My wife was listening to CBC the other day. They were talking about an experiment in which Canadian researchers tried to discover whether dogs will come to their owners' aid in emergencies.
Seemed interesting. So I tracked down the scientific paper from the Journal of Comparative Psychology. In 2006, two researchers at the University of Western Ontario - Krista Macpherson and William A. Roberts - conducted a pair of experiments. In the first, a dog owner feigned a heart attack. In the second, an owner pretended he was pinned under a fallen bookcase.
The researchers wondered whether the dogs would run to a bystander to seek help. You know, just like Lassie used to do.
The boy would say, "What is it, Lassie? Is Spanky the mule in trouble? He's in the field by old man McDonald's house? And he's got his hoof stuck in a muskrat hole? About 10 inches in diameter? And there's a mean rattlesnake right there, poised to bite ol' Spanky? Good girl, Lassie!"
On Sunday, my wife was making Thanksgiving dinner. This is quite a bit of work. So, to liven up her day, I suggested we try to replicate the 2006 dog experiment with our pug, Ollie. "Are you crazy? I'm trying to make half a dozen dishes here," my wife said.
"Don't worry, I'll do all the real work," I said. "You only have to be the disinterested bystander."
First up, the feigned heart attack. I called Ollie over. This was difficult, because the smell of turkey was making him go bonkers. He kept capering around the kitchen, hoping for morsels.
I seized Ollie, carried him into the living room, fell to my knees, moaned a bit, then lay down. Ollie walked over and sniffed my hair. He trotted into the kitchen, where the disinterested bystander was stuffing a turkey.
My heart swelled with pride. By God, this is the stuff of Lassie! But after a few minutes, I realized Ollie hadn't gone for help. Instead, he was gazing at the bystander in case any bits of stuffing fell to the floor.
Time for the second experiment. I asked my wife if she'd help me empty the bookcase and place it on top of me, so it'd look like I was pinned. But she was too busy preparing a brown-sugar sauce for the yams. "Use something else," she said.
I said this would constitute a failure to follow scientific method. But my wife just kept stirring a pot of brown stuff. So I had to use empty cardboard boxes. I lay down on the floor once more, arranged the boxes on me, then called for Ollie.
He didn't come. So I yelled, "Treats!" instead of "Help!" The scientific process was becoming badly diluted. But it worked - Ollie dashed over. "Ollie," I said. "Get help. I'm pinned under these cardboard boxes and I can't get up."
Our dog sniffed my hair then nipped off. "What's Ollie doing?" I yelled. "Is he summoning help?"
There was scuffling in the kitchen. Then Ollie scampered out with a cigar-shaped thing in his mouth. It was half a yam.
My findings were as follows: Ollie will not seek help in the event of a heart attack or being pinned by cardboard boxes. I broke this disappointing news to my wife after the Thanksgiving dinner, as she washed the dishes.
"Did you read the entire research paper?" she asked.
"No," I said, setting down my crantini.
"Well, none of their dogs went for help either."
"Really?" I said.
"Yes," she said. "They didn't provide assistance to those who needed it."
Sometimes it takes me a while. "Hey, do you want me to dry?"
"OK," said my wife, handing me a dish towel.
