Pet sounds and human machines

In case you didn't see it, I've got an article in the Sunday magazine about why people sing to their pets, inspired by this post about my little MiloMuse and all the songs I sing to him.

Some pets, of course, will sing back to you. Milo is part basenji and some basenjis sing (here is one singing along to the theme of "The Godfather"), but he doesn't. We tried to get him to howl once, by sitting down on the floor with him and howling together (some whiskey had been consumed at this point) and Milo really didn't get the point of that at all. He became very agitated and ran around in circles, and then brought us all his toys, and when we still wouldn't stop howling he got up in Mr. Improbable's lap and slapped him across the face with his paw.

So we stopped trying to make him howl with us.

Animals seem to differ, both by species and as individuals, in the extent to which they can coordinate with people or each other. Milo didn't get that he was supposed to howl with us, but some dogs do, and wolves sing together every night. Cats seem to get the concept of turn-taking. I used to have long conversations with my cat ("And how was your day?" "Mrow." "Really? Mine too. I thought we might get a video and hang out on the couch tonight, how does that sound?" "Mrow." "Would you prefer a mystery or a comedy?" "Mrow." "Ah, a classic! Good idea. Bette Davis or Joan Crawford?" "Mrow."). Dogs don't seem to understand vocal turn-taking. But watching a really well-trained sheepdog, or seeing-eye dog, with their person is like watching two halves of the same being.

Which brings me to an update and a few more thoughts on the children's workshop I did at the Renaissance Weekend. They really liked the "Machine" game, in which one person starts making a sound and motion, and the next person makes a complementary sound and movement, and so on until the entire group has formed a machine that can speed up, slow down, break down. I'm not sure how well the conversation about it worked out. If the kids had been in regular little classes, that would have been one thing, but they'd been doing mostly unstructured play time and then this strange lady comes in and wants to them to talk about stuff they've never thought about before, and what's up with that? They were very nice about it but their energy was distinctly off.

Still, thinking about human machines and seeing-eye dogs and cat conversations seems to lead to something important about etiquette, about social life, even if I can't quite put my finger on it. It may just be one of those utterly mundane insights that nonetheless hits you with peculiar intensity at certain moments in your life--that social behavior isn't about conformity as much as it is about coordination. Maybe some people, and animals, are going to be especially good at it. Maybe some individuals are good at certain kinds of coordination but not at others. (Milo's not much for singalongs, but watching Mr. Improbable play tug with him is like watching an intricately choreographed dance.) Maybe there are some biological bases, some evolutionary universals, that drive our capacity to coordinate our actions with those of others. But certainly culture helps. Etiquette helps. If social life is a dance, then etiquette provides us with the beat.