Chaser (35 page)

I mentioned that some scientists say animals cannot imitate because it requires the awareness that another individual has a unique point of view, supposedly something only humans have. This view of animals has always seemed wrong to me. Following Charles Darwin's example, I have no doubt that dogs are capable of empathy. Like imitation, empathy also requires imagination, an ability, conscious or unconscious, to recognize and share the feelings of another individual. I believe that as creatures capable of empathy, dogs must also have the imaginative capacity for imitation.

A few episodes with Chaser and other dogs heightened my interest in imitation learning. Since high school Deb has been best friends with Joyce Radeka, thanks in part to their mutual love of animals. Joyce and her husband, Frank Hodges, live in Columbia, South Carolina, and their house is full of their own pets and animals they are fostering for adoption. The summer when Chaser was a year old they offered to dog-sit her for a week while Sally and I stayed at their condominium in Myrtle Beach with Deb, Jay, and Aidan.

When we dropped off Chaser, we were warmly greeted by Joyce and Frank; Sky, a female Australian shepherd mix; Rudy, a large male Australian shepherd; and Don Juan, Don for short, a large male tuxedo cat. Don walked up to Chaser, who was still at my side, until their noses touched. After slowly sniffing Chaser's mouth, while she looked away, Don brushed his body against her shoulder, and then turned his attention to the couch. He stretched his front paws up the back of the sofa, as if for a fabric-ripping scratch.

Rudy caught this move, put his nose under Don's front legs to nudge him off the couch, and then looked to Joyce, who responded with enthusiastic praise. Joyce explained that when Rudy joined their family as a rescue dog, he observed her shooing Don away from the furniture. After seeing this only two or three times, Rudy delegated himself to imitate Joyce's actions and keep the furniture safe from Don Juan's mischief.

Before we left for Myrtle Beach, Joyce suggested a dip in their pool. I seize any chance to get in the water, and it was clear that Rudy felt the same way. As soon as he heard “swim,” he was whining to get out of the house and into the pool. I went to put on my swim suit, and when I came out Rudy was in the water, paddling toward a ball. Chaser was panting in the heat next to Sally, who was sitting under an umbrella with Joyce.

Rudy walked up the steps at the shallow end of the pool, dropped the ball at my feet, and shook himself vigorously, spraying water like a garden sprinkler. I tossed the ball back in the water, and Rudy ran around so that he could launch himself into a belly flop near the ball. I joined him in the water, and after quite a few ball tosses and belly flops I looked over at Chaser. Yasha loved the water, and I was hoping that Chaser would follow suit. Although she was watching me carefully, she showed no inclination to get wet. I called her over, but she wouldn't dip a paw in the pool.

Getting back in the car, Sally and I felt a twinge of guilt and anxiety. When we looked back, we saw Chaser staring after us with her ears and tail down.

Fortunately we could not have asked for better dog-sitters. Joyce e-mailed us pictures of Chaser with daily reports on their walks and other activities. Still, when Sally and I walked in the door of Joyce and Frank's house a week later, I thought Chaser was going to wriggle out of her skin with joy.

Joyce invited us to stay for lunch and another dip in their pool. Over lunch Joyce said that Rudy had belly-flopped into the pool every day, that Sky had gone in the water via the steps, but that Chaser had only watched. Disappointed, I figured Chaser just wasn't a water dog.

When we went out to the pool, Rudy immediately belly-flopped in. After I got in the water, I turned to Chaser and said, “Chaser, are you going to come swimming?” With great caution, she walked down the steps at the shallow end, and then swam to me. She wasn't thrilled about it at first, but she did what she'd seen Rudy and Sky do every day of the past week.

Swim, that is, not belly-flop. Belly flopping was not Chaser's style, but it didn't take long for her to find joy in the water. The next time we went to the beach with Deb, Jay, and Aidan, we stayed at a pet-friendly motel and Chaser was in the surf with Aidan at every opportunity.

I also observed Chaser being a model for another dog. That same summer we took her to the Cherokee Mountains in North Carolina, where Robin was working her job as head rafting guide. It had been a while since Robin's dogs Blue and Timber passed away, and Robin had a new Siberian husky she named Spirit.

