Authors: John W. Pilley
Chaser
The Dog Who Knows a Thousand Words
“You've Got to Name Her Chaser!”
Chaser Learns What Not to Chase
Copyright © 2013 by John W. Pilley, Jr.
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All rights reserved
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For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available
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ISBN
978-0-544-10257-6
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e
ISBN
978-0-544-10243-9
v1.1013
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To Sally
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There are some simple truths . . . and the dogs know what they are.
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Joseph Duemer,
A Dog's Book of Truths
1
T
HE TWENTY OR SO
nine-year-old boys and girls squirmed and murmured in their seats as Chaser walked into their fourth grade classroom at Public School 31 in Brooklyn.
“She's here!”
“She looks bigger on TV.”
“She's so cute!”
The children's desks were pushed to the back and sides of the room, positioned so they all had a good view of the space that had been cleared at the front of the classroom.
I let Chaser off the leash and she went straight to my grandson, Aidan, who was sitting at one end of the first row with a giant smile plastered on his face.
Aidan had been begging us to bring Chaser to visit his class. He had told his teacher, Mrs. Tapper, about our visit to New York for several national television appearances, and most of the class had watched Chaser demonstrate her unprecedented language skills on
Nova scienceNow
a few days before. Now here we were, about to present those skills in person.
After greeting Aidan, Chaser moved on to the other children, looking up at each one expectantly and wagging her tail. As Aidan's classmates leaned down to pet Chaser, her tail wagged harder and her tongue lolled out of her mouth in an ecstatic canine grin.
Chaser is not an imposing dog physically. She's normal Border collie size, about twenty inches tall at the shoulder and about forty pounds. Her thick, fluffy coat is mostly white with splotches of gray and flecks of black, except for large patches of black on the left side of her head, both sides of her torso, and her hind legs. Although she has plenty of spirit, overall she has a soft temperament. I often tell people, “She's a lover, not a fighter.”
All the same, a few children were a little shy about touching Chaser. Any dog can be intimidating for people who aren't used to them. Chaser has lots of experience with children, however. She knows that they're the best possible candidates for her favorite activity, play. She wiggled and squirmed and wagged her tail appealingly in front of the shier kids, and soon even the most reluctant children were grinning right back at her.
It was time to begin. We only had an hour and there was a lot to show. The principal, Mrs. Scarlato, went and stood in the back of the classroom with her camera, and Mrs. Tapper introduced my wife, Sally, our daughter (and Aidan's mom) Debbie, and me to the class. Then I called Chaser to me and she lay down at my feet.
“I'm Dr. Pilley,” I told the children, “and I'm a scientist. Can anyone tell me what scientists do?”
One boy's hand shot up, and I pointed to him. “Scientists invent things,” he said. Another offered, “They look at stars and rocks and stuff like that.” And a girl said, “They study plants and animals, too.”
I asked, “Why do scientists study things like rocks and stars and oceans and plants and animals? What are they looking for?”
Another girl said, “They want to discover things.”
“Aha, that's it! That's what we scientists are after, discovery! Chaser and I have been trying to discover how much human language she can learn.” I see Chaser as a co-investigator and research assistant rather than as an experimental subject. Just as she's a part of our family, she's also the other half of my research team. “I understand you've heard that Chaser knows more than a thousand words.”
Over the previous few weeks there had been headlines around the world about Chaser. It all began just before Christmas, with the e-publication of a peer-reviewed scientific article on my research with Chaser. I'd written it with the help of Alliston Reid, a former student of mine at Wofford College in Spartanburg, South Carolina, where he had succeeded me as a professor of psychology.
The article, published first online and later in print by the British journal
Behavioural Processes
, reported that Chaser had learned and retained the proper noun names of 1,022 objects over a period of three years. She had also learned to understand and distinguish the separate meanings of proper noun names and commands, and had learned at least three common nouns, or words that represent whole categories of things. Furthermore, she could learn a new word by exclusion, meaning that she could infer the relationship between a name she had never heard before and an object she had never seen before, by picking the new object out of a group of objects whose names she already knew. These abilities are normally seen in children when they are acquiring language as toddlers, and there is fierce debate among scientists as to whether animals can really do the same things.
On December 8, 2010, the day the article was published online, I received a phone call from a journalist for the British magazine the
New Scientist
. Two weeks later, the online edition of the
New Scientist
ran a story with the headline “Border Collie Takes Record for Biggest Vocabulary.” Our phone started ringing off the hook and my e-mail inbox began filling up with messages from print, online, and broadcast media. Over the week from Christmas to New Year's the Chaser story “went viral,” as Debbie's husband, Jay, explained it to me.
In more than forty-six languages, the headlines ran the gamut from silly to serious. The
National
Examiner
put Chaser on the cover next to Brad Pitt and Charlie Sheen. Most of the media attention centered on Chaser's knowing more than a thousand words, which MSNBC noted is more than most toddlers know. There was also lots of speculation about whether Chaser was “the world's smartest dog.”
