1 jar (jahr = year) = 365 days.

7 tage ( = days) = 1 woche ( = week).

so for 1 jar = 52 wochen = 365 tage.

The days of the week are called:--

1 montag.

2 dinstag (dienstag).

3 mitwoch (mittwoch).

4 donerstag (donnerstag).

5 freitag.

6 samstag.

7 sontag (Sonntag); no work for Lola!

[14] So as to avoid confusing her I always write the _sound_ only.

This was to be--at the same time--a test of Lola's reading. I placed the chart on the floor where she could look at it, and repeated: "To-morrow you must be able to know this. Now spell the first word to me. And she tapped "jar." I once more went over this new lesson, explaining it all, but put no more questions, only leaving the paper where she could from time to time look at it.

The next day I removed the chart early, and later began my questioning; fully prepared for somewhat crazy results. First I asked:

"How many days are there in a week?" She rapped "7."

"And in three weeks?" "21."

"How many weeks has a year?" "52."

I praised her warmly--her interest seemed roused, for she had rapped her answers with a sort of joyful certainty! So I continued:

"Name the second day in the week?" "dinstag!"

"And what is the day called on which you do no work?" "sontag!"

"And which day in the week is that?" "7."

I then said: "To-day is Tuesday; now remember the days carefully: to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow--and the next you must always tell me the name of the day on which I ask." I then dropped the subject, and tested her on the morrow: "What is to-day?" "Mitwoch!" I next questioned her at random as to the weeks and the year, and all her answers were correct. I was very surprised on this occasion at the short time she had taken--in spite of the rapidity of so much of her earlier work, and I began to feel a sense of certainty as to the possibility of making greater demands on her. Hitherto Lola had always been able to prove to those who have seen her at her performances that she _can_ state the day of the week correctly, yet of late she has no longer taken the same delight in doing so; it has become "a bore"--and for this reason she is now only asked two or three times a month. Four days after she had learnt this accomplishment I tackled the dates. At first it was rather difficult to explain to her _why_ a year, which was already divided into weeks, should be again sub-divided into months--within which, moreover, the weeks could not be disposed of in complete numbers. Once more I made out my chart, and wrote down everything as I had done on previous occasions, but with divisions into twelve parts. Then I wrote out the months and placed the number of days after each, making the addition at the bottom of the chart come to 365.

I then explained to her that, besides being divided into weeks, the year was also divided into months, so that each day of the year might be more easily remembered. I told her that for instance--"this day was Sat.u.r.day; that it was in the month of March, and that to-day was the 13th of March." That "yesterday had been Friday, the 12th of March, and that to-morrow would be the 14th," and so forth. Then I left my chart on the floor again, and did not refer to the subject any more that day.

On Sunday Lola was seldom given anything to do so that the divisions of the week should be firmly planted in her memory. Having, therefore, removed the chart on Sunday, I asked her on Monday:

"How many months has the year?" Answer: "12."

"And what is the second month called?" "February."

She was very eager and giving her undivided attention to the work, so I continued: "What day is to-day?" "Monday." "What number is this day?"

"12." Now, this was wrong, so I said: "Yesterday was the 14th, so what is to-day?" And she replied: "15." I said: "How many days has March?"

Answer: "31." This last answer seemed to me the most astonishing, especially as I had not really laid much stress on this part of the lesson--fearing I might be expecting too much from her at the beginning. As a matter of fact, I was myself by no means sure as to the number of days in March, and had to verify it first! Up to this day Lola has not forgotten how many days there are in each month, although this question has merely been asked now and again; it has not been put to her now for about nine months. Owing to the regularity of my daily work I take but little heed of dates, so it comes that I have often put the question to her, for when I _do_ ask it is of importance to me to have accurate information, and I have always been able to rely on Lola's quick and steady rap, subsequent reference invariably proving that I can place implicit confidence in her.

SIGHT

A dog's sight hardly plays so important a part in canine life as do scent and hearing; yet, inferior as the eye would seem in some respects, it yet excels in others. It may be observed in the case of any dog that he only recognizes his master or any person he is acquainted with at a distance of--at most--20 metres. If either my old sheep-dog or Lola come to meet me they do not see first _at all_ that there is a person standing on the road. If one moves, the dog will then recognize at a distance of some 50 metres, that a human being is in front of it--the movements being responsible for this. Then, when one gets within 10 or 20 metres, the cautious and critical aspect changes, and the dog will rush forward in joyous welcome. This is enough to show that in comparison to our sight, theirs is inferior; and there are dogs that see even much worse than in the case just cited. To test this it is well to stand against the wind, otherwise the dog scents what it cannot see. It is the same case with game. At the distance, therefore, the canine eye does not seem quick of sight, but it becomes all the sharper at close quarters. Here the swift glance and good memory far out-strip our own equipment.