Robin had saved Spirit from being euthanized at the animal shelter, where she'd been abandoned by a puppy mill that no longer had use for her. Spirit was profoundly fearful of people. It was impossible for anyone but Robin to get close to her without her cowering and trembling in a way that broke your heart. Chaser and Spirit acknowledged each other but kept their distance, and we didn't push them to be friends.

When the rafting season ended, Robin came back to Spartanburg to spend some time with the family, and she and Spirit temporarily moved in with us. It was wonderful to see Spirit's new calmness. She seemed to be purring as she cuddled beside Robin. Sally and I tried to engage with Spirit, but she was still untrusting of anyone but Robin.

The depth of the abuse Spirit had suffered hit me on a fall afternoon when I was in the yard throwing a ball for Chaser. Spirit was watching from the porch. I called, “Spirit, catch the ball,” and threw it to her. Spirit didn't budge as the ball bounced near her and hopped across the porch. In as encouraging a tone as possible I said, “Get the ball, Spirit!” She looked away.

The sadness I felt for Spirit and my appreciation for Robin's rehabilitation efforts both increased. I had never seen a dog completely ignore a bouncing ball and refuse all entreaties to play. The fact was that Spirit didn't know how to play. As far as Robin or we saw, she never even wagged her tail. I was afraid Spirit's inner light had been snuffed out permanently.

Robin continued to love on Spirit, however, and we kept cheering Spirit as best we could. We noticed Spirit watching Chaser play with her toys day after day, and Robin was sure this was a hopeful sign. One day while Robin, Sally, and I were all in the living room, Chaser was at the top of the stairs with a ball and Spirit was at the bottom. Chaser tossed the ball down the steps. Without moving, Spirit watched the ball bounce and roll to a stop.

Spirit timidly picked up the ball in her mouth and looked at Chaser. Not only that, but Spirit wagged her tail. We all had tears in our eyes at her first tentative attempt at playing. Since then, Spirit has become comfortable, if still a little clumsy, in imitating Chaser's play, and the two of them have become good friends.

Science is recognizing increasing numbers of examples of empathy and imitation among animals. For example, in their paper “The Evolution of Imitation,” Ludwig Huber, Ádám Miklósi, and their colleagues have surveyed and analyzed imitation learning among birds, dogs, dolphins, fish, and primates. One of their major findings is that all animals tend to leave out details when they imitate a behavior. Like toddlers, they focus on what they perceive to be the goal of a sequence of actions and skip steps along the way. Related to this is that animals find it easier to imitate actions that involve an object, such as putting a ball in a tub, rather than pure body movements.

There is an immense amount to learn from the latest research. There is also a lot to learn about dogs' ability to mirror us through empathy and imitation from shepherds and others who work with dogs on a daily basis. In his book
Border Collies in America
, Arthur Allen wrote that owning and working a great herding dog “gives you a thrill that cannot be explained. I have worked dogs at trials that seemed to understand my every thought and movement. The elasticity between myself and dog was so complete that I thought my dog felt my every heart beat.” Although Allen was not referring to imitation, I am sure that research on imitation learning can benefit from his emphasis on the emotional connection between dog and shepherd.

Wanting to capitalize on imitation for Chaser's learning, I began with behaviors she already knew on the basis of a verbal cue. For example, I'd say, “Chaser, do what I do. Watch Pop-Pop,” and I'd sit down while saying “sit.” Then I said, “Now you do it.” Or I'd lie flat on my belly while saying “Lie down,” and then add, “Now you do it.” If she didn't sit or lie down, I repeated “sit” or “lie down.” With many repetitions, Chaser began to grasp that “do what I do; watch Pop-Pop; now you do it” meant she needed to duplicate my actions, which might involve doing something with her toys, such as picking up a Frisbee and putting it in a tub, or might only involve body movements. Once she understood the “do what I do” cues, I could fade out other verbal or visual cues.

My initial goal was to reach a point at which I could introduce a behavior by saying no more than “Chaser, do what I do; watch Pop-Pop; now you do it,” and providing only minimal verbal or visual cues after that. We were able to demonstrate significant progress in that at the APA in Washington, D.C., when Chaser imitated behaviors she was extremely unlikely to emit on her own, such as walking around the room in a precise pattern.

