10 1163@9789004233041

Crossing Boundaries
Human-Animal Studies
Editor
Kenneth Shapiro
Animals & Society Institute
Editorial Board
Ralph Acampora
Hofstra University
Clifton Flynn
University of South Carolina
Hilda Kean
Ruskin College, Oxford
Randy Malamud
Georgia State University
Gail Melson
Purdue University
VOLUME 14
Crossing Boundaries
Investigating Human-Animal Relationships
Edited by
Lynda Birke and Jo Hockenhull
LEIDEN • BOSTON
2012
Cover illustrations: A dog’s response to his owner leaving the room (top) and an example of the close
bond between humans and animals (bottom).
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Crossing boundaries : investigating human-animal relationships / edited by Lynda Birke and

Jo Hockenhull.
p. cm. — (Human-animal studies)
Includes index.
ISBN 978-90-04-23145-0 (hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-90-04-23304-1 (e-book)
1. Human-animal relationships. I. Birke, Lynda I. A. II. Hockenhull, Jo.
QL85.C76 2012
590—dc23
2012019686
This publication has been typeset in the multilingual “Brill” typeface. With over 5,100 characters
covering Latin, IPA, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the
humanities. For more information, please see www.brill.nl/brill-typeface.
ISSN 1573-4226
ISBN 978 90 04 23145 0 (paperback)
ISBN 978 90 04 23304 1 (e-book)
Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands.

Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing,
IDC Publishers and Martinus Nijhoff Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.
Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV
provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center,
222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA.
Fees are subject to change.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.

contents v
Contents
Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii
Contributors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
Introduction: On Investigating Human-Animal Relationships. . . . . . 1

PART ONE
Social Networks
1. On Investigating Human–Animal Bonds: Realities, Relatings,

Research. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
2. Animals, Mess, Method: Post-humanism, Sociology and Animal
Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Nik Taylor
3. Nourishing Communities: Animal Vitalities and Food Quality . . 51
Henry Buller
4. Being guided by Dogs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Marc Higgin
PART TWO
SHARING LIVES
5. Being-with-Animals: Modes of Embodiment in Human-Animal

Encounters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Diane Dutton
6. Honouring Human Emotions: Using Organic Inquiry for Research-
ing Human—Companion Animal Relationships. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
Susan Ella Dawson
7. Human-Enculturated Apes: Towards a New Synthesis of Philoso-
phy and Comparative Psychology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Pär Segerdahl
vi contents
PART THREE
ANIMAL EXPERIENCING
8. Lessons We Should Learn from Our Unique Relationship with

Dogs: An Ethological Approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
József Topál and Márta Gácsi
9. How Can the Ethological Study of Dog-Human Companionship
Inform Social Robotics?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Gabriella Lakatos and Ádam Miklósi
10. The Nature of Relations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
Mette Miriam Böll
11. A Science of Friendly Pigs … Carving Out a Conceptual Space for
Addressing Animals as Sentient Beings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
Françoise Wemelsfelder
12. Crossing Borders: Some Concluding Comments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257

contents vii
Foreword
As the sub-title indicates (“Investigating human-animal relationships”),

the “boundaries crossed” in this 14th book in the Brill Human-Animal
Studies series largely refers to forms of investigation of the human-animal
relationship. This is the first edited volume to attempt to productively cross
the boundary between the social and the natural sciences, rather than the
more typically trod social science/humanities border line. The contributors
borrow, adapt, mix and match, examine, and, importantly, apply methods
from both sides.
While continuing to work within a definition of the field that features
relationships, the editors are concerned with redressing the undue empha-
sis on the human side. With its tradition of studying nonhuman animals
(viz., animal behavior, ethology, and veterinary science), the natural sci-
ences offer a relatively unmined resource or, more precisely, one that has
not been adequately integrated into the field. However, the hallmark ob-
jectivistic and reductive methods of the natural sciences introduce new
and reinforce old problematics for the field. If we present the human side
of the relationship in terms of a point of view or perspective that is lived
in the relationship -- informing and constituting it, can we and should we
present the animal side in the same terms? Of course, this opens that old
can of ontological and epistemological issues. A second problematic: How
are we to understand the role of the investigator (detached, engaged, par-
ticipatory, situated) and how are we to and do we need to “correct” for the
fact that the investigator, while also an animal, is of the human kind?
True to its purpose and, I add, strength, the contributors of this volume
largely address these issues by providing and applying forms of investiga-
tion.
Kenneth Shapiro, Series Editor

Animals and Society Institute, Inc., Washington Grove MD
viii contents
contributors ix
CONTRIBUTORS
Lynda Birke is Visiting Professor in the Department of Biological Sciences,

at the University of Chester, UK. Her research began in ethology, but has
more recently focused on interdisciplinary work, especially around issues
of gender and human-animal studies. She is particularly interested in
studying human relationships with other animals, and in animal welfare.
She has published extensively in these fields, and is currently doing research
exploring human-horse relationships. She is an associate editor of Society
and Animals, and of Humanimalia and an Associate Member of the New
Zealand Centre for Human-Animal Studies. Her most recent book, written
with A. Arluke and M. Michael (2007) was The Sacrifice: how scientific ex-
periments transform animals and people (Purdue University Press).
Mette Miriam Böll is currently working on her doctorate in industrial

ethology in the department of semiotics at Aarhus University in Denmark.
Her research interests include the biology of social relations, biology of
leadership, philosophy of science, biosemiotics, evolution of consciousness,
the biology of feelings and emotions, neuroscience of social relations, biol-
ogy of authenticity, human-animal relations, evolution of play behaviour
and the philosophy of nature.
Henry Buller is Professor of (non-)Human Geography at the University

of Exeter where he teaches, amongst other things, ‘Animal Geographies.’
He has published a number of articles and chapters on human-animal
relations, largely from a social science perspective, and animal welfare,
particularly that of ‘food animals.’ Recent funded research includes the EU
Welfare Quality programme and an UK Economic and Social Research
Council funded project entitled Understanding Human Behaviour through
Human/Animal Interaction. He is an appointed member of the UK
Government’s Farm Animal Welfare Committee.
Susan Dawon is Director of Animal-Kind UK a research, training and

therapy consultancy dedicated to the psychology of human-animal inter-
actions. She is currently undertaking practitioner psychologist training and
is a Doctoral Trainee in Counselling Psychology at the University of
Manchester. Her most recent research (2011) was with The Donkey
x contributors
Sanctuary investigating how children with social and emotional behav-

ioural difficulties relate to donkeys. She has also undertaken relationship-
centred counselling in veterinary practice at Colorado State University,
and worked in post war Bosnia developing schools’ based animal welfare
focussed detraumatisation programmes for children affected by the war,
as well as managing the RSPCA’s Causes of Cruelty project. She is a quali-
fied counsellor and teacher, with specific experience and skills with chil-
dren involved in animal abuse. She acts as a professional witness in animal
abuse cases.
Diane Dutton completed her undergraduate and postgraduate studies at

University of Liverpool, UK. Initially researching the area of chimpanzee
social relationships and personality, she became interested in how people
construct and interpret personality and awareness in animals. Until 2011
she was a Senior Lecturer in Psychology at Liverpool Hope University, UK,
where her teaching and research interests focused on ‘embodied’ and re-
lational ways of knowing, with an emphasis on phenomenological, his-
torical and cultural perspectives on the human-animal relationship. Recent
research projects include an exploration and review of the nature of the
human-animal relationship in parapsychological research. She is now
working as an independent writer based in Portugal.
Márta Gácsi has been doing research on dog-human relationship since

1998. Her field of study is the ethological analysis of dog-human relation-
ship and the role of domestication in dogs’ socio-cognitive capacities. Her
PhD dissertation investigated the dog-owner attachment bond. Currently
her major research interest is the application of dogs’ interspecific social
behaviours as a model for designing more ‘social’ service robots.
Marc Higgin began life in research in the field of animal behaviour; work-
ing on behavioural models of disease transmission in Black-backed Jackals
and foraging behaviour in Chacma Baboons. What fascinated him during
the course of this research was the gulf between the data itself and the
actual work of collecting it; the fraught, delicate business of getting close
enough to the animals to see what they were doing. A welcome track led
him to the emerging field of human-animal relations and more-than-human
geographies, where he had the chance to work with guide dog partnerships,
animal welfare in the context of European farming and the practices of
religious slaughter (Halal and Kosher) in UK. He is currently on an ESRC
scholarship exploring the creative relations between human and clay.
contributors xi
Jo Hockenhull works in the Animal Welfare and Behaviour Group at the