It was conspicuous from the beginning--both in counting and spelling--that Lola was able to learn and memorize in a surprisingly short time. Lola's charts of figures and letters were written in my none-too-clear handwriting--and yet she could remember combinations of figures amounting to ten in number from one day to the other. She could also recognize persons from their portraits, and pictures of objects familiar to her, a faculty of observation I have tested in numerous little ways. This gift was also possessed by Krall's horses and by Rolf. People seem to have the idea that dogs do not observe much, but there is no valid reason for this. Children in their _navete_ will show their picture-book to a dog as to a friend: "Look here!" they will cry--it is only the _exception_ when it occurs to a "grown-up" to do the same.

I can only say that I have convinced myself and proved to the astonishment of many that a dog _can_ recognize both the letters of the alphabet and the subject of a picture shown to it.

Not that these abilities exceed those of man, at first sight, but when the matter is probed into deeply they _do_ out-strip ours in one particular, and that is in celerity. For instance, if I write three or four rows of figures, one beneath the other, doing so quickly, without making any calculation myself, and then hold the paper before Lola's eyes, so that I can look into them, I see her glance skim the figures for a second or two, she will then hang her head, in evident calculation--after which she looks out straight in front of her and raps her reply. Rarely does her glance go over the paper a second time.

In early days I used to think that, before holding out my hand to receive her answer, I ought to hold her head firmly and oblige her to keep her eyes on the sheet, for it seemed to me she must needs look at it for five minutes--_at least_. But Lola always tries hard to avoid looking--so I let her have her own way, and am trying to account for the cause of this quick glance by a closer study. It was the same thing when I wrote down a question--her eye flew over the sentence in three or four seconds, and the answer was given without a second glance.

People to whom I have not said anything about this have stood behind me during these tests, and have generally been more impressed by the fact of her _reading_ them than by the _swiftness_ with which it was done.

But it is the latter that amazed me most of all, for reading she and we have in common--and is indeed so far simpler a matter that there is no reason for a dog not acquiring it--but it is the _comprehension_ of what it is doing, and the _speed_ with which it translates what it has seen into intelligent replies that seem to me the most surprising part of all. Another instance in connexion with what I term the "cursory glance" may throw light upon this curious ability. I had heard of the way in which Rolf was able to count the flowers in a bunch, and so--on the 16 April, 1917, I thought I would try something of the same kind with Lola. For this lesson I took a sheet of paper and peppered it with dots, without any thought at regularity.

Lola's first answer after looking at it for about four seconds was "34." "Are you sure?" I asked; "tell me again." She then responded with "32." I took my pencil, scratching out each dot as I went over them--there were just 32!

As she had hesitated in the first test I thought I might have made the dots too small, so taking another bit of paper I proceeded to make dots of a larger size. "How many?" I asked again. Answer: "14." I then checked this reply and found it right. The next day I covered another sheet with dots, but this time of various sizes. Lola rapped "27." "Are you sure?" I asked. "Yes!" So I counted, and there were 23. "Count again!" I commanded. "27," said she. "Lola, I can only make them 23;"

"27!" insisted this dog! I could not make out the reason for this, unless, that owing to there being some writing on the reverse side, a few marks may have shown through, and thus account for the wrong answer.

On 19 April I made an attempt with red dots, but she was tired, and rapped out first 25, then 23 and finally 19--there were 19 dots. Then I made some blue dots and she rapped "11." "Are you sure?" Again "11."

And this, too, was right.

I put this test several times and it was always successful when the dots were sufficiently large and regular and did not exceed 35; also if the colour was dark--either blue or black. Later on, when I read Krall's book I found that the horses had been submitted to this test with equally good results. Professor Kraemer of Hohenheim attributes the reason for this to the fact of animals having originally lived in herds, and that their "leader" as well as the other horses always knew whether their full complement was present or not. I have had the same experience with clucking-hens. A clucking-hen with twelve chicks knows at once should one be missing, and seeks it even when it cannot utter a sound, and while all the rest of her brood are running about in such confusion that it would seem impossible to count them oneself. How animals manage to do this without a sense of figures and without words always remains a puzzle to me! Now, the measure taken by a dog's eye is almost as accurate as is its sight for near objects, and its swift glance and comprehensive eye for detail. It is true that all these tests have been put to my dog Lola _alone_, but I venture to say that these facts will be found to apply to all dogs in common, should they belong to a natural and healthy breed of animals, and not to an artificially procured variety.