“So far as it's been documented,” I told the class, “Chaser knows more words than any other dog. In fact, she knows more words than any other animal except humans. We're going to demonstrate Chaser's learning of words for you in a minute. But first I want to show you some learning that she shares with a lot of Border collies.”
I opened the plastic bin we'd brought with us and showed the children what was inside: twenty of Chaser's toys, mostly stuffed animals and dolls, but also balls and Frisbees (our word for any spinning disk toy). Each one had a name written on it in permanent ink, like “Bamboozel,” “Frat Rat,” “Bear,” “Crock,” “SpongeBob,” “ABC,” “Prancer,” and “Santa Claus.” Among the rest of her toys at home there was more than one teddy bear, but the other bears had unique names with no repeats. That made it possible for Chaser to keep them straight in her head.
I put one of the toys, a foam Frisbee with “Flipflopper” written on it, down on the floor about eight feet away from Chaser. She had her head down as if she had no interest in what I was doing. Only experience told me that she was “giving an eye to the sheep and an ear to the farmer,” as Border collie trainers say. Flipflopper was one of Chaser's flock of named toys, one of the 1,022 surrogate sheep she has acquired in her language training. Any activity to do with Flipflopper was important to her.
With her ears down and her eyes half closed, Chaser looked like she was in a trance state, as more than one journalist has described her in these moments. But she had her legs and feet drawn under her evenly on both sides. That was the one telltale sign that she was ready to spring into action as soon as I spoke the words that told her what I wanted her to do.
“Chaser, go out,” I said, using the words that sheep farmers have traditionally used to start their dogs toward some sheep.
Chaser instantly got to her feet and walked toward the foam Frisbee.
“There,” I said, and Chaser stopped still.
“Chaser, come by,” I said, and she walked around the Frisbee clockwise.
“There,” I said, and she stopped again.
“Chaser, way to me,” I said, and she walked around the Frisbee counterclockwise.
The children were murmuring with interest and inching forward in their chairs.
“There,” I said, and Chaser stopped still again.
“Chaser, drop.” She dropped flat on her belly. Some of the kids started giggling.
“Chaser, crawl,” I said, and she began to crawl toward the Frisbee. More giggling from the kids.
“Chaser, one, two, three, take!” I said, my special signal to release her to rush to the toy and take it in her mouth. She began shaking the Frisbee with delight, triggering applause from the kids, and I encouraged her in that for ten or fifteen seconds. Then I said, “Chaser, bring Flipflopper. Drop Flipflopper in the bin.”
When she'd dropped Flipflopper in the bin I told the class, “That's Chaser's reward. She gets to play with the toy. On a sheep farm, a Border collie's reward would be moving the sheep around. Border collies have a strong herding instinct, and that's what they like to do best. Now, for Chaser, each of these toys represents a sheep that she gets to herd in different ways. Like I said, she knows more than a thousand objects by name. The next closest dog, a Border collie in Germany named Rico, knew a couple of hundred words, and Rico was part of my inspiration for the scientific study Chaser and I have done. Now we'll demonstrate Chaser's word learning for you.”
I had written the names of four of the toys in the bin on note cards, and I gave the cards to two of the boys and two of the girls.
“Don't call out what's on your card yet,” I told them. “First I'll ask Chaser to find some toys by name. And then I'll ask the four of you to ask Chaser to find the toys whose names are written on the cards.”
I dumped all the toys out of the bin in a jumble on the floor several feet away from Chaser. She again had her head down as if she had no interest in what I was doing. I came back over to her and said, “Chaser, find SpongeBob.”
Chaser sprang to her feet and trotted over to the toys. She looked over the toys for a moment, and then spotted SpongeBob at the bottom of the pile and pulled him out. That really excited the kids.
“Shake SpongeBob, Chaser,” I said, to give her a moment's play as reward, and then had her bring SpongeBob over and drop him in the bin.
I asked Chaser to find and bring over nine more toys, calling for each by its unique name. With ten toys still left on the floor, but spread out a bit now by Chaser's nosing and pawing among them, I asked each of the four students in turn to ask Chaser to find the toys written on the note cards.
“Chaser, find Santa Claus,” the first child said.
“Chaser, find Bamboozel,” the second child said.
“Chaser, find Mickey Mouse,” the third child said.
“Chaser, find Croc,” the fourth child said.
One by one Chaser found the toys. After she'd had a chance to play with a toy for a few moments, which always delighted her, I asked her to deposit it in the bin.
Each time Chaser did something one of their classmates asked for, the class got more and more excited. It was a shame we couldn't give them all a chance to work with her. But in the time we had left, I wanted to show the kids two more aspects of Chaser's language learning.
Earlier I had asked the kids how many of them had a dog at home, and about half did. When I do classroom demonstrations in places where most people live in houses with backyards, practically every kid will raise their hand.