University of Bristol, School of Veterinary Sciences. Her previous research
focused on equine welfare, with her PhD thesis investigating the epidemi-
ology of behaviour problems and risk factors for poor welfare in UK leisure
horses. She is currently working on the knowledge exchange part of the
Southwest Healthy Livestock Initiative.
Gabriella Lakatos is working as a researcher at the Department of

Ethology at Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest (Hungary). In recent
years her main interest has been to study dog-human interactions from
different comparative perspectives. Among other questions she investi-
gated the use of visual communicative signals in the case of dogs compared
to cats and human infants, the visual communicational abilities of adult
cats and kittens in different ages, but she investigated also the referential
communicational abilities of children with autism. In more recent years
her research questions were raised in the field of ethorobotics
Ádám Miklósi is the Head of the Ethology Department at the Eötvös

University in Budapest (Hungary). In the beginning of his career he con-
ducted ethological research on a range of different animal species includ-
ing the paradise fish, zebrafish, domesticated chicks, laboratory rats. Since
1994 he has been leading the Family Dog project in which research is fo-
cused on the comparative evolution of social cognition with specific inter-
est in dogs, wolves and human children. In more recent years his interest
included the ethological investigation of human-dog interaction, and pro-
viding ethological foundation for social robotics. In 2007 he published a
book entitled Dog Behaviour, Evolution, and Cognition with Oxford
University Press.
Pär Segerdahl is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Uppsala University

in Sweden. His background is in philosophy of language. He has published
several inquiries into linguistic theory, for example, in Language Use
(Macmillan, 1996). He often uses examples from ape language research,
above all in Kanzi’s Primal Language (Palgrave, 2005), written with ape
language researchers William Fields and Sue Savage-Rumbaugh. He spent
two inspiring years, 2007-2009, as a guest researcher at the Centre for
Gender Research in Uppsala. Together with a group of animal studies
scholars at the Centre he explored implications of ape language research
for the notion of gendered human-animal relationships, and edited a vol-
xii contributors
ume on animal studies, Undisciplined Animals (Cambridge Scholars

Publishing, 2011).
Nik Taylor received her Ph.D ‘Human-Animal Relations: A Sociological

Respecification’, from Manchester Metropolitan University in 1999. Since
then she has researched issues such as links between human and animal
directed violence, and humane education and animal assisted therapy. Nik
is the Managing Editor of Society & Animals; a charter scholar of the
Animals and Society Institute; a participant in the Australian Animals Study
group, and an Associate Member of the New Zealand Centre for Human-
Animal Studies. Nik is also an editorial board member of Anthrozoos,
Sociology, and Sociological Research Online. Now a Senior Lecturer at
Flinders University she has published numerous works on human-animal
relations, the latest of which includes ‘Theorizing Animals: Re-Thinking
Humanimal Relations’ (Brill, 2011).
József Topál is an ethologist, he received his PhD degree in Behavioural

Biology (2000). Currently he is the head of Comparative Behavioural
Research Group at the Institute for Psychology, Hungarian Academy of
Sciences. His main area of research interest is social cognition in general
and the social-behavioural characteristics that dogs share with humans in
particular. Among others he has been doing research on dog-human rela-
tionship since 1994, studying the behaviour manifestations of dogs’ attach-
ment to human and the role of domestication in forming dog-human bonds.
He is author of more than 70 scientific publications. In 2001 and 2004 he
gained the Frank A. Beach Comparative Psychology Award which is given
each year by the American Psychological Association to recognize the best
paper published in the Journal of Comparative Psychology.
Françoise Wemelsfelder is Senior Research Scientist in Sustainable

Livestock Systems at the Scottish Agricultural College, Edinburgh, UK. She
is a biologist specialised in the study of animal behaviour and welfare,
whose main research interest is the study of animals as whole sentient
beings. Seeking to integrate philosophical insight with scientific methodol-
ogy, she has developed a qualitative research approach to assess well-being
in farm animals. Her current work focuses on applying this approach to
practical on-farm welfare management.
introduction 1
INTRODUCTION:
On Investigating Human-Animal Relationships
What is our relationship with other animals? And which animals? There
are many, and complex, answers to that question, ranging from uneasy
coexistence to easy cohabitation, from killing to cooperation. At times, we
try to keep other animals at bay—think, for example, of the rats and mice
never far from our homes. At other times, we live or work in close proxim-
ity, but the relationship is one of qualified distance: human-animal rela-
tionships in laboratories are an example. And sometimes, nonhuman
animals live in our houses, in close companionship, sharing our day-to-day
lives.
Despite the importance of our relationships with many kinds of animals,
only recently have these come under academic scrutiny. Human/animal
studies—a broad interdisciplinary set of inquiries—has grown from
strength to strength, covering many aspects of relationships between
people and other animals. Interest in ‘thinking about animals’ is now ap-
parent in several disciplines where, traditionally, nonhumans were largely
absent—sociology, for example, has now begun to recognise the place of
nonhuman animals in social networks, and in how we conceptualise ‘na-
ture’ (Latour, 2004; Wolfe, 2003).
Alongside these developments, animals and their behaviour are part of
the remit of the natural sciences; these have, historically, tended to overlook
animals’ relationships with people. Recent work, however, in ethology and
animal welfare science has begun to address human/animal relationships,
especially in that area of welfare science focussing on the impact of human
behaviour or husbandry on nonhumans (see Fraser, 2008). Furthermore,
advances in cognitive ethology, detailing the cognitive and emotional ca-
pacities of nonhuman animals, enable us to understand animals as con-
scious agents (e.g. Bekoff, 2002), while increasing attention is now paid to
nonhuman animals as social and cultured actors (see contributors to De
Waal & Tyack, 2003).
Despite that cross-fertilization, in practice many empirical studies of
humans and animals focus more on humans or nonhumans rather than
2 Lynda Birke and Jo Hockenhull
the relationship between them—many studies in ethology, for instance,

are concerned with human impact on animal welfare, while work in psy-
chology or sociology has often concentrated on the effects of nonhumans
on people, or on how people understand or represent other species. Put
another way, there has been focus on the outcome of our relationships with
other species, but much less on how relationships work, as a process, or an
ongoing interaction between two or more sentient individuals.
There are, of course, many ways in which people relate to animals—in
hunting, in slaughterhouses, observing wildlife, for instance. We interact
with many other animals, at some level of relationship. Sometimes, bonds
with specific individuals may emerge—in field work with great apes for
example. And our lives relate to all kinds of animals, from earthworms to
beetles, from eagles to boa constrictors. For most people, however, the
meaningful and enduring relationships with animal kin are those with
companion or domesticated species, mostly mammals and birds—those
in whom we may be able to recognize at least some emotional similarities.1
The development of relationships with specific nonhuman animals is
an experience many people working in human/animal studies share—one
which often entails an ongoing and meaningful bond. It is just that sense
of relating—whether between stockperson and cow, or between child and
dog—that matters to many of us, those moments when we contemplate
just who this animal is. And the quality of that relationship matters—
partly for us, in terms of well-being and health, but also significantly for
the animal, whose welfare and even life may depend upon it.
This book aims to explore these questions, to ask how we might ‘think
across divides’, in order to understand better how complex relationships
or companionships with other animals form, and change over time—and
not only to think across divides, but also to suggest ways of empirically
investigating relationships and how these develop. Thinking across divides
is not easy, however—in part, because academic boundaries challenge
both our thought and our research practices, but also because of the very
opposition of ‘human’ and ‘animal’ embedded within our culture. This
1 The use of the generic ‘animal’ is always problematic. We refer to human-animal

studies, for example, while Western culture has long separated humans from other animals.
Biologically, it makes little sense to do so, and the generalisation furthermore glosses over
differences between all kinds of animals. Those species that are in close association with
us, moreover, are likely to come from only a very limited range of species, notably from
among the vertebrates, especially mammals. A few authors have written about relationships
with other species. See, for example, Bowers and Burghardt (1992) on interactions with
reptiles.
introduction 3
opposition is deeply problematic in the way that it posits generic ‘animals’

as not-human, sub-human, other (Deckha, 2010; Kemmerer, 2011; and Taylor
this volume: chapter two), so reinforcing hegemony of humans (and
Western culture).
Yet ‘human-animal studies’2—for all the difficulties of naming—embod-
ies a sustained interest in understanding and analysing how we humans
relate to and make sense of other species. Our relationships to other animals
might be studied in many different ways, based on various viewpoints about
the methodology and ethics of doing so. To some, research might be seen
as inevitably human-centred, given inequities of power; others might argue
that, despite the domination inherent in all our dealings with other species,
we can experience companionship with at least some of them (albeit
within structures of power: see, for example, Cudworth, 2011), and we might
seek to understand better how that companionship works.
In this book, we generally take the latter stance. There are undoubtedly
pressing issues of politics and power in most human relationships with
nonhumans, and there are many, many ways in which our lives impact
upon, and are entwined with, a vast array of animal others throughout the
world. Yet people who seek to study human-animal bonds often do so from
experience of companionship of some sort. Such motivating experiences
may be with wild animals (think of the iconic image of human and chim-
panzee hands intertwined, associated with Jane Goodall’s work in Africa),
but are frequently with domesticated animals—our companion species,
as Haraway so aptly named them (Haraway, 2007).
Most of the studies documented here are concerned with some aspect
or other of the bond people can form with specific animals, usually domes-
ticates—involving a sense of companionship and an awareness of the
‘mindedness’ of the animal other. In that sense, these are mostly micro-
level studies, concerned mainly with forms of relating between specific
people and specific animals, and mostly with relationships perceived—at
least by humans—as positive and beneficial. This focus stems partly from
our personal interest in such companionships and how to study them, but
also stems from our own positioning across disciplinary divides (ethology/
social sciences). We would argue that, to include the ‘animal’s point of
view’ in such studies researchers need to pay heed to what can be learned
from the sciences of animal behaviour (cognitive ethology, and studies of
2 Although in wide use, the term has many critics. Others prefer ‘animal studies’, or
perhaps ‘critical animal studies’ (usually in association with animal liberationist viewpoints).
However, the ‘animal’ remains generic and hence implicitly not-human—so not necessar-
ily solving the oppositional problem.
enculturation), as well as to the sociological and psychological investiga-

tions that map human and nonhuman engagements in social worlds.
Somehow, these need to be brought together.
A decade ago, one of us was involved in co-editing a book which began
with the recognition that the practices of biology have long been rooted
in reductionism, and in denial of living organisms as subjects and agents.
Accordingly, contributors were asked to reflect speculatively on what their
area of biological science might have looked like if it had developed differ-
ently—if, for instance, it had always taken seriously the integrity of the
organisms under study (see Birke & Hubbard, 1995). That was a speculative
question, to be sure, but it provoked contributors to think widely about
the kinds of questions they asked. Here, we take a similar position, and
asked contributors from quite diverse backgrounds to write about how they
study ‘human-animal relationships’—the methods, theory, assumptions.
But we also asked them to go beyond the usual boundaries of inquiry
within their field—to suggest innovative approaches to studying pro-
cesses of engagement between humans and animals, to focus on the ‘how’
as well as the ‘why.’ Most of the contributors we approached do research
at the micro-level, focussing on investigations of specific examples of hu-
man-animal companionship. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most are concerned
with companion animals, and three focus especially on dogs. We cannot
cover here all the myriad ways in which research into human-animal rela-
tionships might be done. We have chosen to focus on companionate rela-
tionships; but many of the questions asked, and methodologies used, may
well have wider applicability to other species and situations, and we would
hope that some of the questions raised here spur further research.
To understand the multiple forms of human-nonhuman relationships
requires thinking laterally, to interrogate widely diverse ways of observing
and theorizing, and to be able to draw on diverse disciplinary approaches.
There are a number of promising approaches in research, which can trace
how human relationships with other animals are produced. We need, for
example, to draw on work in ethology which attempts to understand how
animals, whether domesticated or wild, communicate not only with each
other but across species boundaries—including their abilities to under-
stand human gestures. We also need to utilise insights from social science
which attempt to ‘follow the animal’ through social networks. The develop-
ment of actor network theory in Science and Technology studies is one
example of how nonhuman participants in social processes might be
taken seriously (e.g. Nimmo, 2010; Taylor, 2011). But both matter in terms
introduction 5
of how we come to understand the mutual production of human and non-

human social lives.
Importantly, the book includes contributions from the natural sciences
as well as from the social sciences. Although coming from different direc-
tions, these authors seek to understand what makes human-nonhuman
relationships. We recognize the difficulties in making these border cross-
ings—researchers are usually trained within specific disciplines, with
different methodologies, and are seldom required to work inter-discipli-
narily—although that is exactly what we sought to do here. We believe it
is crucial to integrate all these different perspectives: for all the difficulties
of cross-conversation, there are rich veins of wisdom about animals in all
of them.
The principal question posed in this book is: how can researchers work
most effectively to investigate how relationships are forged? In part, this
is an epistemological issue, but it is also a methodological one. For ex-
ample, how can ethology begin to ask more questions not only about the
animal and its behaviour but also about how human and animal engage
with each other? How can social sciences—increasingly recognizing the
need to ‘bring animals in’—begin seriously to address what animals do, to
treat them as mindful social actors? Does the emergence of posthumanism
as a way of thinking beyond human-animal binaries (see Taylor this vol-
ume) suggest practical ways of investigating how we engage with specific
others? And can we truly include whatever species, even those fundamen-
tally different from ourselves? How can we move beyond disciplines and
learn to trace our relationships with others (human and nonhuman) as
accomplishments? More specifically, can we develop methodologies that
genuinely transcend boundaries, and that are truly innovative (Shapiro,
1997)? If we can, then we might also consider the impact on our daily lives
with other animals, or on political movements of animal advocacy. In short,
the fundamental question is: can we be more creative in research about
how we relate to animals?
The various contributors to this volume approach these questions in
diverse ways. Some are trained in animal behaviour, and work primarily
from a natural science perspective focussing on the animal; others come
at research from more sociological backgrounds, sometimes concentrating
more on the human. Some are more concerned with specificities, details
of interactions between this human and that nonhuman, while others pay
more attention to relatings at a more structural level. Despite the wide
variety in methodologies, however, what they have in common is that they
seek to understand how ongoing relationships between humans and non-

humans are forged. Even if the focus of these chapters is largely domesti-
cated companion animals, we should not, for example, forget the multiple
levels of our relationships to laboratory animals, or to animals used in
agriculture—with whom we are profoundly connected through practices
of consumption. In both cases, there are occasional close bonds between
human and animal, despite the structural constraints. Our contributors
come from different backgrounds, and with different agendas and politics.
Some, for example, might be (cautious) carnivores, as Buller points out in
his chapter; others, including ourselves, are ethical vegetarians or vegans.
Some, too, may feel that keeping animals in captivity is profoundly prob-
lematic (perhaps especially if the purpose is a research study), while others
may feel that, if animals are indeed captive, then their welfare is a priority
focus for research.
There are, to be sure, ethical dilemmas associated with studies of human-
animal relationships—should we be investigating the experiences of ani-
mals at all if doing so sometimes entails their captivity? Is there always and
inevitably a problem with our theory and methodology derived from mul-
tiple vested interests on the part of humans (as Kemmerer, 2011, suggests)?
We do not pursue these vexed questions of morality here, however; our
purpose in this book is not to follow through all the ethical dilemmas
(which would be another book), but to try to think about the methodolo-
gies of investigating relationships between ourselves and other species.
Rather, we are concerned to ask—if we are going to do research at all into
human/nonhuman relationships, how can we best do it?
We do, however, want to stress that, ultimately, it could be argued that
all research into human-animal relationships is problematic. Just as the
opposition of human to ‘animal’ problematically defines nonhumans with
respect to humans, so too does research position nonhumans as other: they
are the researched. In that sense, research in human-animal studies will
usually be anthropocentric—for it is our, human, thirst for knowledge that
is entailed. This point recalls feminist arguments about the need for ac-
countability and responsibility toward the researched—arguments which
apply also to thinking about animals (see Birke, 2009). We acknowledge
disparities of power, but believe that a greater understanding of nonhuman
animals and how we—and they—produce social worlds could contribute
to a better, and more accountable, world for all of us.
How to investigate such production of shared worlds is the concern of
the following chapters. A broad theme of those in Part One is building and
introduction 7
tracing social networks. In Chapter One, we introduce some of the major

