More about Animal Psychology

So I tried once again to read a book about cat psychology and got so fed up at its silliness, I threw the book on the floor.

But not very hard because it was a library book.

I won't give the book's title because it is unfair to pick on one book when so many cat books are like this. There are probably many silly dog books out there too, but dog lovers—at least—seem to include objective/Cesar Millan-type trainers and owners. Cat lovers, in general, seem far less willing to accept that cats are, well, just cats.

The thing that annoyed me (within the first chapter) was the belief that (1) cats understand language; (2) cats feel affection.

I don't completely dismiss (1) because I don't actually know if they do or don't. What I do know is that cats, like dogs, respond more to body language and tone of voice than to words. The writer gives an example of a cat following a command. The writer does not even consider that the cat may have responded to the tone of voice, the situation, or the writer's physical action (or, even more likely, a combination of the tone of voice/situation/physical action). The writer immediately jumps to the conclusion, "The cat understands me!"

This is why cat lovers make me tired.

Cats react to body language and energy like any animal. When I first moved into my last apartment, my cat Max would initially whine to go out when I was in bed, half-asleep. (I do agree with the writer that cats are entirely motivated by the desire for food; unlike my current apartment, the front door in my last apartment wasn't a tight fit, and I suppose he wanted to investigate the possibility of food on the other side.) I would get up and spray him with water or slap his behind. (Don't get mad yet, cat lovers; it probably wasn't the most effective correction, but it worked!)

The point is he knew the difference between me getting up mad, me getting up to go pee, and me getting up because it was the next morning even before I acted (or reacted); he would immediately run, keep sleeping, or go to the food bowl. I never had to say a word. Frustrated/sleepy/fed-up human doesn't feel like sleepy/indifferent human in the slightest.

I also do not believe, even remotely, that cats feel affection.

I don't mean they don't give affection. And I don't mean they don't love. I think love is instinctual while affection is a reasoned response.

The writer uses the absurd example that cats will feel affection and gratitude for their prey. Are you kidding me? I don't care how nice lions are to the dead antelope. They aren't thinking warm & fuzzy thoughts, especially since they will rip your arm off if you get too close. This is a very, very good example of a human reading a human emotion into an action that appears human BUT ISN'T. Tenderness can be read into a human patting someone's face because all the subjects involved (reader and readee) are human. Reading such emotions into a cat's behavior is completely unfair to the cat. It's very similar to the humans on Cesar's show reading manipulation or affection into the dog's frantic desire to be petted when, as Cesar points out and proves, the dog's frantic desire to be petted is the dog's need for its humans to take control of its life and stop making it run the household all by itself!

I would imagine that a cat "tenderly" patting a dead antelope's face is the cat checking to make sure the antelope is really dead. I would also guess that a cat licking a dead antelope's face is the cat working off excess energy and calming itself. (I've read, and believe, that cats will purr when highly stressed, such as when giving birth or being operated on. Licking appears to have a similar function. My cats have calmed down from an alarm or a fever when I forced them to lick by smearing butter or anti-hairball gel on their paws. It is actually very effective and shows that licking and/or purring are probably more instinctual responses to fear and/or stress than signs of affection.)

Okay, sure, the cat looks peaceful lying next to the dead antelope. It just expended an enormous amount of energy killing its supper. When animals complete tasks, they look relaxed. But that isn't the same thing as a human relaxing after a good therapy session! The cat isn't relaxed because it feels emotion or gratitude; it's relaxed because its instincts have been satisfied.

I think a great deal of anthropomorphizing is the human need to be loved (which is stronger, even, than the human need to be needed). When Cesar talks to pet owners, there is almost always initial resistance; the dog's bouncy behavior CAN'T be the result of stress; it MUST be a sign of affection. I also think that often the humans are resistant to Cesar's instructions (at first) because in their heart of heart they are proud to have an animal that snaps at others to protect its owner. There's a kind of bragging involved when the owners say, "She just hates us to leave her! She whines all the time we are gone!"

Animals are such an easy way to obtain unconditional love. But then sole control of the food bowl tends to have that effect. My skepticism (or cynicism, depending on your point of view) doesn't mean I think animals aren't cute and cuddly. Animals cuddle like crazy. My cats gravitate to me whenever I'm in the apartment (except at the computer which they have learned means I'm unavailable). Cats may not be pack animals, but they still react at a primal level. At a volunteer vet clinic in Mexico that spades/neuters cats and dogs, Cesar pointed out how much more comfortable the recovering animals were sleeping all together. This was due to necessity: it was a temporary clinic and the animals had to be put where there was space, but Cesar was right: animals are much more comfortable in groups than in separate cages. Male lions may operate as lone leaders, but they do have their seraglios.

By the way, I'm still very skeptical of cat lovers but based on a brief perusal, Mieshelle Nagelschneider at the Cat Behavioral Clinic (see comment to post below) doesn't appear completely besotted. For one thing, she states, "Cats are motivated by what's in it for them." Yup! Please don't tell me they feel affection for me. I'm much more likely to believe they need me than they feel gratitude for me (if they felt gratitude, they would empty the litter box themselves).

I've Become a Whisperee!

I saw Cesar Millan in action for the first time on an episode of Bones. Playing himself, Cesar walks into a barn of killer dogs, makes his famous, "Tsst" sound, and they all immediately quieten down.

I rolled my eyes slightly, went, "Oh, Hollywood," and didn't think much more about it.

About a week ago, I picked up Season 1 of the Dog Whisperer (starring Cesar Millan) from my local library. Here's the amazing thing: Quieting a barn of killer dogs may seem improbable. With Cesar, it isn't impossible.

Seriously. (Although I suspect the dogs in Bones may have been from his own pack.)

I've become seriously addicted to the show and not because I learn something new every episode. Basically, by the time you've watched the first three episodes, you know Cesar's philosophy and what each owner needs to hear (such as, "Walk your dog!"). It's kind of like listening to radio psychologists. Yup, now Dr. Laura will tell another stupid woman not to move in with a guy who has a history of hitting women. Ho hum.

The difference is that someday I want to grow up and be Cesar. (I don't particularly want to be a radio psychologist.) Sure, he's talking about dogs, but he is also talking about group psychology. All the stuff he says about being "calm assertive" and "a pack leader" . . . I just sit there and lap it up--like somehow if I hear it enough times, it will translate into automatic results (yes, I know this doesn't work; yes, the pun was deliberate).

I also, by the way, happen to agree with Cesar about dogs. I've never thought of animals, including my cats, as little humans with fur. Ever. My cats don't think like me. They don't learn like me. They don't function like me. They're CATS! (Speaking of which, does anyone know of a Cat Whisperer?)

And dogs are dogs: pack animals, bred to the bone to respond to the top dog. And here's the thing: they WANT to. I always kind of suspected this, but like most warm and fuzzy humans, I had this idea that an overexcited, running around dog was a happy dog.

It isn't, and if I didn't believe that before, I believe it now.

To clarify: a running-after-a-ball-when-pack-leader-throws-it is a happy dog; a bouncing-all-over-visitors-and-chewing-slippers-because-I-don't-get-enough-exercise dog is not.

Unlike humans, dogs WANT to follow (or, at least, dogs admit it). They WANT a pack leader who is in charge. One of the most touching aspects of the show (that is rarely remarked on) is how the dogs in a household will automatically gravitate to Cesar. This is before he starts working with them. He walks in; he establishes dominance; the dogs immediately range themselves around him. He doesn't touch them, pat them, or make eye contact. A human would be offended. The dogs are relieved. They usually take a nap.

For example, in a Season 3 episode, (yes, I am working through them as quickly as I can), Cesar enters a room with two large dogs (Rottweilers, I think). He establishes dominance with his "calm assertive" presence. The dogs stop whining and charging the door. Cesar turns to the camera to talk and then kneels down to demonstrate doggy behavior. Behind him, the two dogs immediately also "sit". They want to conform. They ain't human! (There's no "But I want to express my independent self!!" stuff going on here!)

