Scientists are on the verge of unlocking the complicated
genetic code of human DNA, but for some reason the question of
animal consciousness still seems to elude them. For centuries
learned philosophers, biologists, and medical scientists have
studied an impressive array of primates, dogs, cats, rodents,
horses, pigs, birds, and other creatures to determine if they
have the capacity to reason, feel, solve problems, or have
moral concepts and they keep coming up empty.
Their inability to see the obvious might be amusing if the
consequences weren't so serious. Torturing rats or rabbits in
scientific research wouldn't be so easy if you looked into
their eyes and recognized a fellow being who experienced the
same pain and fear you would feel. Because they're "just
dumb
animals," not capable of thought or feelings, we can harm
animals to benefit human society, exterminate those who
inconvenience us, and frequently treat intentional cruelty to
defenseless animals as nothing more serious than property
damage.
Following are reviews and comments on four wonderful books
that discuss animal intelligence and consciousness, their soul
and moral capacity, their sense of humor, problem-solving
skills, and emotional life, and their acts of heroism and
altruism as well as treachery and deceit. Part I begins with
journalist Eugene Linden's intriguing and thought-provoking
book, The Parrot's Lament, which reveals the range of animal
emotions and intellect through hundreds of anecdotes,
scientific research, and first-hand experience of dozens of
professionals who work with animals every day. For The
Compassion of Animals, writer Kristin von Kreisler collected
hundreds of stories and anecdotes about animal courage,
compassion, and altruism and presents a convincing, unbiased,
and well-reasoned argument for a moral sense in many species.
Part II will pick up the
discussion with author and Unitarian
minister Gary Kowalski's The Soul of Animals, and When
Elephants Weep, by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson and Susan
McCarthy.
Readers with an open mind and curiosity about the inner life
of animals will find these books enlightening. And those who
already know our fellow creatures experience a profound
emotional and mental world will find them moving,
entertaining, and enriching.
One of the most amazing stories in The Parrot's Lament
is
depicted on the book cover, which shows Harriet the leopard
being ferried across the river by conservationist Billy Arjan
Singh. Singh took Harriet in when she was an orphaned cub and
returned her to the forest preserve just across the river from
his compound when she had matured.
Harriet adapted successfully to the wild and soon gave birth
to two cubs of her own. Everything went well until floods
came, threatening Harriet's den.
In need of a safe place for her cubs, she remembered Singh's
compound on high ground and carried her two cubs, one by one
in her mouth, to the safety of Singh's kitchen. Once the
floods receded, she began moving the kids back home but found
the flooded river current was dangerously strong. After
returning for the second cub, Harriet stepped into Singh's
boat, in which she had ridden many times as a cub, and waited
patiently for Singh to step in and ferry her and her cub
across the treacherous waters.
The intelligence of parrots is particularly hard to ignore
since they are capable of human speech. Researchers have found
that parrots are able to identify a variety of objects, count
items up to about nine, and communicate effectively . . . when
they want to. One African grey parrot named Jimbo loved to
visit his owner's parents who she identified as Poppa and
Peekaboo.
Whenever her owners started to get ready to go to their
parents' Jimbo would call out "Can we go to Poppa's and
Peekaboo's for dinner, okay? Come on!"
One day while looking out the window, Jimbo spotted a
roadrunner and called out "Momma, look! A bird!" Then
turning
to the bird, she said, "Hi, bird. Are you hungry? Do you
want
to go to Poppa and Peekaboo's for dinner?"
Sally Blanchard, a parrot behavioral specialist, tells of her
African Grey parrot, Bongo Marie, who had a strong dislike for
her Amazon parrot, Paco. One day when Sally was cooking a
Cornish hen, Bongo Marie watched the cooked bird come out of
the oven and cried out in mock alarm, "Oh no! Paco!"
After
Sally reassured her that Paco was still alive and well just
around the corner, Bongo Marie responded with a very
disappointed "Oh no" followed by a fit of maniacal laughter.
The Parrot's Lament is filled with stories of animal
humor,
treachery, heroism and compassion, and inventiveness. Several
chapters are devoted to primate intelligence, communication
abilities, engineering and tool making skills, and deception.