issues facing researchers seeking to study human-animal relationships. In
doing so, we draw attention to promising lines of inquiry from various
disciplinary backgrounds, drawing also on our own research on human-
horse interactions. Understanding interspecies relationships within wider
social contexts will need methodologies from several—perhaps diver-
gent—disciplinary perspectives. This is a theme taken up also by Nicola
Taylor (Chapter Two); here, she examines significant developments in
sociological inquiry, and how sociologists might trace human-nonhuman
networks. Traditionally, social sciences have largely ignored animals (de-
spite the large number of nonhumans who are part of the social fabric).
This omission is, however, changing with new developments from post-
humanism, which emphasise networks and mobilities—so opening up
space for ‘relationships’ to be the focus of study, rather than entities. There
is, too, growing emphasis on ways of recording which can allow the per-
spective of the animal; as Taylor points out, observation using video (com-
mon in ethological research, but hitherto much less common in sociology)
can include the animal’s perspective in ways that, say, interview or ques-
tionnaire do not.
Most of the chapters in this book are concerned primarily with specific
relationships—usually, one-to-one. Such specificity is not our only ‘rela-
tionship’ with animals, however; as Henry Buller notes in Chapter Three,
human relationships to large numbers of animals involves eating them.
Industrialized farming practices have separated human and animal, such
that food animals become invisible. Buller’s concern is to trace the networks
of specific relationships and practices of production and consumption, in
which agricultural animals are embedded. His research is thus concerned
with tracing multiple connections between humans and nonhumans at a
macro-level, rather than focussing on specific relationships. While caretak-
ers of agricultural animals may sometimes have individualized bonds with
them, intensive farming largely removes animals from such close contact.
Indeed, as Buller points out, the most significant human-farm animal re-
lationship, at least in terms of numbers, is that people eat them.
Other sociological studies might focus more on a micro-level, concerned
with specific situations and relationships. This is, for instance, the approach
taken by Marc Higgin (Chapter Four), in his discussion of a study of guide
dogs and their people. Higgin’s approach draws on ethnographic approach-
es in sociology, ‘following dogs/humans around’ within their shared spac-
es of home and the wider physical and social environment in order to
understand how together they construct their world(s). Following partici-

pants around allows the experiential and emotional aspects of the bond
to become apparent, to give both a voice.
How bonds are experienced and how lives are shared is a broad theme
of Part Two. Diane Dutton (Chapter Five) notes the history of dualistic
thought in psychology, and its tendency to exclude understanding of emo-
tionality. She argues that to properly understand relationships requires
experiential methods, studied over time. In her own work, she uses phe-
nomenological approaches, in which the focus is always on relationship
and process, rather than on individual participants and their behaviour.
Specifically, she asks how the participants come to ‘tune into’ each other,
to pay attention to each other’s emotions and communications, and to
create meaning and produce a bond.
The experiencing of specific bonds people have with companion animals
is also a theme explored in Susan Dawson’s research (Chapter Six). She
underlines here the importance of one’s own personal story, and human
emotions and recollections after making the decision to euthanize a much-
loved animal companion. While the animal may no longer be present in
this research, she emphasizes the process of telling the story of the relation-
ship and its emotions, and how that narration also engages the researcher.
There is no researcher ‘standing outside’ of the process of research here,
but an active engagement with experience and with the telling of the
story. Her approach—organic inquiry—underscores the experiential, the
emotional, and the sacred, that are the basis of many of our dealings with
close companion animals.
The importance of locating the researcher within the research process
is also emphasised by Pär Segerdahl (Chapter Seven). Here, the focus shifts
from companion animals to great apes, who have been part of long-term
language learning studies. He emphasizes how communication between
species is experienced, within shared environments. Like our interactions
with household dogs, it is these mutually experienced milieus which pro-
vide context for communicative interaction between human and ape.
Segerdahl suggests that testing language learning only in laboratory settings
takes the apes and their cognitive skills out of the complex environments
of ‘home’ in which they learn and engage with the other. By contrast, he
describes a form of participative research, through living with apes (bono-
bos). We share ‘home’ most obviously—and literally—with companion
animals such as dogs and cats, as well as other species who might live
uncaged in our houses (house rabbits, for instance). But in the research
introduction 9
studies he outlines human researcher and bonobo participant are sharing

experience and space as home. Understanding relationships needs, then,
to engage with the various ‘homes’ in which relationships are lived—and
particularly with the home of animal mind, Segerdahl argues.
Recent work in cognitive ethology increasingly emphasizes nonhuman
animals as mindful, conscious, participants in relationships—with other
animals or with us. Research based on ethological studies which seek to
understand the animal’s ‘point of view’ is the theme of Part Three. Here, it
is the animals that are the primary focus, rather than on their wider social
networks, and researchers are concerned to understand other species’
abilities to communicate across species boundaries, and to bond with
humans. Chapters Eight and Nine come from ethologists renowned for
studies of domestic dogs and their abilities. József Topál and Márta Gácsi
(Chapter Eight) are interested in how bonds—emotional attachments—
between humans and dogs form. Their ethological approach focuses on
the dog’s preparedness to form sustained attachments with people.
‘Attachment’ has largely been studied by psychologists focussing on the
human mother-infant bond, but it is a concept, they argue, which can just
as well be applied to thinking about our engagement with specific animals,
such as dogs. What is abundantly clear is that dogs—unlike their ancestors,
the wolves—become behaviourally and emotionally attached to specific
people, and attuned to human behaviour.
Crucial to that attachment is communication. Gabriella Lakatos and
Adam Miklósi have looked at dog-human interspecific play to explore how
gestural signals are used (Chapter Nine), again using ethological approach-
es. Dogs, they note, have evolved alongside people, forming shared social
systems, and have become well versed in understanding human gestures—
often easily recognising the significance of pointing, for example. That
ability to engage communicatively with humans has, moreover, been ex-
ploited in the design of ‘dog-like’ robotic toys, which in turn contribute to
understanding of the strengths, and limitations, of interspecies communi-
cation.
Part of studying communication entails semiotics—the study of signs
and signifiers, whether in human linguistics or in the communication
systems of nonhuman animals. This is the focus of Mette Böll’s work
(Chapter Ten). Discussing social encounters and semiotics, she draws on
the early 20th century ethological work of von Uexkull, whose concept of
the ‘Umwelt’ importantly emphasises the subjective interpretation of real-
ity specific to that species or individual. She extends this idea through her
own work with humans in their work spaces to discuss how the Umwelts
of two individuals come together, to create something emergent—more
than—which she calls a ‘social Umwelt.’ Animals who have grown up liv-
ing closely with humans also produce a social Umwelt with us, different
from their wild predecessors. They not only share our spaces, and interpret
our actions and moods, but also learn to communicate actively with us.
And we learn parallel skills. What is produced is a kind of choreography,
in which processes of communication are expressed physiologically and
behaviourally; it is these transcendent properties of relationships that must,
Böll argues, be taken into account in human-animal research.
Such mutual engagement draws on emotional expression. This is a
central focus of Francoise Wemelsfelder’s work, as discussed in Chapter
Eleven. Expressivity and animal subjectivity have generally been seen as
outside the remit of scientific studies—considered as unmeasurable by
many scientists. Wemelsfelder, however, sought to understand animal
subjectivity. She notes how observers often concur in making assessments
of other animals’ emotional states: people tend to agree that what they see
is a happy pig, or an unhappy one. Inspired by observational studies of
emotional expression in human mothers and infants, she shifted her focus
from specific behaviours of animals to the whole behaver—his or her ex-
pressivity, or ‘body language’—and found ways to measure such expres-
sivity.
As Wemelsfelder notes, there are now the beginnings of change in sci-
entific studies of animals. Cognitive ethologists have emphasized the con-
sciousness and sentience of other species, while primatologists have begun
to consider social communication as a kind of choreography between two
or more individuals—a co-regulation of behaviours as part of a dynamic
process of communication and coming-together (see King’s, [2004] work
with great apes). What emerges from such studies is an emphasis not on
experimentation and quantitative measuring, but a more ethnographic
approach (Armstrong, 2002), much along the lines advocated in Segerdahl’s
chapter.
Each author has included a short comment on the methods they have
used—the advantages and shortcomings. In the final concluding remarks,
we draw on these brief commentaries and attempt to bring out the key
points that the differing contributors, and differing perspectives, bring to
investigations of human-animal relationships. These chapters draw on very
diverse methodologies, from scientific investigation in controlled condi-
tions, to observation, to ethnography, to participative research, to the use
introduction 11
of expression through artwork and poetry. In some situations, quantitative