Cesar is also a kid whisperer, by the way. In another Season 3 episode, Cesar showed a mom how to open a door while holding her four month old and keeping the family dog at bay (so it doesn't charge visitors). Cesar demonstrated by taking the four month old. The kid slumped peacefully against his shoulder. As soon as the exercise finished, the mom quickly took her child back. It's one thing to let Cesar walked off with your dog; another to let him walk off with your kid!

Three more thoughts (I could go on and on, but I don't want to be too much of a groupie [says the non-dog]):

1. Why do people who perform services for dogs act so wimpy around them?

I don't mean the owners; I mean vets and trainers (other than Cesar who is really a human trainer as in "I will train you to take care of your dog!"). I'm amazed at the number of owners who have had bad luck with trainers and vets. I had such an experience a few years ago: I went into the vet with my cats; one of them hissed and waved his claws around. The vet freaked: "Get out the cage! Get out the muzzle!"

Wimp.

I clip my cats' nails. I've syringe their ears. I give them pills. I pick them up and remove them from places I don't want them to be. So I get scratched now and then or bitten. So what? If I didn't want that to happen, I wouldn't have cats. Why would anyone become a vet if they were that easily frightened of animals?

It continually impresses me how willing Cesar is to put the animal's needs over a few scratches and bites.

2. Why do people who don't want to walk dogs get large dogs!?

According to Cesar, even small dogs want to be walked (this makes sense), but I have never, never, NEVER understood why ANYONE would get a large dog and then shut it up in a yard. Whadja get it for?

I happen to like large dogs, such as German Shepherds. But I will never own one. This is because I don't have the discipline to walk it for an hour + every day. It would be grossly unfair to the animal for me to buy or adopt it just so I could . . . what? Say I have a German Shepherd? Pet it at night? Feed my cats to it?

It's like the gym: if I'm not willing to go out walking NOW, why would a gym membership make that any more likely?

3. I'm writing this next thought when my cats aren't looking: dogs are smarter than cats.

Dogs NEED to exercise their brains. One of the most interesting aspects of the show for me is how much Cesar emphasizes a power-walk where the dog actually has to concentrate (rather than just ramble around). I've long suspected that one reason a good owner trains a dog is because it not only makes the dog easier to be around, it gives the dog something to do!

Bad dogs are often bored dogs.

And animals have to have brains in order to get bored. They don't need brains just to be boring. (But, yes, I happen to like boring.)

Thus endeth the lesson.

I highly recommend Dog Whisperer. Even when you take film editing into account, Cesar is gosh darn amazing! And the film editing is actually very amusing.

Guest Blogger, Mike Cherniske, Talks About the Purpose of Story!

Mike expounds on the purpose of story. I am going to present his overall comments first followed by some of his specific points:

Where the Wild Things Are was, for me, too weird and intense to be enjoyable. When I mentioned that to a friend, he said, "Well, I love the movie. It's not meant to be enjoyed."

Which BLEW my mind. In my opinion, media is supposed to be enjoyable. If it wasn't, we'd spend our leisure time doing something productive. But it fascinates me how often I've been told that I have to suffer through a non-enjoyable part of a movie or videogame to get a reward. Shouldn't all of a work be fun and enjoyable and rewarding, not just the end? It seems that more and more we are being asked to suffer through things that are supposed to be fun.

More and more I'm hearing, "Oh, that movie was cool, but the story was crap," which is odd to me because the story, for me, IS the movie. Sure, there are things that can augment the story and make up for faults, but if, in the end, the story is complete crap, nothing can make up for that.

I guess I've just been pondering the perceived purpose of media and what people expect it to convey. I guess your [Kate's] post on LOTR also got me thinking about this again because that is one book that for me is absolute TORTURE to get through. It is not fun at all to read. But the story is cool.

