's ape friends are played by chimpanzees, which wouldn't have a true language. Therefore, it actually makes sense that this version of Tarzan might learn to comprehend standard English without ever gaining the ability to speak it fluently. He missed the critical window. In GREYSTOKE, he communicates with the apes by sounds and gestures, but there's nothing to indicate that they're speaking a language in the human sense. So it seems improbable that he'd master English as thoroughly as he does in this movie, especially since he looks well under a year old when his ape mother adopts him. Personally, though, I prefer an articulate Tarzan even if suspension of disbelief has to be stretched to accommodate him.

Robert Heinlein's STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND, of course, reverses Tarzan's situation. The biologically human "Martian," Valentine Michael Smith, grows up among creatures MORE intelligent than Earth-humans, with a more complex and nuanced language. Mike, like Tarzan, has to learn to become fully human, but from the opposite direction.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Animal Regeneration

Here's an article about sea slugs that purposely decapitate themselves:

Decapitated Sea Slugs

It's believed they occasionally "jettison" their bodies to get rid of parasitic infestations. The abandoned torso (if that word applies to slugs) swims independently, sometimes for months, before eventually decomposing. The severed head, however, grows a whole new body, often within three weeks. Meanwhile, it continues to feed on algae as if it doesn't notice it has no digestive system, not to mention other essential organs such as a heart.

Self-amputation, called "autotomy," shows up in other species, such as lizards who let their tails detach to escape predators, then grow new tails. Starfish can generate new arms to replace severed limbs, and in some case a segment of a dismembered starfish can develop into a separate animal. In my high-school biology class, we bisected flatworms to watch the pieces regenerate over several days. Sea cucumbers sometimes eject their internal organs under stress and regrow the lost organs. Mammals, in contrast, have limited capacity for regeneration, but (according to Wikipedia) two species of African spiny mice shed large areas of skin when attacked by predators: "They can completely regenerate the autotomically released or otherwise damaged skin tissue — regrowing hair follicles, skin, sweat glands, fur and cartilage with little or no scarring."

Why do plants regularly lose limbs and grow new ones anywhere on their trunks, while most animals are much more limited in this respect? Why the difference in regenerative capacity between lizards and mammals, although they're all vertebrates? The sea slug's self-decapitation makes tales of vampires and other monsters that can re-grow lost appendages seem more plausible. The slug's independently moving detached parts remind me of a vampire novel by Freda Warrington in which a decapitated vampire regenerates a complete body from his severed head. Meanwhile, the headless corpse grows a new head; however, the resulting individual rampages mindlessly like a zombie. In the science fiction genre, I once read a story whose protagonist hosts a visiting alien at a house party. This alien's species has detachable limbs, so losing an appendage is no big deal for them. Also, this particular ET has a totally literal comprehension of English. When the protagonist compliments a concert pianist with the remark, "I wish I had her hands," the alien tries to do the host a favor by amputating those hands and presenting them as a gift. . . .

It's hoped that understanding the sea slug's remarkable ability "could one day lead to advances in regenerative medicine and other fields." Many science-fiction future technologies include medical treatments that enable injured patients to grow new organs and limbs. Maybe that vision might eventually come true.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Portraying Animal Viewpoints

Recently I've read several bestselling first-person, canine-viewpoint novels by W. Bruce Cameron, the trilogy A DOG'S PURPOSE, A DOG'S JOURNEY, and A DOG'S PROMISE, plus a stand-alone book, A DOG'S WAY HOME. (I've watched three movies adapted from them, too, and I recommend those films. They stick as close to the novels as practicable within their running times.) The latter is realistic, aside from the literary convention of having the canine protagonist narrate her experiences in articulate, grammatical English. The author's afterword mentions the extensive research he did to ensure that her 400-mile cross-country travels would be plausible and also discusses two important motifs in the story, breed-discriminatory legislation and therapy dogs for veterans. The trilogy is fantasy, since it deals with a dog's many lifetimes, reincarnated over and over as he/she strives to fulfill his/her purpose. (Even if I believed in reincarnation, I'd classify these novels as fantasy, since we have no way of knowing what the afterlife is like or exactly how the rebirth process would work.) These books portray the world through a dog's mind and senses, smell and hearing preternaturally acute by our standards, but an understanding of human words and actions necessarily limited. The canine narrator acts like a living video and audio recorder. He or she sees and hears everything that goes on within sensory range, but a lot of it goes over the dog's head. Therefore, the reader understands what's happening even when the narrator doesn't. The dog recognizes many words but is often puzzled by the context. For instance, why do people frequently mention the names of other people who aren't present? Why don't humans appreciate the importance of chasing squirrels or checking out intriguing scents? In a funny scene in one of the books, the dog thinks his owners are encouraging him to bark louder when they yell at him to stop barking. The dogs in Cameron's works don't talk among themselves. They infer the moods, motives, and emotions of other dogs from smells, nonverbal vocalizations, and body language. I highly recommend these novels. Yes, they're tearjerkers with sentimental happy endings, but I love that if it's done well, and the human characters have believable, non-trivial problems.

Fictional animal autobiography goes back at least to BLACK BEAUTY in 1877 (and earlier, according to Wikipedia). Again, the horse narrator tells his life story within a framework of equine perceptions and concerns. Human actions are described and interpreted as they directly affect him. Like Cameron's dogs, he and his animal companions don't talk. Aside from having a horse tell the story, BLACK BEAUTY sticks to events that could actually happen. Indeed, the author's principal purpose was to awaken people to the real-life sufferings of horses and incite reforms in the treatment of animals.

There's a similar level of animal verisimilitude in BAMBI (Felix Salton's novel, not the Disney animated film). The main difference is that the deer do converse verbally. Otherwise, they behave like normal woodland creatures.

The rabbits in WATERSHIP DOWN represent a step away from completely naturalistic wildlife behavior. They have not only a language but culture and mythology. The author, however, researched the actual lives of rabbits, making his characters behave like their nonfictional models. For example, extreme fear can make them go "tharn," paralyzed with terror.

Diane Duane's feline wizard trilogy, THE BOOK OF NIGHT WITH MOON, TO VISIT THE QUEEN, and THE BIG MEOW (the latter available only through the author's website), being fantasy, depart further from strict realism. This series features cat wizards with human-like intelligence and a complex feline language. Nevertheless, aside from their wizardly duties, they view the world and human society from a feline viewpoint. For instance, they make a sharp distinction between neutered and sexually active members of their species, and intact males, even cat wizards, still act like tomcats.

On the opposite end of the spectrum from BAMBI and Cameron's dog stories, we have books such as George Orwell's ANIMAL FARM. Although the pigs and other farm inhabitants retain many animal traits, they essentially serve the function of satirizing human political structures rather than attempting to portray the actual lives of domestic livestock.

At its best, deep-dive immersion animal viewpoint fiction can allow the reader imaginative access to minds unlike our own that we can nevertheless empathize with.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt