Do animals feel pain in the way that we humans do?
Last week, shortly after Paloma had been let out for a ‘call of nature’, she emitted the most terrible of screams. No other dog had gone near her and there was no immediate explanation for the heart-rending cry.
While this was not the first time that Paloma had suddenly cried out for no apparent reason this was by far the worst cry that Paloma had made so Jean and I thought that an immediate visit to our local vet practice was sensible, that being Lincoln Road Veterinary Clinic. We were seen by Dr. Goodbrod and he came to the conclusion that she had a spinal disc problem: Paloma is thirteen years old.
Paloma, December 29th 2011
All of which serves as a relevant introduction to a recent essay over on The Conversationblogsite. The essay was written by Professor Andrea Nolan, who became Principal and Vice-Chancellor of Edinburgh Napier University in July 2013. (Andrea graduated as a veterinary surgeon from Trinity College Dublin, Ireland.) Her essay is called Do animals feel pain like we do? and is republished here within the terms of The Conversation blogsite.
ooOOoo
Do animals feel pain like we do?
July 7, 2015 6.35am EDT
Not hard to read. Eddy Van 3000, CC BY-SA
Pain is a complex experience involving sensory and emotional components: it is not just about how it feels, but also how it makes you feel. And it is these unpleasant feelings that cause the suffering we humans associate with pain.
The science of suffering is well documented in the book of the same name by Patrick Wall. We know that animals certainly feel physical pain, but what is less clear is whether this emotional suffering that we feel can be said to be true of animals. And if it is, how we go about measuring it.
As a subjective emotion, pain can be experienced even in the absence of physical tissue damage, and the level of feeling can be modified by other emotions including fear, memory and stress. Pain also has different dimensions – it is often described in terms of intensity but it also has “character”, for example the pain of a pin-prick is very different from that of a toothache, a slipped disc or labour pain. Nearly all of us have experienced pain in our lives, but for each person, the experience is uniquely individual.
To understand or appreciate others’ pain we mostly rely on what they report. But there are many who either cannot communicate their pain verbally, babies for example, or effectively, like those with dementia or learning disabilities. In these situations, others must use a range of factors to judge the presence of pain and its impact on the individual.
Pain is not all bad – it serves a protective function, to keep us away from further danger, to help us heal, for example by stopping us from putting weight on a sprained ankle. But if it isn’t managed effectively it can have a major negative impact on our lives inducing fear, anger, anxiety or depression – all emotions which may in turn exacerbate it. And chronic pain is a major concern to millions of individuals and to our societies around the world.
Pain in animals
The nature of pain is perhaps even more complex in animals. How pain is sensed and the physical processes behind this are remarkably similar and well conserved across mammals and humans. There are also many similarities in pain behaviours across the species, for example they may stop socialising with people and/or other animals, they may eat less, they may vocalise more and their heart rate may rise. The capacity of animals to suffer as sentient creatures is well established and enshrined in law in many countries, however we don’t understand well how they actually experience pain.
Some aspects of the experience and expression of pain are not likely to be the same as in humans. First, animals cannot verbally communicate their pain. Dogs may yelp and you may notice behaviour change but what about your pet rabbit, cat, tortoise or horse? Animals rely on human observers to recognise pain and to evaluate its severity and impact. Without the ability to understand soothing words that explain that following surgery to repair a bone fracture, their pain will be managed (hopefully) and will subside, animals may also suffer more when in pain than we do.
Loud and clear. William Heron, CC BY-SA
The debate around animals’ capacity to experience pain and suffer raged in the 20th century, but as we developed a greater understanding of pain, and studied its impact on the aspects of animal life that we could measure, we veterinary surgeons, along with many behavioural and animal scientists, recognised the significant impact of untreated pain, and we now believe this experience causes them to suffer.
Similarly many studies in a range of domestic animals have indicated that animals who have had surgery but not had adequate pain relief demonstrate behaviours reflective of pain which are alleviated when they are treated with analgesics such as morphine.
We also know that it is not just our dogs and cats that can suffer pain – there is an equally strong evidence base for the presence and negative impact of pain in sheep, cattle, pigs and horses among other species. But recognising pain in these different species is part of the complexity associated with animal pain. Managing it in animals that we rear for food and those that we keep as companions is equally challenging.
Behavioural disturbances have long been recognised as potential indicators of the presence of pain in animals. However it is important to recognise that each species manifests its own sometimes unique pain-related behaviours or behavioural disturbances in different ways, often rooted in the evolutionary process, so prey species, for example, are less likely to “advertise” an increased vulnerability to predators. Dogs may become aggressive, or quiet, or may stop socialising with “their” humans and other dogs. Sheep, on the other hand, may appear largely the same when casually observed.
Some expressions of pain however may be conserved. A recent paper suggested commonality in some features of facial expression during acute pain experiences in several animal species and humans.
These findings and much other work are being incorporated into tools to evaluate animal pain, because in the words of Lord Kelvin, the great Glaswegian scientist behind the Kelvin temperature scale, said: “When you cannot measure it, when you cannot express it in number … you have scarcely, in your thoughts, advanced to the stage of science, whatever the matter may be”.
So in order to treat and manage pain effectively we must measure it.
And there is a huge demand for these tools. The Glasgow Composite Pain Scale, a simple tool to measure acute pain in dogs and first published in 2007, has been translated into six languages. It is used in veterinary practices to measure pain to treat it effectively. It has also been used to evaluate the effectiveness of new analgesic drugs that are being developed by animal health companies. Tools to measure the impact of chronic pain, such as osteoarthritis, on the quality of life of dogs are now available and are a significant advance in managing chronic conditions.
There is now a global effort to raise awareness of pain in animals. Recently the World Small Animal Veterinary Association launched the Global Pain Council and published a treatise for vets and animal keepers worldwide to promote pain recognition, measurement and treatment. Dogs may be man’s best friend, but for all those who work with, care for and enjoy the company of animals, understanding how their pain feels is essential to improving the quality of their lives.
ooOOoo
Back to Paloma. Dr. Goodbrod prescribed muscle relaxers and a mild pain killer.
Dear, sweet Paloma. Found by Jean on a Mexican street in Guaymas in 2005 with her eight puppies. Jean found homes for all the eight puppies in the USA and adopted Paloma because she was very wild.