measurements help us to understand something about human-animal
communication; in others, qualitative and descriptive approaches are more
useful. Most focus on highly specific relationships and settings, while some
are more concerned with wider context. But however divergent the ap-
proaches and questions, all share a concern to move beyond taken-for-
granted ways of doing research, and a concern to take the animals’ points
of view into account. To understand the subtleties, the complexities, of
bonds between two beings of different species will take much work, and
we need to use many different approaches to research. In particular, we
need to think outside of disciplinary bounds, to bring together quite dif-
ferent methodologies, with sometimes differing epistemologies. Only by
thus crossing boundaries can we begin to trace the myriad ways we relate
to other kinds of animals, to understand who they are—and what they see
when they look at us.
With all its gaze the animal
sees openness. Only our eyes are
as if reversed, set like traps
all around its free forthgoing.
What is outside, we know from the face
of the animal only; for we turn even the
youngest child
around and force it to see all forms
backwards, not the openness
so deep in the beast’s gaze. Free from death.
Ursula LeGuin, 1987:191
References
Armstrong, D. (2002). Ethnography should replace experimentation. Behavioral and Brain

Sciences 25, 620–621.
Bekoff, M. (2002). Minding Animals: Awareness, Emotions and Heart. Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press.
Birke, L. (2009). Naming names—or, what’s in it for the animals? Humanimalia 1, 1 (published
online at http://www.depauw.edu/humanimalia/issue01/birke.html)
Birke, L. & Hubbard, R. (Eds.) (1995). Reinventing Biology: Respect for Life and the Creation
of Knowledge. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Böll, M., M. (2012). The Nature of Relations. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing
Boundaries (pp. 211–224). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Bowers, B.B. & Burghardt, G.M. (1992). The scientist and the snake: relationships with
reptiles. In: H. Davis & D. Balfour (Eds.) The Inevitable Bond: Examining scientist-animal
interactions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Buller, H. (2012). Nourishing Communities: animal vitalities and food quality. In L. Birke &
J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 51–72). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic
Press.
Cudworth, E. (2011). Social Lives with Other Animals: tales of sex, death, and love. Basingstoke:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Dawson, S., E. (2012). Honouring Human Emotions: Using Organic Inquiry for Researching
Human -Companion Animal Relationships. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing
Deckha, M. (2010). The Subhuman as a Cultural Agent of Violence Journal of Critical Animal
Studies 8, 28–51.
De Waal, F. & Tyack, P. (Eds.) (2003). Animal Social Complexity: Intelligence, Culture, and
Individualised Societies. Harvard: Harvard University Press.
Dutton, D. (2012). Being-with-Animals: Modes of embodiment in human-animal encounters.
In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 91–111). Boston & Leiden: Brill
Academic Press.
Fraser, D. (2008). Understanding Animal Welfare: The science in its cultural context. Oxford:
Wiley-Blackwell.
Haraway, D. (2007). When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Higgin, M. (2012). Being guided by dogs. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Bound-
aries (pp. 73–88). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Kemmerer, L. (2011). Theorizing ‘others.’ In: N. Taylor & T. Signal (Eds.) Theorizing Animals:
Re-thinking Humanimal Relations. Leiden: Brill.
King, B. (2004). The Dynamic Dance: Nonvocal Communication in African Great Apes. Cam-
bridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.
Lakatos, G. & Miklósi, A. (2012). How does the ethological study of behavioural interaction
between dogs and their owners inform robotics? In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.)
Crossing Boundaries (pp. 189–210). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Latour, B. (2004). Politics of Nature: How to Bring the Sciences Into Democracy. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
LeGuin, U. (1987). Buffalo Gals and Other Presences. Santa Barbara, California: Capra Press
(from poem, “Rilke’s ‘Eighth Duino Elegy’”).
Nimmo, R. (2010). Milk, Modernity and the Making of the Human: purifying the social. London:
Routledge.
Segerdahl, P. (2012). Human-enculturated apes: towards a new synthesis of philosophy and
comparative psychology. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 139–
160). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Shapiro, K. (1997). A phenomenonological approach to the study of nonhuman animals.
In: R. Mitchell, N. Thompson & H. Miles (Eds.) Anthropomorphism, Anecdotes and Ani-
mals (pp. 273–291).Albany: SUNY Press.
Taylor, N. (2012). Animals, Mess, Method: Post-humanism, Sociology and Animal Studies.
In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 37–50). Boston & Leiden:
Brill Academic Press.
Taylor, N. (2011). Can sociology contribute to the emancipation of animals? In N. Taylor &
T. Signal (Eds.) Theorizing Animals: Re-thinking Humanimal Relations. Leiden: Brill.
Topál, J. & Gácsi, M. (2012). Lessons we should learn from our unique relationship with
dogs: an ethological approach. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries
(pp. 163–187). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Wemelsfelder, F. (2012). A Science of friendly pigs…Carving out a conceptual space for ad-
dressing animals as sentient beings. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundar-
ies (pp. 225–251). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Wolfe, C. (Ed). (2003). Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal. Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press.
On Investigating Human–Animal Bonds 13
PART ONE
Social Networks
CHAPTER ONE
On Investigating Human–Animal Bonds:

Realities, Relatings, Research
Lynda Birke1 and Jo Hockenhull 2
Relationships are complex intertwinings of lives and expectations. They

present us with problems, as well as joys. They are often frustratingly dif-
ficult to understand, even those relationships with our nearest and dearest
humans—let alone those with our nonhuman families. Yet so many of us
do experience deep and meaningful bonds with many nonhumans through-
out our lives, and cannot imagine a world without them.
Those experiences have provided a significant impetus to the develop-
ment of human-animal studies as an area of inquiry. Most scholars in this
emergent area come to it from deep connections to, and caring about,
other animals—concerns not only as companion animals, but also for those
put to use by humans, or for animals in the wild. Rooted in these back-
grounds, researchers have asked a wide range of questions about animals—
from perspectives in history, from sociology, from literature, as well as the
natural sciences. Yet, in large part precisely because of differences between
these disciplinary perspectives, we have not done well in investigating how
specific relationships form and are maintained—the very stuff of engage-
ment with animals (bonds) that matters most to so many.
Studying such interspecies bonds is not easy, however. Apart from
methodologies which tend to focus more on one interactant than the
other, we are dealing with relationships between two quite different kinds.
What assumptions can we make about how they communicate? About
how they experience their worlds? In this chapter, we explore some of
these issues. For both of us, our background training is in ethology—the
scientific study of animal behaviour. We both have a personal background,
too, with horses, so have a particular interest in how people build bonds
with those animals, and what the implications of such bonds are (for
people or horses). But we have also both ventured across disciplinary
1 Department of Biological Sciences, University of Chester.

2 School of Veterinary Sciences, University of Bristol.
borders in our research. It is that trans-disciplinarity that we believe is

needed in investigations of human-animal relationship. Here, we begin by
sketching out limitations of research to date, and then consider some ways
in which it might move forward. We thus aim to set the scene for the diverse
contributions in following chapters.
Realities
To understand how relationships form means taking all participants seri-

ously—or it should. Unfortunately, we come to our task from a modernist
heritage in Western culture, which separates ‘us’ from ‘other animals’, who
are relegated to ‘nature.’ Indeed, that is one reason why research has
tended to focus on outcomes, or on only one side of the interaction—those
separations are embedded in the familiar divisions of academic practice.
Thus, sociology has historically denied animals a place in human social life
(see discussion in Irvine, 2007, and Taylor, this volume), while natural sci-
ence has traditionally been more concerned with the wild animal and its
evolutionary adaptations, so typically ignoring domesticated animals (at
least until recently).
As a result of that twin heritage—separation from other animals, and
ignoring our immediate animal companions—scholars have been slow to
imagine animal realities and selfhoods: what, indeed, is it like to be a bat/
dog/rat? And particularly in day-to-day interaction with humans—what
is it like to be that animal within an interspecies relationship? Given
power differentials, there is obviously a considerable potential for animal
suffering here, whether cruelty is intentional or not. They might not, in
captivity, be able to express their repertoire of behaviour. But animal
companions do seem at times to get something out of their relationships
with (caring) humans. Despite differences, there is also common ground,
ways that experiences are shared. These are important threads in human-
animal studies. It is out of those shared experiences, those commonalities,
as well as out of differences in our experiencing of the world, that interspe-
cies relationships are built. Yet, scholars have arguably been rather better
at understanding interactions between humans and animals than relation-
ships—focusing for example on outcomes or specific effects or contexts.
The irony, of course, is that it is precisely that sharing that many of us
recognize in day-to-day dealings with other animals, especially with those
close to us taxonomically or habitually (great apes, and companion animals,
for instance). There is plenty of knowledge about animals among people
who care for them, even if it is often unacknowledged in academic scholar-

ship. Few of us know much about the experience of bathood (unless we
choose to spend our lives in freezing attics), or about the experiences of
frogs (unless we inhabit ponds) but many of us do know something about
doghood or cathood, precisely because we spend our days cohabiting and
interacting with them. As a result of that enmeshing of lives and expecta-
tions, dog/cat people know that their animal companions are mindful.
What interacting entails, moreover, is awareness of the other’s intentions
and desires to communicate. Despite obvious differences in our species,
humans and dogs are quite effective at doing so (as are many other species
who have lived close to us over millennia). This ability to recognize the
other is partly because of commonalities—we are also part of the animal
kingdom (there is considerable common ground among mammals and
birds in the expression of emotions, for instance, as Darwin well under-
stood; Darwin, 1872).
It is the shared heritage, the intertwining of (some) animal lives with
our own, that is our concern here—and how to study it. Ethology now pays
more heed to the animals who live closely with us, and the social sciences
are beginning to recognise the importance of other animals in our social
life. But these disciplines tend to adopt quite different approaches, making
different epistemological assumptions. As a broad generalisation, the meth-
odology of much of the natural sciences is rooted in hypothesis testing;
that is, theory is assumed to precede data collection. This inductive ap-
proach also characterises some quantitative research in the social sci-
ences, but is much less characteristic of most qualitative research. Here,
data collection (from observation, field-work, or interviews) may follow a
broadly-framed question, but theorization generally follows from data
analysis (at least in principle)—the approach known as grounded theory
is an example (see Bryman, 2004).
Both these approaches have their strengths: they also have their weak-
nesses. To study our relationships with animal companions we need to
glean from ethology something about how their behaviour evolved. But
there is a caveat here: ethology traditionally focussed on the behaviour of
wild animals. Popular understandings of animal behaviour, often drawn
from television documentaries, may emphasize the ‘wolf within’ the fam-
ily pet, expecting their dog to behave as if it were a wolf (see van Kerkhove,
2004; similar expectations attach to horses, see Birke, 2008). This, however,
tends to ignore the ways in which domestication transforms animals and
our relationship with them (Budiansky, 1992; Clutton-Brock, 1992). Only
relatively recently have domesticated animals become the focus of research