As Chaser's ability to learn by imitation improves, I won't always keep verbal cues, such as “Reverse,” “Again,” or “Faster,” and visual cues, such as pointing, to a minimum. Instead, I envision combining imitation with verbal and visual cues for rapid learning, including the details, of complicated behaviors.

Progress depends on keeping Chaser interested in imitation learning. The most interesting imitation I've devised for Chaser, from her point of view, seems to be our stepping game. I move twenty or thirty feet away and we stand facing each other. I take one step forward and stop. Then I take another step forward with my other foot and stop. Chaser has to mirror me step for step. We move closer and closer, and then we move apart again with one backward step at a time.

Chaser likes this game a lot. But when we get about five feet from each other she no longer wants to step forward. She only wants to step backward. I could insist on closing the distance, but I respect her wishes. As time goes on, I hope I'll observe something that tells me more about this little idiosyncrasy of hers.

Because I want the imitation to stretch Chaser's creative imagination, I often demonstrate a behavior a few times in a row before I say, “Now you do it.” By asking her to watch me a few times first, I'm trying to stimulate a mental rehearsal, which is in many respects equivalent to physical rehearsal. When we watch someone do something, or simply imagine ourselves doing it, our brain activity displays much the same pattern as if we were doing the behavior.

The challenge for me now is devising worthwhile behaviors for Chaser to imitate. I want to give her things to do that will enlarge her repertoire of useful behaviors and extend her imaginative capacity. The best one I've found so far may be a stroke of serendipity.

The Wofford head football coach Mike Ayers is an advanced black belt in the Tang Soo Do form of tae kwon do. A few years ago he let me take the class he teaches in it, and ever since then Chaser has loved to see me wave my arms above her head as if I am blocking and punching.

Even more exciting is when I go through the full movements. After a language lesson, match to sample, and imitation in our early-morning visits to Wofford, it's time for my workout. First I stretch in the big room where we've been working. While I'm lying down on a mat, Chaser keeps bringing a racquetball over. It's an occasion to reinforce her understanding of “closer,” and when she drops the ball near enough I toss it across the room for her.

After I finish stretching I do my Tang Soo Do, striving to get less awkward at the movements. Chaser treats this as a special play period. Ball in her mouth, she darts this way and that, anticipating my steps, turns, and reversals. She mirrors my blocks, punches, and kicks as if she is my sparring partner. Maybe the better analogy is dancing partner. She whirls and bounces around me, lighter and surer on her feet than I can ever be on my mine.

At such moments it seems, to echo Arthur Allen, as if Chaser feels my every heartbeat. I never said, “Chaser, do what I do.” And she is not doing exactly what I'm doing. But her mirroring of my actions goes beyond spontaneous responses. She knows what I am going to do from start to finish, and she has apparently built up a picture of the Tang Soo Do movements in her mind that is as clear and detailed as my own, if not more so.

Chaser's learned this all of her own volition, solely for the fun she can have with me. The unpredictable rewards we've experienced along the way have, I believe, made us both more resilient, persistent, and creative in pursuing our goals.

Aside from sharing life with Sally and me, one of Chaser's major goals is, no surprise, to turn every person she meets into a new friend and playmate. A week after her gratifying encounter with the women's soccer team, Chaser and I were finishing up a morning session at Wofford. We had just done our Tang Soo Do sparring dance, and I was using the exercise machines. When I moved from one machine to another, I kicked or threw her ball for her, but when I was on a machine she had to look for someone else to play with her.

I said earlier that no one's ever resisted Chaser's charm. I have to qualify that. No one's ever resisted her if she's had enough time to break through their emotional barriers.

On this particular morning four women students came in separately to exercise. As each one came in, Chaser approached her to initiate play. But each of them ignored her. She redoubled her efforts, maneuvering to put herself in the line of sight of one of them. She dropped her ball at their feet and wagged her tail and looked as cute as possible. No dice.

At one point she dropped her ball on the treadmill that one young woman was using. I said, “Chaser, no.” That was not something I wanted her to do again. But she was unhappy with the result anyway, because the ball bounced off the moving treadmill and she had to find it between a couple of other machines. If I set up a tennis ball machine for Chaser, she would not be happy chasing the balls it shot out. She wants to be doing something with and for a person.