The stories range from amusing and sometime baffling tales of
famous gorilla and orangutan escape artists at seemingly
escape-proof zoo facilities to experiments in which orangutans
and chimps thought through a complex engineering problem,
determining the tools they needed to solve it, and finding the
right materials in their environment to make those tools.
Careful not to draw unwarranted conclusions or
anthropomorphisize about what animal behavior means, Linden
concludes that
When we deal with captive animals and when we encounter them
in the wild, we can see [intelligence] peeking out in a flash
of brilliance here and there as animals draw on abilities that
help them secure food and prosper within their communities . .
. . Every so often, they do something extraordinary, and we
gain some insight into where some of our abilities might have
originated. Perhaps more important, we can then understand how
it might be fun to be an orangutan or a parrot. They and many
other creatures enjoy a life rich in emotions and physical
prowess but still are gifted with the ability to appreciate
life from a distance. . . .
[The Parrot's Lament, Eugene Linden. New York: Dutton,
1999.]
When Kristin von Kreisler took the dozens and dozens of moving
and inspirational stories of animal courage, kindness, and
self-sacrifice she'd collected to research her book to seven
"animal experts," only one agreed that animals are capable
of
compassion. The others went to great lengths to twist their
"objective science" to prove that animal altruism is
really
self-interest, "hard-wiring" for protection of the pack,
or
attempts to solicit reciprocal care - all of which is just as
easily applied to human acts of compassion and bravery.
But it's hard to see the self-interest in the behavior of Tia,
a three-legged chocolate lab who dragged an overturned dingy
with three fully clothed men hanging onto the sides through
100 yards of freezing, stormy water to reach the shore.
Gripping the mooring rope in her teeth, she used her three
legs and every ounce of her strength to rescue the men who
couldn't possibly have made it to shore before their heavy
boots and water-soaked coats would drag them under or they
would die of hypothermia from the icy water. Tia, however,
could easily have saved herself, and pulling the boat and men
in put her life very much at risk.
Self-interest doesn't seem to explain why Ginger, a tiny,
nearly blind and deaf, arthritic pomeranian, reacted as she
did when she saw her owner threatened by a large, violently
psychotic man in her living room. Ginger suddenly launched a
surprise attack that earned her a vicious kick and sent her
crashing into the wall. But it gave her mistress time to
escape danger.
Protecting the pack doesn't seem to be the motive of Crockett,
a well-cared for tabby cat, who pulled the body of a
neighborhood kitten she'd hung around with away off the street
where she'd been hit by a car. She then lay next to the small
gray kitten, refusing to leave until the body was finally
taken away.
And what pack interest was served when the Newfoundland Boo,
playing with his owner near the shore, suddenly lost interest
in the game as he sensed a stranger drowning in the river's
white waters? Boo begged to be released from his leash and
plunged into the dangerous rapids, dragging the injured man to
safety.
Expectation of reciprocal care doesn't seem to explain the
behavior of Ranger, who began barking incessantly then
disappearing under a camper shell. Some neighbors observed him
taking food and mouthfuls of snow under the shell. Finally,
one curious neighbor followed the dog and discovered a stray
female dog who'd been caught in a coyote trap. For days Ranger
had kept her alive in the freezing winter weather with his
care packages until someone came to release her.
And nothing but altruism seems to adequately explain the
actions of Shoo Shoo, a Siamese-lynx cat. Shoo Shoo
accompanied his owner to her job at a group home for five
disabled people where he won the hearts of the residents by
stealing small objects, sneaking drinks from their glasses,
and whipping his tail in their faces. One night when all the
residents had retired to their rooms, Shoo Shoo became very
agitated and kept charging between one of the resident's doors
and his owner's office until she finally caught on that he
wanted her to follow. Opening the closed door, she found the
resident shaking with a seizure. Not until the seizure had
passed and the woman was feeling well again did Shoo Shoo
leave her side to return to his usual sleeping spot and the
comfortable sofa.
Then there's the story of Griz the 650-pound grizzly who,
instead of turning the hungry little stray kitten who wandered
into his cage looking for food into an hors d'oeuvre,
generously tore off a piece of his chicken wing and gave it to
her. The two became pals and inseparable companions from that
day on.
If that's not love or compassion it probably comes as close
to
the real thing as most of use are likely to experience in our
own lives.
[The Compassion of Animals, by Kristin von Kreisler.
Prima
Publishing, Rocklin, CA, 1997.]
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