Recently, I received a short visit from my cousin Mitchell Smith and his wife Melissa, who are medical practitioners in Sydney.
On the eve of their departure, Mitchell noticed my daughter's small upright piano, and asked me if I happened to play at times. The instrument has been out of tune for ages, and I hardly ever touch it these days. I nevertheless sat down at the piano and started to strike the keys in my typical amateurish style. I was amazed to find that my dog Fitzroy started instantly to howl. The more I played, the more he howled. So, I decided, on the spur of the moment, to join up with Fitzroy for a rough recital of the famous doggy-in-the-window song. And Melissa had the presence of mind to record our performance for posterity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tx6Zw5mzKDs&feature=youtu.be
POST SCRIPTUM: Tineke and Serge have just dropped in, and I showed them this amusing video. Then I sat down at the piano and played a bit, to see how my dog would react. As in the video, Fitzroy started to howl immediately. My friends speculated that the dog might in fact be howling in discomfort, as a consequence of painful vibrations in the piano sounds. I think we must admit the plausibility of this hypothesis, because a dog's auditory system is different to ours. In other words, it's a bit silly to jump to the anthropomorphic conclusion that Fitzroy is surely howling with joy because he "likes my music".
Another minor fact tends to disprove completely, however, the all-too-easy conclusion that Fitzroy's howling indicates suffering. These days, in my personal dog vocabulary, there's a trivial term—pronounced a little like a soft "hurrah" (derived from my own failed attempts, months ago, at producing sounds supposed to resemble a wolf's howl)—that is a sufficient cue for Fitzroy to start howling loudly. In other words, this term "turns on" his howling like a kitchen tap, and he stops howling as soon as I pronounce any other word. So, it's a kind of silly game. He also howls whenever he hears a donkey braying (even from afar), and he howls too (with genuine excitement, I believe) whenever he's observing a pack of hunting hounds pursuing a wild boar on the slopes opposite Gamone. So, Fitzroy's howling seems to emanate from some deep archaic corner of his brain, where it's a reaction to stimuli of several different and seemingly unrelated kinds. As for genuine pain, Fitzroy got an unexpected taste yesterday when I was giving a bit of hay to my neighbor's donkeys, and Fitzroy was jumping around my legs in such an excited way that he was likely to cause me to stumble onto the 10,000 volts of the electric fence (which Fitzroy himself darts under at a speed greater than that of electricity). When I gave my dog a slight kick that connected harmlessly with his backside, he didn't howl, nor did he even bark. He yelped... and scrambled back instantly to annoy the donkeys and me.
BREAKING NEWS: I've just found a practical use for Fitzroy's howling talent. My neighbor Madeleine phones me from time to time to tell me that my dog is roaming around on the road in the vicinity of her house, and causing her own dog to bark. When I reply that Fitzroy is in fact dozing on the floor alongside my desk (meaning that Madeleine has seen another stray black dog), I often have the impression that she thinks I'm telling her a lie. Five minutes ago, when Madeleine told me that she could actually see my dog sitting on the roadside near her house, I replied: "Madeleine, I'll put Fitzroy on the phone, so he can assure you personally that he's here beside me." Then I used the magic word to turn on Fitzroy's instant howling. The demonstration was fabulous. I've rarely heard my dog howling so loudly and so enthusiastically. I had the impression that he was determined to get things straight with Madeleine, and make matters perfectly clear. I didn't turn him off until I was sure that the message had got through to Madeleine... who, by that time, was in a fit of confused laughter.
Another minor fact tends to disprove completely, however, the all-too-easy conclusion that Fitzroy's howling indicates suffering. These days, in my personal dog vocabulary, there's a trivial term—pronounced a little like a soft "hurrah" (derived from my own failed attempts, months ago, at producing sounds supposed to resemble a wolf's howl)—that is a sufficient cue for Fitzroy to start howling loudly. In other words, this term "turns on" his howling like a kitchen tap, and he stops howling as soon as I pronounce any other word. So, it's a kind of silly game. He also howls whenever he hears a donkey braying (even from afar), and he howls too (with genuine excitement, I believe) whenever he's observing a pack of hunting hounds pursuing a wild boar on the slopes opposite Gamone. So, Fitzroy's howling seems to emanate from some deep archaic corner of his brain, where it's a reaction to stimuli of several different and seemingly unrelated kinds. As for genuine pain, Fitzroy got an unexpected taste yesterday when I was giving a bit of hay to my neighbor's donkeys, and Fitzroy was jumping around my legs in such an excited way that he was likely to cause me to stumble onto the 10,000 volts of the electric fence (which Fitzroy himself darts under at a speed greater than that of electricity). When I gave my dog a slight kick that connected harmlessly with his backside, he didn't howl, nor did he even bark. He yelped... and scrambled back instantly to annoy the donkeys and me.