As to "measuring by eye," this was a test put to her accidentally.

About the beginning of June, 1917, for lack of any better idea at the moment, I determined to teach her the use of the yard measure (the metre), and without having any definite object in view. So I fetched the yard-stick and told her the names and the meaning of the divisions three times; but she seemed unable to work up any enthusiasm for the subject, and I therefore did not attempt to question her. Many duties intervened, and so I forgot the whole matter for several weeks. But on 25 July I thought it might be just as well to test her eye for measure, and this reminded me of the yard-stick. So I asked for fun: "Do you remember that I showed you the yard-stick?" "Yes!" was her prompt reply. In astonishment I continued: "How many centimetres are there to the metre?" "100!" "And how many decimetres to twenty centimetres?"

"2." "And how many decimetres in two and a half centimetres?" "25."

Now, for the joke of the thing, I determined to test the accuracy of her eye, for I had not yet fetched the yard-stick, and she had, in fact, not seen it for many weeks. So I pointed to the outside edge of a small picture-frame that I--at a guess--took to be about twenty-two centimetres in length. At the same time I must own that I have never exercised my judgment in this line to any very great extent. "How long is this lower edge?" I asked her, "from _here_ to _here_?" (pointing): her answer was, "25." I then tested it by the stick; it was twenty-six!

I pointed to a larger frame, putting the same question, she answered "50." I measured, and found it to be 75. Again I showed her a smaller picture, and she rapped "19." Then I showed her a piece of chocolate--"7"

was her reply--it was seven and a half. Later on, when she was in the mood she became able to guess within _half_ a centimetre at a distance of about thirty centimetres and at greater distances--up to one metre; I estimated the difference to vary from about one to ten centimetres.

Of late I have not given her much practice of this kind, for from the beginning she has not cared much for it. But I have made the experiment of seeing whether she can distinguish colours in the same way we do. To make this test I daubed some of the most important colours on a sheet of paper, writing the name beneath each, and the next day I daubed the same colours on another piece of paper--but in different sequence, and without adding their names. The ready response to my questions gave further proof as Lola's good memory as well as of her perfect ability to differentiate.

I next questioned her on more practical subjects. I said: "What is the colour of the stove in this room?" at the same time looking out of the window to make sure that she knew what a "stove" was. "Green," was her answer--and quite right too, for the stove is built of green porcelain tiles. I asked her a few more questions relating to flowers and to articles in daily use until I had no further doubt as to her being competent to tell one colour from the other. Coming generations may, perhaps, laugh at these numerous tests, instead of crediting animals with this ability as a matter of course!

HER PERFECT SENSE FOR SOUND

In my quest for further tests as to canine abilities, the idea occurred to me that it might be as well to arrive at a greater degree of certainty with respect to sound, that is, inquiring into a dog's memory for sound, and their powers of differentiating one tune from another.

In the case of my old dog, I had already observed many things such as inclined those to whom I had related my experiences, to be of opinion that these had to do with the dog's ear. For instance, if I had been away, and returned (either driving or on foot), conversing in low tones with another person, this dog would _scream_ for joy. His voice on such occasions was of quite a special quality, and everybody about the court-yard knew that I must have already pa.s.sed the tree known as the "Abend Eiche," which stands some hundred metres distant, and the dog was always at that time confined, though in the open. Our conversations on such occasions were always quiet ones, and yet the dog recognized my voice at a distance of a hundred metres. If I happened to return alone and on foot, after an absence of about two days, his cries would start when I had reached _half that distance_--therefore, at fifty metres--and Lola would then also hear my step. And here is another example--one about which I was at first doubtful, not knowing to which sense it should be attributed. I always knew from Lola when I might expect a certain friend of mine--a friend to whom, by the way, she was really more attached than to me! I used to know by the heavy raps of her tail against the floor. The room in which we would be at such times was on the second floor and lay towards the front of the house. But when those antic.i.p.atory raps began my friend was still on her way, coming by a path which lay in the rear of the house, and, moreover, she always came alone. When the dog was present she could never take me by surprise.