In the end, I feel that media should be fun; that doesn't necessarily mean explosions and action. It means that the journey to the point should be enjoyable. Not many endings can justify a long and painful trip. The difficulty of the journey--whether in a video game, movie, or book--can change the level of enjoyment for some people; whether it increases or diminishes the fun depends on the person.

More examples from Mike:

Regarding Grant Morrison's Batman: R.I.P. and Joe the Barbarian: I do like Morrison's ideas. I mean, OF COURSE, Batman would be prepared for mind control. He's Batman. But it's Morrison's writing that is the most frustrating for me. His style of writing, in my opinion, does not suit monthly installments. He's a guy that has the picture figured out ahead, but only gives you pieces until the end (even then sometimes he leaves the point a mystery), which works great in a single, whole work. But this does not always transfer well to a serial format as the reader often forgets the clues and pieces presented before the next installment. This may explain why the only positive experience I've had with the man has been in trade format.

It's also very hard to form a cohesive and clearly communicated narrative or story when the pieces are so scattered and delivered at such long intervals. Morrison strikes me as a man who, when arguing, would jump to and fro from explanation to evidence to point and back again rather than presenting a point, then evidence and an explanation of that evidence.

Break and note from Kate: I feel like I spend entire semesters trying to pound this one simple concept into my students' heads: present a point, then evidence, then explain that evidence.

Back to Mike:

It's interesting because the very characteristic about his writing that I feel is his weakness is often hailed as his strength. I feel Morrison has little sense of direction, moving from idea to idea with no sense of flow or transition, until he finally runs out of ideas and tacks on the ending. Most people disagree. I suppose it's like Picasso. As long as all the pieces are there, it doesn't matter what order they're in. While I love that in art and visuals, I don't always appreciate that in writing.

As for Joe, it's classic Morrison in that you won't understand what's happening until he reveals the back story, but the back story won't be revealed (most likely) until the end of the comic, so not much is going to make sense until then. For me, that's frustrating, as I'd have to read the thing over after it's done to understand. While some people feel that having to read a work multiple times to understand it indicates depth, I feel it indicates poor communication.

The true sign of depth is when you can read something, fully understand the main story or argument, then discover more meaning and symbolism upon rereading. Some people may feel Morrison fits this definition. I would theorize that many of those people have mainly read his work in collections, which, as I said before, is a better venue (a single, self-contained and complete work) for his style of writing.

In general though, his writing is like someone giving a lecture in Hebrew to a room of English-speaking people, and, upon concluding, handing out an English-Hebrew dictionary. While the audience now has the tools to understand what the speaker lectured on, not many have the time or inclination to invest the effort it would take.

I respond in the first comment.

Answering Some Charges Against Lord of the Rings

I am currently rereading The Fellowship of the Ring. This time around, I've been aware--as I wasn't when I was younger--of some of the charges made against the trilogy, specifically against the first book (technically, the first two books; I will keep this post simple and refer to the first two books as Fellowship).

Charge 1: Fellowship is uneven because Tolkien wasn't sure where he was going at first.

This is actually true. I was once told that Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings before The Hobbit. This is incorrect. He wrote The Silmarillion before The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings (actually, to be more accurate, he was working on The Silmarillion while he was working on the others; one could argue that Tolkien never did finish writing the history of Middle-Earth). He didn't start The Lord of the Rings until after the success of The Hobbit.

But Fellowship is a tad uneven. According to the excellent critique of Tolkien that I am currently reading (J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century by Tom Shippey), Tolkien wasn't sure until the Council of Elrond (half-way through Fellowship) where exactly the book was heading. And the truth is, the beginning of Fellowship is a tad slow (although Tolkien was a good enough writer that there is still a sense of continuity: more on this later).

Consequently, I have never faulted filmmakers or radio producers who have removed Tom Bombadil or the Barrow-Downs from their scripts. Peter Jackson's choices here are the choices most directors make, and they are good choices. By the time Frodo leaves the Shire, the script needs to move which means it needs to get our intrepid gang to Bree as quickly as possible.