Our neighbourhood watch garage sale has Jean and me fully occupied for these next two days.
Plus much of yesterday afternoon was spent getting our ‘site’ all set up ready for today.
I have taken the opportunity of showing you two videos, one today and one tomorrow.
This was sent to me by Suzann and will melt your heart in a very big way.
►If watching the flowering of love could inspire love, then “The Story Of The Weeping Camel” would forever alter the world…
►The Story of the Weeping Camel.
Mongolian: Ингэн нулимс, Ingen nulims, “Tears of the Camel” is a 2003 German docudrama released internationally in 2004.
►During Spring, a family of nomadic shepherds in the Gobi Desert, South Mongolia, assists the births of their camel herd. The last camel to calve this season has a protracted labor that persists for two days. With the assistance and intervention of the family, a rare white bactrian camel (Camelus bactrianus) calf is born.
This is the mother camel’s first calving. Despite the efforts of the shepherds, the mother rejects the newborn, refusing it her milk and failing to establish a care-bond with it. The family resolve to secure the services of an indigenous ‘violinist’ to play the music for a Mongolian ‘Hoos’ ritual.
When repeatedly intoned the calming sounds and beautiful melody of the violin, the mother camel starts to weep, tears visibly streaming from her eyes. Immediately after the rite the mother and calf are reconciled and the calf draws milk from her teat.
Very grateful to Chris Snuggs for sending this on to me. As seen on the BoredBug website:
ooOOoo
They Told This Little Boy His Dog Was Going To Be Put Down. His Response STUNNED Them.
On Belker’s last day, Shane seemed calm, petting the old dog as if he understood that he was saying a last “goodbye”. Within minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. Shane seemed to accept Belker’s transition without any difficulty or confusion.
They all sat together after Belker’s death, wondering aloud how sad it is that animals lives are shorter than humans. Shane, who had been listening quietly, spoke ”I know why! People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life, like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?” The six-year-old continued, ”Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”
A story about a Pit Bull that will touch the soul.
The Pit Bull dog breed gets a very bad press thanks to the despicable way that these dogs were associated with dog fighting many years ago. But take away man’s disgraceful involvement and most times you will find a gorgeous, loving dog.
We have a Pit Bull mix here at home.
Casey, at home; picture taken January, 2014.
He is the most wonderful of dogs.
Now read this article, as seen on Mother Nature Network.
ooOOoo
Rescued pit bull helps autistic teen open his heart
The first time Joey Granados gave his mother a kiss on the cheek was when they adopted Roxy.
The best part about Roxy and Joey’s friendship? No judgments. Just love. (Photo: Amanda Granados/Instagram)
Pit bulls often get a bad rap. So do kids with autism.
Both are misunderstood. But what happens when you put the two of them together? Magic.
Just ask Amanda Granados of Los Angeles. Her son, Joey, has autism. From an early age, Joey turned away from his mom’s hugs and kisses. He would not let his mom hold his hand. He preferred to be alone. According to his mom, Joey had a really difficult time adjusting in social situations.
But Joey has recently met a new friend that has opened up his heart to his mom and others in his world. That friend is Roxy, a goofy, loving pit bull who knows how it feels to have people look at you and think you are something you are not.
Fourteen-year-old Joey had been asking his mom for a dog for some time to help him deal with the loneliness of his life with autism. Just after Thanksgiving, Amanda was perusing the website for the local animal shelter when she came across Roxy’s picture and just knew that this would be a good match.
As Joey tells it, when he and his mom went down to the shelter to look at Roxy, the dog walked right passed Amanda and jumped on Joey’s lap. The two have been best friends ever since. And Roxy has opened up Joey’s world to the love and affection of others.
“I get emotional thinking about it,” Amanda Granados recently told “Today.” “For all those years, he wouldn’t hold my hand, he wouldn’t hug me — it was all part of the autism — but this dog has taught him how to give and show affection. He holds my hand now! He hugs me! The first time I got a kiss on the cheek was when Roxy came home.”
Joey told “Today” that Roxy has made it easier for him to give and receive affection.
“I didn’t have too many friends growing up, but then we got Roxy and I’ve been able to make friends ever since,” Joey said. “At home, I’ve been able to hold my mom’s hand, kiss her, hug her and do a lot of things that I hadn’t been able to do growing up.
“She’s opened up my heart.”
According to Amanda, the best part about the bond between Roxy and Joey is that there are no judgments. Just true friendship. And lots and lots of love.
Want to see this adorable pair in action? Check it out:
A young Pharaoh already embracing contentment. September, 2003.
Sidney Bloch, who is Emeritus Professor in Psychiatry at the University of Melbourne, recently published an essay over on the blogsite The Conversation. (Greatly recommended, by the way.)
His essay was about happiness versus contentment and certainly touched a few spots in this old Englishman’s psyche, contented as I am in this rural part of Oregon. However, until now I had never stopped to think about the difference between being happy and being contented.
So, I think you are going to enjoy Professor Bloch’s views, that now follow. His essay is republished, with permission, just as it was presented on The Conversation.
ooOOoo
Happiness is an illusion, here’s why you should seek contentment instead.
June 29, 2015 4.07pm EDT
Feeling content means having a deep-seated, abiding acceptance of oneself and one’s worth, together with a sense of self-fulfilment, meaning and purpose. James Theophane/Flickr, CC BY-SA
I want to share a personal view of what it is to be happy and how it differs from feeling content. Let me begin with a clinical story.
They met at a party; it was love at first sight just like one reads about in romantic novels. They married following an exhilarating courtship, and since they shared an eagerness to raise a family, Jennifer soon announced the joyful news of her pregnancy. They called their baby Annie after Adam’s late mother.
They felt blessed; every moment since their first encounter had been nothing but pleasurable. Everyone who knew them concurred that their lives as a couple had been replete with happiness.
Tragically, it was not to endure. Their first setback occurred only days after Annie’s birth. She was sleeping fitfully and her colic stubbornly persisted. Jennifer felt utterly demoralised as a new mother. Her mounting sense of guilt and melancholy led to her admission to a psychiatric ward (her first ever encounter with psychiatry); the fear of her harming Annie or herself spread through the family and circle of friends.
And then, quite shockingly, despite the most diligent medical and nursing care, Jennifer met her death after jumping off a second floor balcony. Her family and friends plunged into deep grief; the medical professionals who had looked after her were similarly bereft.
An elusive goal
Having worked as a psychiatrist for over four decades and got to know dozens of men, women, and children of diverse backgrounds and with unique life stories, I have witnessed many a sad narrative, although suicide has mercifully been a rare event.
These experiences, in tandem with a lifelong fascination with what makes people tick, have led me most reluctantly to the judgement that while we may savour happiness episodically, it will invariably be disrupted by unwelcome negative feelings. Still, most of humankind will continue to harbour the expectation of living happily and remain oblivious that this wishful fantasy is an unconscious way of warding off the threat of psychic pain.
Rather than confront and demoralise those who have sought my help, I have gently but honestly responded to their plaintive yearning (“all I want is just to be happy”), by highlighting an inherent human sentiment. Namely that clinging to the fiction of being able to avoid suffering and enjoying a continuing state of pleasure is tantamount to self-deception.
I have offered them the hope – but not a guarantee – that they have the potential to lead a more fulfilling life than hitherto by participating in a challenging, and at times even distressing process of self-exploration whose purpose is to enhance self understanding and acceptance of the reality-bound emotional state I call contentment.
You may retort: “But you treat people who are miserable, pessimistic and self-deprecating, surely you must be hopelessly biased.” I would readily understand your reaction but suggest that all of us, not just those in treatment, crave happiness and are repeatedly frustrated by its elusiveness.
Most of humankind continues to harbour the expectation of living happily and remains oblivious that this wishful fantasy is an unconscious way of warding off the threat of psychic pain. Kate Ter Haar/Flickr, CC BY-SA
As the father of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud emphasised in his 1930 essay, Civilization and Its Discontents, we are much more vulnerable to unhappiness than its opposite. That’s because we are constantly threatened by three forces: the fragility of our physical self, “doomed” by ageing and disease; the external world, with its potential to destroy us (through floods, fires, storms and earthquakes, for example); and our unpredictably complicated relationships with other people (regarded by Freud as the most painful source of unhappiness).
So, am I simply a misanthrope? I hope not but I am inclined to agree with Elbert Hubbard, the American artist and philosopher, who said, “Life is just one damn thing after another“.
We only have to think about the 50 million people who are currently displaced and unlikely to find a secure haven anytime soon, or the 2.2 billion people – including millions of children – who live on less than US$2 a day to appreciate the validity of that remark.
A better option
Given the formidable obstacles to chasing after happiness or promoting its sustainability if we are lucky enough to come by it, what options do human beings have? I have not come across any meaningful approach to this question, even from the unswervingly confident proponents of the contemporary school of positive psychology.
So, I espouse the following: given that we have the means to distinguish between happiness and contentment, we can examine how they differ and, in so doing, identify an alternative to the futile pursuit of happiness.
Happiness, derived from the Norse word hap, means luck or chance; the phrase happy-go-lucky illustrates the association. Many Indo-European languages similarly conflate the feeling of happiness and luck. Glück in German, for instance, can be translated as either happiness or chance, while eftihia, the Greek word for happiness, is derived from ef, meaning good, and tixi, luck or chance.
Thus, a mother may have the good fortune to feel ecstatic when responding to her infant’s playfulness, only to see it evaporate a couple of years later and be replaced by the initial features of autism. In the story we started this article with, Jennifer may have persevered had her baby slept peacefully and not been assailed by colicky pain in her first few weeks of life.
Contentment is derived from the Latin contentus and usually translated as satisfied. No multiple meanings here to confuse us. In my view, feeling content refers to a deep-seated, abiding acceptance of one’s self and one’s worth together with a sense of self-fulfilment, meaning and purpose.
And, most critically, these assets are valued and nurtured whatever the circumstances, or even especially when they are distressing or depressing.I have had the privilege of knowing men and women who suffered grievously as children in the ghettoes and concentration camps of Nazi Europe but emerged from their nightmare to face the challenge of seeking strengths, emotional and spiritual, within themselves. With the passage of time, many succeeded in achieving a sense of deep-seated contentment.
What these survivors have clearly demonstrated is that accepting and respecting oneself, coupled with determining what is personally meaningful, stand a greater chance of accomplishment, even if never completed, than a relentless and ultimately futile pursuit of happiness. What’s more, contentment has the potential to serve as a robust foundation upon which episodes of joy and pleasure can be experienced and cherished.
ooOOoo
I read the essay on The Conversation out aloud to Jeannie yesterday morning and we both found it a very wise and insightful reflection.
Seems to me that there’s another aspect of life that we could learn from our wonderful dogs!
The effect of familiarity on dog–human interactions.
Introduction
You will remember that a couple of weeks ago, Professor Marc Bekoff generously gave me permission to publish his essay Butts and Noses: Secrets and Lessons from Dog Parks. The essence of the essay being that dog parks are gold mines of information about the behavior of dogs and humans. (Post published by Marc Bekoff Ph.D. on May 16, 2015 in Animal Emotions.)
The good Professor then went on to say that I was free to republish any of his essays so long as the usual accreditations and links were provided. So yesterday, I started going through the many html links in his essay, that essay may be read here, looking for posts that would interest readers of Learning from Dogs.
Dogs and their human companions: The effect of familiarity on dog–human interactions
Andrea Kerepesi (a), Antal Dóka (a), Ádám Miklósi (b)
(a) Department of Ethology, Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary
(b) MTA-ELTE Comparative Ethology Research Group, Budapest, Hungary
It’s a very interesting piece of research. I’m going to include the Abstract in today’s post and recommend if anyone wants to read the full article that they do so here.
So here is the Abstract.
ABSTRACT
There are few quantitative examinations of the extent to which dogs discriminate between familiar and unfamiliar persons. In our study we have investigated whether dogs show differential behaviour towards humans of different degrees of familiarity (owner, familiar person, unfamiliar person). Dogs and humans were observed in eight test situations: (1) Three-way strange situation test, (2) Calling in from food, (3) Obedience test, (4) Walking away, (5) Threatening approach, (6) Playful interaction, (7) Food inhibition test and (8) Manipulation of the dog’s body.
