Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know

by Alexandra Horowitz

Some of this skill is explainable by looking at their natural behavior. Why did wolves readily learn the rope-pulling task? Well, they do a lot of grabbing and pulling on things (like prey) in their natural environment. Some of the difference can be traced to dogs’ more limited requirements for living. Having been folded into the world of humans, dogs no longer need some of the skills that they would to survive on their own. As we’ll see, what dogs lack in physical skills, they make up for in people skills.

We not only avoid eye contact with strangers, we rely on eye contact with intimates. There is information in a furtive glance; a gaze mutually held feels profound. Eye contact between people is essential to normal communication.

Given the relative scarcity of barking in wolves, some theorize that dogs have developed a more elaborate barking language precisely in order to communicate with humans. If

Look a dog in the eyes and you get the definite feeling that he is looking back. Dogs return our gaze. Their look is more than just setting eyes on us; they are looking at us in the same way that we look at them. The importance of the dog’s gaze, when it is directed at our faces, is that gaze implies a frame of mind. It implies attention. A gazer is both paying attention to you and, possibly, paying attention to your own attention.

Tested on their ability to, say, get a bit of food in a well-closed container, wolves keep trying and trying, and if the test is not rigged they eventually succeed through trial and error. Dogs, by contrast, tend to go at the container only until it appears that it won’t easily be opened. Then they look at any person in the room and begin a variety of attention-getting and solicitation behaviors until the person relents and helps them get into the box.

By standard intelligence tests, the dogs have failed at the puzzle. I believe, by contrast, that they have succeeded magnificently. They have applied a novel tool to the task. We are that tool. Dogs have learned this—and they see us as fine general-purpose tools, too: useful for protection, acquiring food, providing companionship. We solve the puzzles of closed doors and empty water dishes. In the folk psychology of dogs, we humans are brilliant enough to extract hopelessly tangled leashes from around trees; we can magically transport them to higher or lower heights as needed; we can conjure up an endless bounty of foodstuffs and things to chew. How savvy we are in dogs’ eyes! It’s a clever strategy to turn to us after all. The question of the cognitive abilities of dogs is thereby transformed: dogs are terrific at using humans to solve problems, but not as good at solving problems when we’re not around.

ground. Finally, they are compellingly cute. And by compelling, I mean a literal compulsion: it is part of our constitution that we coo over puppies, that we soften at the sight of a big-headed, small-limbed mutt, that we go ga-ga for a pug nose and a furry tail. It has been suggested that humans are adapted to be attracted to creatures with exaggerated features—the prime examples of which are human infants. Infants

At the same time, full-body contact is preferred by some dogs, especially young dogs, and especially when they are the initiators of the contact. Dogs often find places to lie down that maximize contiguity of body with body. This might be a safe posture for dogs, especially as puppies, when they are entirely reliant on others for their care. To feel light pressure along the whole body is to have assurance of your well-being. It is hard to imagine knowing a dog but not touching him—or being touched by him. To be nudged by a dog’s nose is a pleasure unmatched.