However, from a reading standpoint, these chapters do work. The reason they work is that the story is a story of adventure from the point of view of hobbits. Although I would support a movie script that focused exclusively on Boromir (can we ever get enough of Sean Bean?), the whole point of the book is that the Ring has wound up in the hands of wholly prosaic and non-legendary people. They AREN'T the typical sword-wielding heroes. From the perspective of classical fantasy motifs, they are completely unexpected.

And most of us readers are the same: prosaic, non-legendary, non-sword-wielding. Like the hobbits, we encounter adventure as prosaic, non-legendary, non-sword-wielding folks do: day-by-day, piece-by-piece. We are overwhelmed; we adapt; we learn; we go on to the next adventure.

The beginning adventures in Fellowship are frightening, so frightening Frodo thinks, "This is it! This is what a frightening adventure is!" But the next adventure is more frightening. And the adventure after that is even more frightening . . . until finally, the adventures in the Old Forest and on the Barrow-Downs seem positively light and breezy vacations compared to Moria and Mount Doom. The hobbits cope with all of it day-by-day, piece-by-piece.

This is not only realistic; it is very effective storytelling.

Charge 2: The Ring doesn't work the same on everyone. Gasp! Gasp!

I have never understood this charge. Positive critics, like Shippey, point to "addiction" as a good way to explain characters' differing reactions to the Ring. These positive critics are right. But I understood the Ring's varying influence when I was a kid without anyone giving me "addiction" as an analogy. Maybe it was all that Bible and Shakespeare but of course, Gandalf could vehemently refuse the Ring while Bilbo, albeit reluctantly, would be able to give it up (and be the only owner to ever do so voluntarily). Why would it work any other way!? Sure, if it was some lame fantasy-device with one cause-effect . . . but the Ring is a living power with the same unpredictable influence on people that ideas or desires or people have on people.

This never confused me. It doesn't confuse me now. The reason Frodo is able to carry the Ring so long at all is because hobbits, at their core, are unambitious. They are the ultimate live-me-alone-to-do-my-own-thing folks. Gandalf, on the other hand, is ambitious as are the elves. Their wisdom comes in rejecting the Ring before it gains a hold. Ah, if only modern politicians were so wise!

Charge 3: The Ringwraiths are less powerful in Fellowship than in later books.

This also never confused me. Again, it may not make sense from a one-size-fits-all/all-characters-must-have-the-same-power-at-all-times perspective, but organically, it is very natural and effective. The Ringwraiths are not wholly dead or alive. Their response to the physical landscape is almost ghostly. They can perform physical actions, but they operate like beings without full use of their senses. This is credible, considering what they are. (They have to sniff for Frodo, and they can't fully see him until he puts on the Ring.)

The closer the Ringwraiths get to Mordor, the more powerful they become. This also makes sense. They are far more dangerous on the east side of the Misty Mountains than on the west. On the east, they are closer to the power that controls and sustains them. Radio signals and reception, people: it isn't that hard a concept!

Subsequently, in the first book, the hobbits can outwit and out-maneuver single Ringwraiths. Aragorn can beat off four. They are most dangerous when they are all together (at the Ford). But even together, they can be beaten in ways that won't work later on.

None of these issues bothered me as a child, and I find they don't bother me now. Everything in the story makes sense because each event is what would happen next. There's a natural progression of actions and reactions. I often think that modern fantasy series fail because they fail to understand this. You can't just stick a bunch of elves, dwarfs, men, and orcs in a room, give them different powers, and have them go at it like a video game (even die-hard Dungeons & Dragons fans will tell you that the best games have the best game masters, i.e. storytellers; I'm not including D&D gamers who like D&D for the same reason they like Risk: snooze). Good fiction must have growth and change and variation; otherwise, it's just people on a graph, not people in an adventure.