efforts. From these scientific studies, we have learnt much about the welfare
and needs of these animals (Dawkins, 2004), and about how they com-
municate with us.
Nevertheless, the emphasis in natural science on quantitative measures
and controlled experiments also imposes limitations. Experimental scien-
tists are trained to pursue objectivity, to stand apart from the animals they
study—a stance which can obscure the emotional bonds people have with
animals, and the process of producing the relationship3. Critically assessing
ethological studies of early handling in horses, Barbara Noske (2003) con-
cludes that these pay little attention to the handling process itself, nor to
the everyday conditions in which horses engage with people, but are
mainly concerned with the results of handling. Yet, she asks,
is it not the handling and being handled which constitute the communica-
tion processes by which horse and human get to know each other, on which
they each bring to bear their respective meanings, and through which they
arrive at mutual understanding? (2003: 44).
Noske’s comment resonates with the tension shown in scientific writing
between natural history narratives, drawing on personal encounters with
individual animals, and the impersonal language of objective science (Crist,
1999). It also reflects the tension between detailed observations of animals
in complex landscapes, including humans, and the use of carefully con-
trolled experimental settings. Such controls are important in research,
enabling researchers to separate out what might lead to what. But, con-
trolled experiments can also constrain how scientists ask questions about
other species’ abilities, which in turn may not permit animals to demon-
strate their particular abilities. As Rogers (1997) remarks, if you ask limited
questions, you get limited answers.
Yet many animals (except those confined in very limited conditions,
such as some who are caged in zoos, labs and intensive agriculture), hone
their abilities in more complex landscapes—just as young children do. For
companion animals, that context includes the human and their sociocul-
tural worlds. From the day a pup is born, for example, it must learn to
negotiate doggy social protocols (however much that raises human eye-
brows), as well as the expectations of shared human-dog worlds. Service
animals, such as guide dogs, must in addition necessarily learn a great deal
3 Scientists do, however, often develop bonds with the animals they study, as
contributors to Davis and Balfour’s book, The Inevitable Bond (1992) attest.
about the conventions and spatial layout of the world through which they
must negotiate with their person.
So ethology has told us much about other species, but less about their
relationship with humans in complex social settings. What, then, have we
learned from the social sciences—which now profess to ‘bring animals in’?
The first point to make here is that social scientists have produced a rich
vein of work detailing how scientific knowledge—far from being distant
and objective—is itself socially produced (Latour, 1993). Thus, researchers
bring to their studies of animal behaviour sets of assumptions about nature,
and about animality, which necessarily inform the research (Crist, 1999),
which must be questioned in any study of humans and nonhumans.
Secondly, there is now considerable interest in sociology in how other
animals fit into our (shared) sociocultural worlds; nonhuman animals are
increasingly being taken seriously as social actors. How we relate to other
animals—whether as pets, pests or potential pot-roasts—has now become
an important part of sociological inquiry. Yet it, too, has limitations. As
Nicola Taylor notes (next chapter), part of the humanist heritage is not
only to separate ourselves from other animals, but also to parody ‘the ani-
mal’, as merely instinct and so not a mindful actor in the process of produc-
ing social lives. Too often, that heritage has (re)produced beliefs in our
specialness, standing in contrast to ‘them’ (and note that this difficulty
persists even in human-animal studies, which in its very name draws a
separation between humans and a generic other).
It is, moreover, not always easy to bring animals into many of the meth-
odologies used in social studies: you can’t interview a cow or a cat, or ask
them to fill out questionnaires. We can, to be sure, ask the person about
their attitudes to animals, or about what particular animals mean to them,
but the animals remain silent. Even if observational methods are used, then
there is the risk that the observer interested in social processes pays insuf-
ficient heed to the animals’ behaviour, to their species-specific ways of
being in the world. Ethnographic studies, or those based on tracing net-
works (using, for example, Actor Network Theory) can offer greater sym-
metry, and permit the tracking of animals through social nexuses. As such,
they offer considerable promise, and there are several emerging studies in
what has been called ‘multispecies ethnographies’ (Kirksey & Helmreich,
2010), which explore the multiple ways in which our lives are intercon-
nected with those of a range of other species. But even here it is sometimes
hard for us, as researchers, to know what networks and associations might
matter to the animal, from his or her point of view.
The primary difficulty, then, with thinking about how to study human-
nonhuman bonds is precisely that we approach our task from a cultural
heritage which has emphatically separated ‘us’ off from ‘them’ (Darwin
nothwithstanding). Western culture provides us with myriad ways of per-
petuating that distinction—philosophically, practically, economically,
ethically—through the different epistemologies and methodologies of
academic divisions. How, then, can we know what is happening when
species meet, as Haraway (2007) puts it? Thus, the first reality for research
is that the whole idea of human-animal relationships is freighted with no-
tions of difference, of inferiority. The second reality is that intellectual
divergence has produced radically different methodologies—with all their
strengths and weaknesses. Things are, however, beginning to change, and
ways of thinking/studying human/animal relationships that challenge the
old boundaries and assumptions are emerging.
Relatings (and resistances)
‘Relationships’ with individual animals are not, of course, the only way to
understand how we relate to animals; rather, these are embedded in a host
of other communities and histories. It is this many-layered sense of inter-
connections which Haraway (2003; 2007) prefers to call relatings. She points
out that those animals whom we call companion animals are much more
than that: rather, they are companion species, co-travellers, interconnect-
ed with us over time and through many generations of individual animals
or people. Notably, she emphasizes the many levels of relatings between
us and a particular companion species—the dog. Such relatings range from
the molecular—the transfection of DNA that must have occurred in the
long history of our living alongside dogs, for example, and probably char-
acterizes our interactions with them today—to dogs’ ability to interpret
our behaviour, to the multiple layers of meaning and social/cultural con-
nection that doghuman worlds produce. Thinking about, or living with, a
particular kind of dog, within a particular kind of human world, carries
with it a complex and rich history of our relationships with dogs, with each
other, and with the rest of the natural world. She uses the example of
Australian shepherd dogs, whose history is enfolded with practices of
sheep-keeping, as well as colonial histories (Haraway, 2003). Our relatings
with dogs are never innocent, she insists: they are always run through with
other histories, other meanings4, too, with other animals with whom we
might share some part of our lives: there are always many and multiple
levels of relatings.
The word ‘relatings’ here is useful precisely because it emphasizes these
multiple layers, the interconnections of our lives. Importantly, too, it allows
us to explore the diverse forms that relationships might take. In that sense,
to think of relatings allows us to move beyond the confines of the realities
we have inherited in our intellectual heritage. And, although Haraway
herself focuses on a species with whom many of us live closely, her empha-
sis on the strata of relatings opens up spaces for us to think about relation-
ality with other kinds of animals, and about how together we make and
remake our worlds. In sharing spaces with other animals, we alter both
habitats and animals, for good or ill. We have, she stresses, considerable
ethical responsibility in such relatings.
What Haraway emphasises is how closely intertwined our lives are with
many nonhumans, through multiple layers and histories—indeed, it makes
little sense to separate them out for different types of inquiry. Researchers
could thus map such interconnections, tracing for example the networks
that form shared human-nonhuman worlds. The notion of relatings thus
includes a wide range of practices, including agriculture and food produc-
tion (Nimmo, 2010; and Buller, this volume), and the place of animals
within the production of scientific knowledge.
It is, however, very specific relationships that motivate much work in
human-animal studies—usually, the one-to-one relationship, the (some-
times) close bond between us and another being. These relatings are a
microcosm, as Haraway reminds us, of all the ways in which our lives en-
twine with those of other species on this planet. Here, the relationship is
a living-alongside, an intimate sharing of our selves. In some cases, that
intimacy is obvious—we have particularly close relationships with dogs
and cats (and perhaps horses), for example. In other cases, the intimacy is
less obvious, but present nonetheless—as in the ambiguous relationship
of lab animals and their caretakers, who also have a role in killing the same
animal. Here, technicians must strive to be ‘objective’, yet invariably find
themselves becoming attached to specific animals in their care (Birke,
Arluke & Michael, 2007).
Deep attachments, however, do not always form, and specific relation-
ships may not always be experienced as good; cruelty and mistreatment
4 Haraway’s earlier analysis of the practices of primatology similarly indicated how they
were infused with ideas of gender, race, and colonialism (Haraway, 1989).
of animals is, after all, one form of relating to them (Flynn, 2001). Animals,
moreover, do not always comply with what we may expect or wish, with
implications for both our treatment of them and how we try to study or
interpret them. Consider, for example, a laboratory rodent, whom a re-
searcher uses in a study of animal cognitive abilities, expecting the animal
to perform a specific task. The animal may indeed perform the task, for
whatever reasons of her own. But equally, she may not—perhaps because
of fear of the situation, because she does not understand the task, or perhaps
because she resists wilfully. How would we know? If she does not carry out
the task, do we then make the assumption that she cannot (these rodents
‘don’t have the ability’)? Or do we assume that she is simply refusing?
Animal resistances can become part of the research process itself, dis-
rupting plans, even when animals are not overtly part of the study—as
Michael (2004) noted in his discussion of how to theorize nonhumans
within research processes. He described a ‘disastrous’ research interview
which was seriously disrupted by the interviewee’s pitbull terrier (sitting
on the interviewer’s feet) and cat (pulling the tape recorder across the
room). While these interventions undoubtedly undermined the research-
er’s original intention, they illustrated, he argued, the ordering and re-or-
dering of social relations, in which the relationality of person-cat-pitbull
played a significant part. How nonhuman animals acquiesce or resist in
their dealings with us is something we need to pay greater heed to in de-
signing research; indeed, forms of animal resistance are seldom studied at
all, except perhaps in the context of ‘problem behaviours’, where the focus
of study is how the animal does something humans believe to be problem-
atic for either them or the animal’s own welfare (behavioural stereotypies,
for example).
To be sure, the consequences of animals refusing to do what we want
them to do may sometimes be cruelty; but even in the context of a rela-
tively benign working relationship, resistance to human actions happens.
These may reflect the animal’s dislike of the specific encounter, or at times
they may be part of the ongoing negotiation of relationship. In her study
of horse-human encounters and practices, Nosworthy (2006) considers
that horses have the capacity to resist and control humans through the
expression of minded behaviour (p.67), and are active agents in the con-
struction of the relationship. Horses use resistance in different ways—pull-
ing back, leaping around—which humans then respond to: the human
may try to pull the horse about, or humans may choose to ignore the horse’s
present action if they believe that the horse is merely expressing itself (and
‘needing to learn’ about her/his environment, as noted in Latimer & Birke,

2009). But more commonly the points of resistance horses use to express
themselves must be negotiated through training, so that the behaviour of
both human and horse become more in-tune (Nosworthy, ibid.; also see
Despret, 2004). In this light, the ‘resistances’ of the horse can be seen as
part of an ongoing process of negotiating relationship.
One important reason why it is important to understand how our rela-
tionships with nonhuman animals work is precisely so that we can better
predict when things might go wrong. Human relationships with compan-
ion animals can and do sometimes fail in the longer term, with disastrous
consequences. Those consequences may be bad for the human (injury or
guilt for instance) but are much more likely to be bad for the animal.
Researchers have shown many reasons why people relinquish companion
animals or why shelter animals succeed or not in finding a home (Shore,
2005; Harbolt, 2003; Normando et al., 2006); but whatever the outcome, it
is likely to be stressful for the animal. When individual relationships fail,
animals might be subject to cruelty, be killed, or be relinquished to a shel-
ter. A lucky few might find another home and form new attachments.
We need to know more, much more, about what makes a good (or bad)
relationship: how do they build over time? What are the circumstances in
which they thrive or fail? What are the expectations or experiences (of
human and nonhuman)? We need, too, to understand better how and when
animals can resist within relationships and what that means, for human
or nonhuman participants. Finally, we need to know more about nonhu-
man animals’ experiences; clearly, dogs do often experience their relation-
ships with us as emotional attachment, for example. Knowing how such
animals experience relatings matters particularly because so many of them
(and a few of us) suffer if relationships do not work. To trace relationships
means trying to understand how, together, all actors—human and nonhu-
man build and maintain relationships (or fail to do so). It also means see-
ing relationships as embedded in specific social and cultural contexts,
whether that is (say) on the farm, or human coexistence with (and support
of) local groups of feral animals within the local community. All our at-
tachments are enmeshed in layers of social networks and other actors—pet
food manufacturers, veterinary specialists, breeders, other animal handlers,
other animals, and so forth; in that sense, the relationships are multiple
and many-layered. How, then, might we go about studying them?
Research
Tracking multiple levels of relatings needs new, more integrative, ap-