BREAKING NEWS: I've just found a practical use for Fitzroy's howling talent. My neighbor Madeleine phones me from time to time to tell me that my dog is roaming around on the road in the vicinity of her house, and causing her own dog to bark. When I reply that Fitzroy is in fact dozing on the floor alongside my desk (meaning that Madeleine has seen another stray black dog), I often have the impression that she thinks I'm telling her a lie. Five minutes ago, when Madeleine told me that she could actually see my dog sitting on the roadside near her house, I replied: "Madeleine, I'll put Fitzroy on the phone, so he can assure you personally that he's here beside me." Then I used the magic word to turn on Fitzroy's instant howling. The demonstration was fabulous. I've rarely heard my dog howling so loudly and so enthusiastically. I had the impression that he was determined to get things straight with Madeleine, and make matters perfectly clear. I didn't turn him off until I was sure that the message had got through to Madeleine... who, by that time, was in a fit of confused laughter.
Le miracle de l'improvisation:
ReplyDeleteça a du chien cette chanson !
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFRiaszvB8Y
Une autre explication du hurlement chez le chien:
ReplyDeleteHurler
Le hurlement est une activité vocale sociale qui permet :
- au membre égaré d’une meute de faire connaître sa position (et la meute lui répond habituellement en chœur pour lui dire : « Nous sommes ici, rejoins-nous ! »).
- à une meute séparée de l’un de ses membres de l’appeler, ce qui se produit surtout quand le membre isolé occupe un rang très élevé ; lorsqu’un loup de rang inférieur se retrouve isolé, les autres s’en moquent dans la plupart des cas ; – à une meute entière d’indiquer les limites de son territoire.
- de renforcer les rapports au sein de la meute.
Les chiens domestiques hurlent proportionnellement à leur position sur l’échelle néoténique : ceux qui occupent le haut de cette échelle (à savoir les plus lupoïdes) hurlent beaucoup plus que les autres. Bon nombre de races (surtout celles largement manipulées par l’homme) ne manifestent plus ce comportement.
Le chien domestique semble ne jamais hurler pour des raisons territoriales, même lorsqu’il fait partie d’une meute (groupe de chiens vivant ensemble) ; en contrepartie, il hurle parfois en réponse à des bruits très différents d’un hurlement, mais qu’il identifie comme tels. Les sons de cloches, les sirènes, la musique... ou le chant de son maître comptent parmi les exemples classiques. Il ne faut alors pas se décourager : rien ne dit que vous chantez comme un chien.
C’est simplement que le chien ne conçoit pas la musique comme telle et, ne sachant comment l’interpréter, pense qu’il s’agit d’un appel social. Le hurlement est l’un des facteurs qui réussissent à déclencher ce que l’on désigne, en éthologie, sous le terme de comportement allélomimétique : un membre de la meute est imité par tous les autres (d’où les chœurs de hurlements).
Cette forme de communication revêt beaucoup d’importance pour le loup, au point que les louveteaux commencent à s’exercer dès leur plus jeune âge. Il convient de rappeler que le chien n’est pas un animal mimétique : il s’avère incapable d’apprendre quoi que ce soit par le biais de l’imitation, contrairement à ce qui se produit chez les primates, par exemple.
Le comportement allélomimétique constitue davantage une sorte de « transmission d’états d’âme » qu’une véritable imitation réalisée dans un but précis.
Je vous remercie de ces explications, qui me semblent justes et parfois vérifiables. Entre mon chien Fitzroy et moi-même, les hurlements (mesurés pour chacun de nous) sont devenus une sorte de vector de conversation. Désormais, au lieu d'essayer vainement de produire un hurlement (chose impossible, évidemment), je peux me contenter d'une sorte d'ersatz : un simple terme qui ressemble au mot "hareng". Fitzroy reconnaît ce petit terme, tout doux, et l'interprète comme le "hurlement" de son maître. Il répond alors par un vrai hurlement de loup. Et nous poursuivons ainsi notre échange conversationnel. J'ai surtout l'impression que Fitzroy s'est rendu compte que ses hurlements amusent son maître.
ReplyDelete