Not to long ago my cat, Whittington, sat in front of the French door in my livingroom surveying his domain following a major snowfall. As he watched, a section of snow slid off the roof immediately above the door with a whump! He immediately leaped back in surprise, then for the briefest of instants looked at me. This didn’t surprise me because I’ve seen him and my dogs do it many times. Still, why do he and other felines and canines do it?
My intuitive response is that my pets want to know my reaction to their reaction: Will it please or upset me? Even better for those of us leery of projecting human emotional interpretations on animal displays, studies appear to support this view. Research indicates that domestication suspends animals in a (more or less) physiologically and behaviorally immature state. Consequently, if we want to learn more about the meaning behind this animal response, we need to observe the way young and adult animals interact. In the wild, the survival of young animals depends on their willingness to maintain contact with a parent or other designated adult. Rather than remaining glued to the adult at all times, though, it’s more a question of the young orienting toward the older individual. In such a way, animal youngsters get feedback regarding the appropriateness of their own behaviors as well as remain alert to parental warnings of danger should they occur.
Given the survival value of this behavior, it comes as no surprise that we can see it in even the most domesticated animals. But, as so often occurs, the behavior may result in quite different consequences for domestic animals and their owners. When a wild pup or kitten squeals, the adult animal knows immediately what that squeal means and the circumstances surrounding it because they live in the same perceptual reality; they take in and process visual, sound, scent, and other sensory data the same way. Put another way, they speak the same “language.” However, when we find ourselves in a similar situation we don’t fare nearly so well. I can’t begin to comprehend what Whit perceives when that snow falls off the roof, any more than I can know what my pets feel when I trim their nails or vaccinate them.
Because we can’t know exactly what goes through our pets’ minds, how we respond in that split second when they establish eye contact with us unfortunately may say more about our relationship with them than our knowledge of animal behavior. For example, suppose I assume the noise frightened Whit, rush over and pick him up and cuddle him while cooing, “Oh, poor, poor little kitty.” Then I carry him into the kitchen and give him a treat.
You don’t need to be rocket scientist to realize that he’ll probably react even more strongly to the sound of sliding snow the next time after all that positive attention from me that reaction gained him! Even though I might want to think that babying him and giving him a treat will soothe him and decrease his fear, in reality I’m rewarding him for being afraid. Should we be surprised that animals whose owners do this seldom, if ever, get over their fears and that their fears often get worse as time goes on?
The title of this commentary comes from a biblical sentiment: In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed. In that moment when Fluffy holds up her sore paw or Frodo trembles at the sound of thunder and the animals establish contact with us, what they read in our body language may change their behavior and their relationship with us in a twinkling of an eye. In that instant, we owe it to them and our relationship to respond in a manner that meets their needs as well as our own. And if we must choose, and indeed sometimes we must, between a response that builds their confidence rather than fulfills our own needs to baby them, then it seems to me that we owe it to them to do that.
The snow goes whump! Whit leaps and looks me. I swallow the knee-jerk “Oh, you poor kitty!” and summon the parental, “What a brave cat!” He runs to me confidently, ready to play.
All in a twinkling of an eye.
Not to long ago my cat, Whittington, sat in front of the French door in my livingroom surveying his domain following a major snowfall. As he watched, a section of snow slid off the roof immediately above the door with a whump! He immediately leaped back in surprise, then for the briefest of instants looked at me. This didn’t surprise me because I’ve seen him and my dogs do it many times. Still, why do he and other felines and canines do it?
My intuitive response is that my pets want to know my reaction to their reaction: Will it please or upset me? Even better for those of us leery of projecting human emotional interpretations on animal displays, studies appear to support this view. Research indicates that domestication suspends animals in a (more or less) physiologically and behaviorally immature state. Consequently, if we want to learn more about the meaning behind this animal response, we need to observe the way young and adult animals interact. In the wild, the survival of young animals depends on their willingness to maintain contact with a parent or other designated adult. Rather than remaining glued to the adult at all times, though, it’s more a question of the young orienting toward the older individual. In such a way, animal youngsters get feedback regarding the appropriateness of their own behaviors as well as remain alert to parental warnings of danger should they occur.
Given the survival value of this behavior, it comes as no surprise that we can see it in even the most domesticated animals. But, as so often occurs, the behavior may result in quite different consequences for domestic animals and their owners. When a wild pup or kitten squeals, the adult animal knows immediately what that squeal means and the circumstances surrounding it because they live in the same perceptual reality; they take in and process visual, sound, scent, and other sensory data the same way. Put another way, they speak the same “language.” However, when we find ourselves in a similar situation we don’t fare nearly so well. I can’t begin to comprehend what Whit perceives when that snow falls off the roof, any more than I can know what my pets feel when I trim their nails or vaccinate them.
Because we can’t know exactly what goes through our pets’ minds, how we respond in that split second when they establish eye contact with us unfortunately may say more about our relationship with them than our knowledge of animal behavior. For example, suppose I assume the noise frightened Whit, rush over and pick him up and cuddle him while cooing, “Oh, poor, poor little kitty.” Then I carry him into the kitchen and give him a treat.
You don’t need to be rocket scientist to realize that he’ll probably react even more strongly to the sound of sliding snow the next time after all that positive attention from me that reaction gained him! Even though I might want to think that babying him and giving him a treat will soothe him and decrease his fear, in reality I’m rewarding him for being afraid. Should we be surprised that animals whose owners do this seldom, if ever, get over their fears and that their fears often get worse as time goes on?
The title of this commentary comes from a biblical sentiment: In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed. In that moment when Fluffy holds up her sore paw or Frodo trembles at the sound of thunder and the animals establish contact with us, what they read in our body language may change their behavior and their relationship with us in a twinkling of an eye. In that instant, we owe it to them and our relationship to respond in a manner that meets their needs as well as our own. And if we must choose, and indeed sometimes we must, between a response that builds their confidence rather than fulfills our own needs to baby them, then it seems to me that we owe it to them to do that.
The snow goes whump! Whit leaps and looks me. I swallow the knee-jerk “Oh, you poor kitty!” and summon the parental, “What a brave cat!” He runs to me confidently, ready to play.
All in a twinkling of an eye.