Dogs distinguished between the owner and the two other test partners in those tests which involved separation from the owner (Test 1, 4), were aversive for the dog (Test 5) or involved playing interac- tion (Test 6). Our results revealed that the owner cannot be replaced by a familiar person in situations provoking elevated anxiety and fear.
In contrasts, dogs did not discriminate between the owner and the familiar person in those tests that were based on obedient behaviour or behaviour towards an assertive person (Tests 2, 3, 7 and 8). Dogs’ former training experience reduced the difference between their behaviour towards the owner and the familiar person in situations requiring obedience but it did not mask it totally. The dogs’ behaviour towards each of the humans participating in the tests was consistent all over the test series.
In summary, dogs discriminated between their owner and the unfamiliar person and always preferred the owner to the unfamiliar person. However, the discrimination between the owner and the familiar person is context-specific.
This article is part of a Special Issue entitled: Canine Behavior.
Dear people, a very unreliable and intermittent internet connection meant it sensible to repeat a post from last year – An article from Mark Derr that is just beautiful.
That the dog is descended from the wolf—or more precisely, the wolf who stayed—is by now an accepted fact of evolution and history. But that fact is about all that is agreed to among the people who attempt to answer fundamental questions about the origins of the dog—specifically, the who, where, when, how and why of domestication.
Dates range from the dog’s earliest appearance in the archaeological record around 14,000 years ago to the earliest estimated time for its genetic sidestep from wolves around 135,000 years ago. Did the dog emerge in Central Europe, as the archaeological record suggests, or in East Asia, where the genetic evidence points? Were they tame wolves whose offspring over time became homebodies, or scavenging wolves whose love of human waste made them increasingly tame and submissive enough to insinuate themselves into human hearts? Or did humans learn to follow, herd and hunt big game from wolves and in so doing, enter into a complex dance of co-evolution?
Despite the adamancy of adherents to specific positions, the data are too incomplete, too subject to wildly different interpretations; some of the theories themselves too vague; and the physical evidence too sparse to say with certainty what happened. Nonetheless, some models—and not necessarily the most popular and current ones—more clearly fit what is known about dogs and wolves and humans than others. It is a field in high flux, due in no small measure to the full sequencing of the dog genome. But were I a bettor, I would wager that the winning view, the more-or-less historically correct one, shows that the dog is the result of the interaction of wolves and ancient humans rather than a self-invention by wolves or a “conquest” by humans.
Our views of the dog are integrally bound to the answers to these questions, and, for better or worse, those views help shape the way we approach our own and other dogs. It is difficult, for example, to treat as a valued companion a “social parasite” or, literally, a “shit-eater.” To argue that different breeds or types of dogs represent arrested stages of wolf development both physically and behaviorally is not only to confuse, biologically, description with prescription but also to overlook the dog’s unique behavioral adaptations to life with humans. Thus, according to some studies, the dog has developed barking, a little-used wolf talent, into a fairly sophisticated form of communication, but a person who finds barking the noise of a neotenic wolf is unlikely to hear what is being conveyed. “The dog is everywhere what society makes him,” Charles Dudley Warner wrote in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in 1896. His words still hold true.
Since the dog is both a cultural and a biological creation, it is worth noting here that these opposing views of the dog’s origin echo the old theory that the sniveling, slinking pariah dogs and their like—“southern breeds”—derived from jackals, while “northern breeds”—Spitz-like dogs and Huskies—descended directly from the wolf. Darwin thought as much, so did the pioneering ethologist Konrad Lorenz until late in his life, when he accepted that the wolf was the sole progenitor of the dog. In the theories of Raymond Coppinger and others—and I think this transference is unconscious—the scavenging jackal becomes a camp-following, offal-eating, self-domesticating weenie of a tame wolf. In turn, those wolves become the ur-dog, still manifest in the pariahs of India and Asia, from which the dog we know is said to have emerged. It’s a tidy, convenient, unprovable story that has an element of truth—dogs are accomplished scavengers—but beyond that, it is the jackal theory with a tattered new coat. In dropping humans from the process, the scavenging, self-domesticating wolf theory ignores the archaeological record and other crucial facts that undercut it.
Fossils found at Zhoukoudian, China, have suggested to archaeologists such as Stanley Olsen, author of Origins of the Domestic Dog, that wolves and Homo erectus were at least working the same terrain as early as 500,000 years ago. The remains of wolves and Homo erectus dating to around 300,000 years ago have also been found in association with each other at Boxgrove in Kent, England, and from 150,000 years ago at Lauzerte in the south of France. It seems more likely that this omnivorous biped, with its tools and weapons, lived and hunted in proximity to that consummate social hunter, the wolf, through much of Eurasia, than that their bones simply fell into select caves together. Who scavenged from whom, we cannot say.
Wolves were far more numerous then than now, and they adapted to a wide range of habitats and prey. On the Eurasian steppes, wolves learned to follow herds of ungulates—in effect, to herd them. Meriwether Lewis observed the same behavior during his journey across North America in the opening years of the 19th century; he referred to wolves that watched over herds of bison on the Plains as the bisons’ “shepherds.” Of course, those “shepherds” liked it when human hunters attacked a herd because they killed many more animals than the wolves, and although the humans carried off the prime cuts, they left plenty behind.
Ethologists Wolfgang M. Schleidt and Michael D. Shalter refer to wolves as the first pastoralists in “Co-evolution of Humans and Canids,” their 2003 paper in the journal Cognition and Evolution. Early humans, they argue, learned to hunt and herd big game from those wolves; thus, the dog emerged from mutual cooperation between wolves and early humans, possibly including Neanderthal. There is no evidence yet of Neanderthal having tame wolves, much less dogs, but the larger point is that when modern humans arrived on the scene, they found wolves already tending their herds, and they immediately began to learn from them. That was long before humans began, in some parts of the world, to settle into more permanent villages, some 12,000 to 20,000 or 25,000 years ago.
Schleidt and Shalter based their model on wolf behavior and on genetic studies that have consistently shown that dogs and wolves diverged between 40,000 and 135,000 years ago. The first of those studies emerged from the lab of Robert K. Wayne, an evolutionary biologist at the University of California at Los Angeles who had already made headlines by showing definitively that the dog descended from the wolf alone. In a paper appearing in the June 13, 1997, issue of Science, Wayne and his collaborators said that dogs could have originated around 135,000 years ago in as many as four different places. They also argued that genetic exchanges between wolves and dogs continued—as they do to this day, albeit in an age during which dogs have become ubiquitous and wolves imperiled.
Since that paper appeared, the dog genome has been fully sequenced and provides a time frame for domestication of 9,000 generations, which the authors of a paper on the sequencing in the December 8, 2005, issue of Nature pegged at 27,000 years. But except for that, subsequent studies of mitochondrial DNA, which is most commonly used to date species divergence, have pointed to a time frame of 40,000 to 135,000, with 40,000 to 50,000 years ago looking like the consensus date.
Most of this work has been conducted in Wayne’s lab; in the Uppsala University lab of Carles Vilà, his former student and the lead researcher on the 1997 paper; and in the lab of Peter Savolainen of the Royal Institute of Technology, Stockholm, another collaborator on the original paper.
A signal problem with the early date is that it doesn’t appear to match the archaeological record. The dog is not only behaviorally but also morphologically different from the wolf, and such an animal first appears in the fossil record around 14,000 years ago in Bonn-Oberkassel, Germany. Archaeologists nearly universally peg the origin of the dog to that time.
Wayne, Vilà and their supporters have suggested from the start that behavioral change could predate morphological change, which would have occurred when humans began to create permanent settlements, thereby cutting—or at least reducing—their wolf-dogs’ contact with wild wolves. People might also have begun attempting to influence the appearance of their dogs at this point.
But those Germans get in the way again. Bonn-Oberkassel, site of the consensus first fossil dog, is not a permanent settlement.
Trying to square genetic and archaeological dates, Peter Savolainen resurveyed the mitochondrial DNA of dogs and wolves, recalibrated the molecular clock and proposed in a paper in Science, November 22, 2002, that the dog originated in East Asia 15,000 to 40,000 years ago. It was a good try, but now it appears that his “40,000 years ago” date was more accurate. Also, the earliest known dog appears in Germany, not East Asia, a region to which other genetic evidence points as well.
In many ways, the dispute over dates and places is just a precursor for the debate over how that happened. Archaeologists and evolutionary biologists who want the first dogs to look like dogs have tended to argue that the transition is a result of a biological phenomenon called “paedomorphosis.” That basically means that the animal’s physical development is delayed relative to its sexual maturation. It produces dogs with more domed heads; shorter, broader muzzles; and overall reduced size and slighter build than a wolf. Accelerated physical development relative to sexual maturation (hypermorphosis), on the other hand, produces dogs larger than the progenitor wolf.
When maturation is stopped early enough, the resulting animal is said to resemble a “neotenic,” or perpetually juvenilized, wolf. Coppinger and others have carried the argument further to argue that behaviorally, the dog resembles a neotenic wolf, with some breeds being more immature or less developed than others. There is general agreement that, beginning in the late 19th century when the dog began to move into the city as a pet, breeders sought to soften and humanize the appearance of some breeds to make them look like perpetual puppies. But beyond that, it is more correct to view the dog as an entity different from the wolf.
Currently, many researchers like to invoke an experiment in domestication launched in 1959 at the Institute of Cytology and Genetics in Novosibirsk, Siberia, by Dmitry Belyaev and continued after his death by Lyudmila Trut and her colleagues. Belyaev selectively bred foxes for “tameness” alone, defined as their level of friendliness toward people. He ended up with foxes that resembled dogs. A number of them had floppy ears, piebald coats, curly tails and a habit of submissively seeking attention from their human handlers with whines, whimpers and licks. (I wouldn’t want such a dog.)
Anthropologist Brian Hare tested the tame foxes in 2004 and found that they, like dogs, had the capacity to follow a human’s gaze, something wolves and wild foxes, not to mention chimpanzees, won’t do.
A number of researchers have embraced these tame foxes as a template for dog domestication. While they doubtless cast insight on the problem, I doubt that they will answer all questions. Arguments by analogy are suspect science and should be even more so in this case, since the selection criteria for these foxes were also against aggression—hardly the case for dogs—and foxes clearly are not wolves.
That said, the experiment does appear to confirm that selective breeding for behavior alone can also produce morphological changes similar to what the wolf experienced in becoming a dog.
Coppinger has invoked the fox experiment to support his theory that wolves that became dogs self-domesticated. As humans in some areas moved into permanent settlements, their refuse heaps became feeding grounds for wolves who were tame enough—or least-frightened enough—to feed near humans. Subsequent generations became more tame, and people began to allow them to wander their camps, eating feces, hunting rodents. From that group, people took some animals for food. Then, when the animals were thoroughly self-tamed, people began to train them to more wolfish behaviors, like hunting.
What he and others overlook in citing the fox experiment is that those animals were subjected to intense artificial selection by people. They also ignore the fact that the first dog appears in a seasonal camp, not a permanent settlement.
In their book, Dogs, Coppinger and his wife, Lorna, argue that these early protodogs would have resembled the ownerless dogs of Pemba Island, a remote part of the Zanzibar archipelago. As a model, Pemba suffers numerous problems, as does Coppinger’s theory. It is an Islamic island, and Islam has scarce place for dogs, believing them filthy, largely because they scavenge and eat excrement.
Beyond that, Pemba was a wealthy island in the 18th and 19th centuries due to its clove plantations, which were worked by African slaves and overseen by Arabs. The plantations have long since fallen into disrepair, on an island populated by the descendants of free slaves, where poverty is the rule. Attempting to read the past by looking at the present is a well recognized form of historical fallacy. It can’t be done, especially in a place where there is no strong cultural tradition.
Elsewhere in the developing world, free-ranging dogs are often more than scavengers or food. Some are fed; they protect territories or vendors’ carts. A few might be taken in, but, again, these dogs must be studied and understood in their current context and then placed in a broader historical context, if possible.
Moreover, Coppinger ignores the entire tradition of dogs and people in Europe, Japan and Korea—wherever dogs were employed from an apparently early date for a purpose, including companionship and ritual. Archaeologist Darcy F. Morey clearly demonstrated in the February 2006 issue of The Journal of Archaeological Science that people have been burying dogs and treating them with reverence and respect from the beginning, hardly the fate of scavengers.
People will argue, but I think the question of whether the dog is a juvenilized wolf is best answered with this observation: The dog follows human gaze, according to Hare, and is so attentive to people that it can imitate them, according to Vilmos Csányi, and it does so from an early age. No wolf of any age can replicate that basic behavior. It is far better to look at the dog as a differently developed wolf than as a developmentally retarded wolf.
Similarly, until shown otherwise, it seems more accurate to view domestication as a dynamic process involving wolves and people. At a time when the boundaries between human and wild were much more porous than now, people doubtless took in animals, especially young animals of all kinds, especially wolf pups, since in many places, they were hunting the same game and perhaps scavenging from each other.
As those pups matured, they returned to the wild to breed, with the naturally tamest among them denning close to the camp where they had been raised and, yes, could scavenge. Over the past year, researchers have shown that the area of the brain known as the amygdala is quite active when “fear of the other” begins to develop. In 2004, a team of researchers from Uppsala University, including Vilà, reported in the journal Molecular Brain Research on changes they had found in gene expression in the frontal lobe, hypothalamus and amygdala of wolves, coyotes and dogs. More than 40 years ago, J.P. Scott and John L. Fuller showed that the dog pup had a lengthened socialization period before fear of the other set in, compared with the wolf pup.
No one knows how fast the change happened, but in some places, tame wolves—dogs—resulted from this process. They provided territorial defense, helped with hunting (which they do well), scavenged, and were valued for companionship and utility. Some could be trained to carry packs. That early dog probably remained nearly indistinguishable from the wolf except in places where their gene pool became limited by virtue of some isolating event. The smaller gene pool forced inbreeding that, along with changing environmental conditions, somehow “destabilized” the genome.
Vilà and two colleagues suggested in an article published online on June 29, 2006, in Genome Research, that domestication relaxed “selective constraint” on the dog’s mitochondrial genome, and if that relaxation extended to the whole genome, as it appeared to, “it could have facilitated the generation of novel functional genetic diversity.”
European and North American breeders have taken full advantage of that or some other mechanism to create the most morphologically diverse mammal around. But other cultures did not follow that path.
There are other theories afloat in what is an exciting time for people who study dogs. But the one that succeeds will reflect the dynamic relationship between human and dog.
This article first appeared in The Bark, Issue 38: Sep/Oct 2006
Mark Derr is the author of A Dog’s History of America, Dog’s Best Friend, The Frontiersman: The Real Life and Many Legends of Davy Crockett, Some Kind of Paradise, and numerous articles on science, environment and transportation.
ooOOoo
Thank you, Mark.
Time and time again, I marvel at how this modern, wired world creates such beautiful connections.
I’m not going to repeat my full introduction to Professor Bekoff’s essay from yesterday other than to repeat this:
Thus with Marc Bekoff’s generous permission, here is his essay in full. (I’ve taken the decision to split this long essay into two parts.)
Finally, Professor Bekoff includes numerous ‘html’ links within his essay to other materials. I’ve cheated by saving quite some time adding those links but have underlined the linked phrase in question, apart from the very early chapters that do have ‘html’ links. Please go to the site of the original essay to explore further those links.
Marc Bekoff and friend.
ooOOoo
Butts and Noses: Secrets and Lessons from Dog Parks (Concluding Part)
Dog parks are gold mines of information about the behavior of dogs and humans
Are dogs really our best friends and are we really their best friends?
I’m asked these questions a lot and I always say it’s simply not so that dogs are “unconditional lovers.” They discriminate among humans just like we discriminate among dogs. And, while dogs might love “too much,” they’re very careful about to whom they open up. So, sometimes — perhaps very often — dogs are our best friends and we are their best friends but we all know of picky dogs and the horrific abuse to which dogs are subjected.
Are dogs really free at a dog park?
I often hear something like, “Oh I love coming to the dog park because my dog is so free” – and then she’s/he’s called back constantly when he plays too roughly or strays too far. People surely differ in how much control they exert, but some just don’t give their dog the opportunity to play, sniff, and hump. Control freaks often abound and they don’t realize it. Patrick Jackson, in the essay to which I referred above, writes about how “caretakers become ‘control managers’ who must negotiate problems related to a variety of dog behaviors, especially mounting, aggression, and waste management.” He’s right on the mark, but there are also those who get upset when play gets a bit rough, even when the dogs obviously are enjoying themselves.
Do dogs display dominance?
Yes, they do, just like many other animals. There is major confusion and mistakes among many “dog people” about what dominance really means, and dogs, like numerous other animals, do indeed use various forms of dominance in their social interactions. However, this does not mean that dominance is equated with overt aggression and physical harm nor that we need to dominate them in order to live in harmony with them (for more on this topic and the fact that dominance is not a myth please see this essay and and and references therein).
Why do dogs mount and hump?
Here are some of the statements I hear about dog mounting and humping: “Oh my God, my dog was fixed to stop this stuff.” “Oh, that’s easy, it’s always to dominate the other dog.” “Domination.” “Dogs are hyper-sexual because of domestication.” There are many reasons why dogs hump and there’s not a single answer (please see this essay and references therein).
Do Dogs feel shame and guilt?
While I hear numerous stories about shame and guilt, the simple and most correct answer is that we really don’t know. While we’re not all that good at reading guilt this does not mean that they do not feel guilt (please see this essay and references therein).
Do dogs get jealous?
Yes they do and a study published in 2014 showed this to be the case (please see this essay and references therein). I often hear very compelling stories about jealousy in dogs.
Do dogs get bored?
Yes, of course they do, just as do many other mammals, especially those living in various conditions of captivity. It’s clear that researchers and zoo administrators, for example, recognize that animals get bored, hence the numerous enrichment programs that are designed to relieve the animals’ boredom. The detailed research of Francois Wemelsfelder is a wonderful place to begin to learn about boredom in animals (see also the essays listed here).
Do dogs suffer from PTSD and other psychological disorders?
Yes they do as do many other animals.
Do dogs mind being used as service dogs or in animal assisted therapy?
Because dogs are such a variable lot, it’s impossible to say something like, “Of course they do.” The correct answer is that because dogs vary in personality and temperament there are some who would mind it and some who won’t. I’ve met many in each camp and I’m sure many readers have as well.
Are there Attention Deficit Dogs (ADD’s)?
I often hear people say that their dogs don’t hear them or that they ignore them most of the time. While there are many reasons why this might be so, it’s entirely possible that there are dogs who get so excited they simply don’t respond to their human’s requests. But, it’s also possible that some dogs do suffer from attention deficit disorder and hyperactivity.
How often does social play escalate into serious aggressive encounters?
We all know that play behavior predominates at dog parks and that dogs have fun when they play (see also) and that play is very contagious. Dogs play socially with one another, often involving objects, and they also play alone with objects or just go berserk on their own because it feels good. Dogs can play very roughly and still be in control and there are distinct “rules of social play” that help to keep even a vigorous interaction well within bounds so that there’s really little or no worry that play will escalate into aggression. Nonetheless, I hear this statement a lot: “Oh whenever dogs play it turns into aggression.” It doesn’t. My own observations suggest that it seems escalation happens more in large groups in which dogs can’t read one another’s subtle signals that “this still is play,” but it is very rare. Dogs can be rather fair. I want to say a bit more on this topic because it seems to be major reason why dogs are called back to their human or that humans break up rough-and-tumble play.
Although my students and I haven’t kept detailed records on this aspect of play for dogs, we all agree that play didn’t turn into serious fighting in more than around 2% of the 1000s of play bouts we’ve observed. Current observations at dog parks around Boulder, Colorado support our conclusion. And, for the approximately 1000 play bouts that my students and I observed in wild coyotes, mainly youngsters, on only about five occasions did we see play fighting escalate into serious fighting. Along these lines, Shyan, Fortune, and King (2003) discovered that fewer than 0.5% of play fights in dogs developed into conflict, and only half of these were clearly aggressive encounters. In this case our intuitions were right on the mark. Of course, there may be dogs who simply bite too hard or slam too hard into their play partners when they get highly aroused and lost in play, and this results in an aggressive encounter of varying intensity. But that is the exception rather than the rule, for play fighting only very rarely escalates into real fighting. Because play is a foundation of fairness there is a good deal of cooperation among the players as they negotiate the ongoing interaction so that it remains playful. I think one can make a good case for their having a theory of mind. Nonetheless, we still need more data on this aspect of play as well.
Do older dogs play less than younger dogs?
While this is true of wild animals who have to work harder to survive and to thrive, older dogs play a lot when they can and we really need more data on this question.
Do dogs have a theory of mind?
We don’t know. While some studies suggest they don’t, we need more “naturalistic” research especially when dogs are socially interacting. Because play is a foundation of fairness and there is a good deal of cooperation among the players as they negotiate the ongoing interaction so that it remains playful. Perhaps dogs even know what their playmates are thinking and feeling. Do they have a theory of mind? While I think so, we still need more data on this aspect of play as well.
Why do dogs roll and writhe on their back?
It could be to impart an odor. A wild canid known as the raccoon dog who lives in South America has a scent gland on its back. Dogs might also roll on their back to mask their own odor. And, of course, it might feel really good so why not do it? I love watching dogs writhe on their back and they look like they’re in doggie heaven.
Do dogs have a sense of time? The “two minute warning”
We really don’t know much at all about the dog’s sense of time. Yet, people often use what I call the “two minute warning” and ask their dog if it’s okay if they leave in 2 minutes, or people tell their dog something like, “You have 5 minutes more to play with your friends before we go to the store.” They also ask their dog, “What the hell took you so long, I’ve been calling you for minutes?” or “Where were you when I called you?” I can well imagine the dog thinking something like, “Huh?”
Why do dogs snort?
While there are physical reasons why dogs snort, recent research shows that dogs sort odors in their nose, forcing out those that aren’t relevant or salient, hence the snort and often a good deal of snot (for more on the fascinating dog’s nose please see this essay and this.
Why do dogs try to pee and nothing comes out?
This is called “dry marking” and we know that lifting a leg as if the dog is peeing serves as a visual signal to tell others he is. Often a dog will “dry mark” and then pee a few seconds later, so it’s clear their bladder isn’t empty. A study I did years ago with some students showed that dogs do this more often when there are other dogs around who can see them and then pee a bucket.
Why do dogs scratch the ground after they pee or poop?
They do this for a number of possible reasons and there isn’t a simple answer to this question.
Poop central: Why do people talk so much about dog poop at dog parks?
People also talk about poop a lot as if they’re freer to do so with their dog. Matthew Gilbert notes, “poop was more of a thing at the park than I had expected.” (p. 66) He also talks about a “stray bowel movement” as a “voluminous and frozen still life” (p, 67). Dog poop is a ripe area for future research.
Why do dogs stick their noses into butts, groins, and ears?
It’s a way of greeting and social investigation, but there haven’t been any studies of which I’m aware that provide any details about why they do this, even to their dog friends or humans. It’s been suggested that some animals might pick up information on the food others have eaten.
Are there breed specific odors?
Many people report that on their first encounter with other dogs, members of the same breed prefer one another and treat breed members differently from individuals of different breeds. There’s been some discussion that there may be a common odor to members of the same breed. However, my reading of available information is that we really know little about this question right now.
Do dogs know what they look like?
While dogs know what they smell like, they don’t know what they look like, or might they? Research done on birds in the 1960s suggests that they might learn their own color from reflections in water. So, I suppose dogs might know what they look like if they’ve seen their own reflection, but we need much more research about this question.
Why do dogs circle before lying down?
Dogs do not always circle before lying down, as some authors claim. They likely do it to flatten or soften the ground, and may also be looking around to see who’s around before they relax. In a study some of my students did years ago they reported that the dogs they watched circled around 65% of the time, but more detailed studies are needed.
Why does the hair on a dog’s back stand up?
This is called piloerection (sort of like goose bumps) and indicates that a dog is highly aroused but not necessarily aggressive. Many other species, including birds, show the same (sympathetic nervous system) response.
Dogs and humans: Why do people open up at dog parks?
Dogs can easily serve as icebreakers and social catalysts. People often open up at dog parks and talk to friends about things they likely don’t talk about in other arenas. They seem to feel safe among kinfolks. Some people began talking to me about pretty personal stuff within a minute of meeting them such as a woman who decided that she didn’t like her BFF because of how she treated a dog she just rescued, and a woman who, after meeting someone for around 10 seconds, decided that the woman wasn’t a good dog owner because she was suffering from bipolar disorder but didn’t know it! Some people – men and women, alike – have told me that dogs are social magnets and make it easy to meet other people who also are out with their canine BFF. These discussions often have very interesting “conclusions.” Enough on that for now …
Why do dogs eat grass?
There are many reasons and Stanley Coren has written a good myth-debunking essay on this. He notes that dogs do not eat grass to cause vomiting to relieve stomach distress. While it’s possible that some dogs do, we need a lot more research on this question.
More questions for a future essay
The list of questions can go on and on, and some questions I’ll consider in the future include: Why do dogs chase their tail? Why do dogs bark and what sort of barks are there? Why do dogs bark and howl at sirens? Why does my dog hoard tennis balls? Are dogs territorial as are wolves? Why do dogs pee/scent mark so much? Why do dogs sniff pee so much even when it’s their friends’ pee? Why do males sometimes squat when they pee and why do females sometimes lift their leg? Do dogs have a sense of self? Studies of “yellow snow” suggest they do. Are they conscious? (Of course they are, and scientists agree.) Why do dogs sniff and eat frozen turds? Why do dogs eat gooey feces? Why do dogs dig holes and then lie in them? Why do dogs scrape their butt on the ground? Why do people openly disparage their dog and then tell them they love them? (I often hear something like, “Oh, he’s really retarded, but I love him” or “You are so fat!” or “My goodness, your breath stinks!). Do dogs pick up on these mixed signals?“ Do dogs have a “little dog” complex? Do dogs make and use tools? (They do.) Why do dogs drink filthy water? How do dogs pick their mates? Do dogs dream? Do dogs get heartburn? Do dogs sweat? Do dogs understand baby talk? (People are well known to talk to dogs as if they’re infant humans.) What does “feral” mean? How did wolves become dogs? (Please see essays by Mark Derr.) What’s the difference between a socialized animal and a domesticated animal? (A wolf who likes humans is a socialized wolf. A domesticated wolf is a dog.) Do dogs really live in the moment? (No, their past clearly influences their behavior — just ask anyone who’s rescued an abused dog — and they think about the future — just watch a dog waiting for a frisbee or a ball to be thrown and watch them track the trajectory, although tracking might not be conscious, even in humans.)
Where to from here? There are many holes in the database and dog parks are gold mines of information.
It’s important to stress that there here are many holes in the database, and people find this very surprising because of many popular dog books that purport to “tell it like it is,” as if there are facts about this or that question. Dog parks are wonderful places for studies in dog-dog ethology and anthrozoology, the study of human-animal interactions, and I hope this essay will stimulate people to conduct formal studies and encourage citizen scientists to share their stories that can be used to generate further more systematic studies.
Studies in dog parks, that some may call “too uncontrolled,” may also shed light on questions that are being debated among different groups of researchers, for example, whether dogs follow human gazing or pointing and how well they perform these activities, or if dogs have a theory of mind. And, let’s face it, some laboratory studies also are rather uncontrolled, mainly because dogs are such a mixed bag of participants as might be the researchers themselves. Watching animals in their “natural habitats,” and dog parks might qualify as such, has shed much light on various aspects of behavior that are difficult to study in captivity or in other more controlled environs. Although many lab studies of dogs are likely more controlled than those conducted on free-running dogs, many people have seen behavior patterns that warrant reinvestigation in more ecologically relevant situations.
I continue to learn a lot about dog and human behavior when I visit dog parks. People often feel free to offer advice even when they knew who I am and what I do for a living. But, on a number of occasions, I chose to keep some distance to determine if their comments and explanations to other people (and often to the dogs) differ from when they know I’m around. For the most part, they did not. For example, I’ve been told that “familiar dogs definitely play differently from unfamiliar dogs,” that “humping is always about dominance,” that “dogs know what other dogs are thinking and feeling and they also know the same about people,” and that “know-it-all researchers ought to get off their butts and out of the ivory tower and watch dogs in the field.” On a few occasions some people made it clear that I had a lot to learn about dogs and they could teach me some valuable lessons. When I agreed, they were very surprised, and over the years I’ve had many interesting discussions that have made me re-evaluate what we know and don’t know about dog behavior and dog-human interactions. Concerning two of the areas above, we actually don’t know if familiar dogs play differently from unfamiliar dogs (I’ve got a student studying this) and, as I mentioned above, there’s not just one explanation for humping. Anyway …
There are numerous research projects just waiting to be done as we watch dogs romp here and there and have fun, meet old friends and strangers, and negotiate social relationships with other dogs and humans. I’m aware that I may have missed some studies so I hope readers will send me the details and share them in the comments section for this essay.
Dog behavior, in all of its kaleidoscopic forms, is an incredibly exciting field of research
Dogs openly share with us a lot about what they know and what they’re thinking and feeling, and we just have to be keen enough and patient enough to figure it all out. Dogs also are wonderful social catalysts and social magnets and they can help us learn a lot about ourselves. The arena of inquiry about dog-dog behavior and dogs and their humans truly is deep and boundless and there are numerous opportunities for studies at dog parks, where dogs frolic and sometimes cower and have to learn to deal with a wide variety of social situations with other dogs and humans, and at other places where dogs and humans congregate. And, as I mentioned before, talking about “the dog” can often be misleading and perilous.
Dog behavior, in all of its kaleidoscopic forms, is an incredibly exciting field of research, and I really look forward to seeing further studies of the above and other questions. When people tell me they’re having trouble coming up with a research project I humbly ask them if they’ve thought about dogs, and then the conversation gets going and going and going ….
Marc Bekoff’s latest books are Jasper’s story: Saving moon bears (with Jill Robinson), Ignoring nature no more: The case for compassionate conservation, Why dogs hump and bees get depressed, and Rewilding our hearts: Building pathways of compassion and coexistence.The Jane effect: Celebrating Jane Goodall (edited with Dale Peterson) has recently been published. (marcbekoff.com; @MarcBekoff)
ooOOoo
Now I don’t know about you but I found this essay both fascinating and wonderfully interesting. If I ever get the chance to publish other essays or information from the good Professor you can bet your life that I will, and without hesitation!
Learning from Dogs 