proaches in research, which transcend methodological divisions. To take
animals seriously will require attention to ethological work on animal
cognition, emotions, and experiences—at the same time as doing studies
of how humans understand those other animals, and how humans and
nonhumans are enmeshed in social networks. Those understandings must
be meshed together, and traced through their wider contexts. This is not
an easy task, given disciplinary differences.
Perhaps one of the more promising frameworks for tracing multiple
levels of relatings at a macro level comes from Actor Network Theory, or
ANT. In ANT approaches, social networks are produced from the mutual
engagement of a wide range of entities—be they human, nonhuman ani-
mals, or inanimate objects; in that sense, ‘society’ results from networks
rather than giving rise to them. ANT thus emphasizes association, rather
than specific component actors, and is agnostic in its treatment of ac-
tants—those enrolled in networks are not necessarily human.
Indeed, it is precisely ANT’s commitment to including all kinds of actants
that allows consideration of a wide range of animals, not just the obvious,
furry companions. Thus, Hayward (2011) uses such an approach to think
about jellyfish in a sea life aquarium, and the ways in which they relate to
visitors observing them. Importantly, ANT permits some understanding of
how power works, so that it has the potential to avoid prioritizing humans
and to put nonhumans on a more equal (or less unequal) footing (Taylor,
2011).
Nevertheless, while approaches like ANT expand our understanding of
the social, they do not necessarily take much account of the point of the
view of animal actants. By contrast, research at a more micro-level, con-
cerned to assess localized engagement, may do better in allowing us to
understand how specific animals negotiate specific relationships. Some of
these studies explicitly manipulate the circumstances in which individual
human and nonhuman meet (experimental studies, for instance), while
others rely instead on observation of relatively unstaged encounters (such
as walking dogs in the park).
Ethological approaches, with their primary focus on behaviour of the
nonhuman, are important here—they will tell us little about how nonhu-
mans are engaged in wider social networks, but they can tell us something
about what happens when two individuals interact. Thus, we can learn
from ethological studies how human actions or attitudes impact on animals’

welfare (agricultural animals: Hemsworth, 2003; zoo animals, Hosey, 2005;
horses, Chamove et al, 2002). But ethological work also needs to be inte-
grated with better understanding of the human part of the partnership. It
is one thing to examine how A affects B, but quite another to understand
the patterns of interacting that make up relationships—how A affects B
affects A affects B, or how A affects B while B affects A. An animal focus—
taking into account the animal’s point of view—must be a component part
of interdisciplinary work aiming to understand interspecies social pro-
cesses, and drawing on the best methods from different disciplines. We
need research which considers the social engagement of humans with
animals, but which also foregrounds the role of the animal in producing
and maintaining such social encounters.
In their discussion of how future work on dog-human relationships
might do just that, Franklin et al. (2007, writing in a sociology journal) sug-
gest a four-layered protocol. This would entail combining ethological and
sociological methods, such as: detailed observation of dogs and humans
interacting in naturalistic settings, to generate an ethogram; video record-
ings of interactions at home, which could be analysed by forms of discourse
analysis; and, from the human side, use of interviews and diaries. Only
through such multi-layered work over time can we understand the part
played by both partners and begin to understand how and why relation-
ships may grow: relationships, after all, are usually ongoing—they have,
and produce, biographies (Franklin et al., 2007).
In our own (ongoing) research with horse-human interactions, we adopt
a similarly multi-level approach. We record data in multiple ways, which
we see as mapping onto each other. For example, we make observations,
via video recordings of human and horse interaction during simple se-
quences of moving around together. At the same time, we take quantitative
records, such as monitoring the heart rate of both horse and human (how
much do the heart rates of each participant reflect that of the other?).
Afterwards, we carry out interviews—obviously, this must be from the
person, reflecting on how they felt about their engagement with the animal.
This is, admittedly, focusing on a specific moment in time—thus, on
the outcome of possible previous interactions, rather than on the process.
It is not so much a biography, in that sense, as a story about how the horse
and the person already work together. However, it aims to work through
differing methods: we treat video recordings as though they were written
transcripts of interviews—from detailed observation, key themes emerge,
which can be further analysed. The point we want to emphasise here is

that this approach is open-ended and descriptive, rather than hypothesis-
led, but includes multiple components, including ethological observation
of horse-plus-human, monitoring of physiological changes, and sociologi-
cal approaches (interviews, fieldwork observations of horses and people
in stable yards). What we seek is an understanding of the quality of these
horse-human relationships—assessed in multiple ways. Like Franklin et
al, we believe that several—and simultaneous—levels of analysis are es-
sential.
Whatever methods are used to study relationships, it is important to
recognise that animals and people together produce meaning. We know
from many ethological studies how well at least some species can under-
stand our gestures and vocalizations—or even reproduce both the gesture
and what it means (the bonobos described in Segerdahl’s chapter, for ex-
ample). Several ethnographic studies, too, have focused on shared meaning
in human-animal interactions, particularly those drawing on the traditions
of symbolic interactionism (following the work of George Herbert Mead).
Pivotal to this perspective is an understanding of the self as active partici-
pant and constructor of the social world, in which participants come to
understand how the other will react. For Mead, spoken language and self-
conscious gestures were critical to this engagement—which, he believed
nonhuman animals could not achieve (Mead, [1934] 1962).
Those of us who live closely with companion animals would dispute this
negation of the animal self. Not surprisingly, then, researchers who have
used Mead’s approach to look at human-animal relationships have chal-
lenged his basic assumption about other species. Thus, Sanders’ (1993) work
on dogs, and Alger and Alger’s (1997) on cats, explicitly turned to Mead’s
symbolic interactionism and extended it to include the animal partner.
The Algers’ study, for instance, looked at interactions between cats, as well
as between cats and people, concluding that cats displayed self-awareness.
Importantly, they drew on cognitive ethologists’ assessments of animal
emotions in their observations of the cats.
What these studies do is challenge the centrality of verbal language as
the only base for communication and relationship—an important consid-
eration if we are to study both human and nonhuman together. Both
Sanders (1993; 1999) and Irvine (2004) have documented human- canine
relationships, emphasising the mindedness of dogs, and their abilities to
construct meanings within the relationship—with or without spoken
words. It is crucial to see relationships as joint accomplishments, the co-
construction of meaning. Growing recognition of the subjective worlds of

nonhuman animals is key here (see Wemelsfelder et al., 2001; Dutton &
Williams, 2004): relationships entail the intersubjectivity and mindfulness
of both partners.
Social play provides a good example of how meaning is shared with a
number of species: many animals display the capacity to share intentions
(the dog’s play-bow, as an invitation to play, is an example: Bekoff & Allen,
1998); this, Irvine argues (2004), is an indicator of the capacity to recognise,
and interface with, other minds, to create shared practices. Among these
is sharing of attention. Just as young children learn to follow adult’s (espe-
cially mother’s) attention and gaze, so too do many companion animals.
Dogs in particular are adept at following their guardian’s direction of at-
tention, as well as directing it (there’s the door—I want a walk), and evi-
dently do respond to their guardian’s attentional state (Schwab & Huber,
2006; Gaunet, 2010)—as do domestic horses (Proops & McComb, 2010). In
her chapter, Dutton notes that paying attention to the other—‘tuning into’
them—is crucial in creating and maintaining relationships. That tuning-in
is a crucial part of the story, which research must prioritise.
The choreography of activities such as play and other interactions with
companion animals depends, moreoever, not only on paying attention to
the other and their meanings, but also to the surroundings. Interactions
are shaped by the social and physical contexts in which they take place—
be that in the laboratory5, the farm, the household, or the local park. In
each of these, physical spaces shape activities, and so do encounters with
others—of any species. Laurier, Maze and Lundin, for example (2006)
studied people and their dogs going for walks in a park in southern Sweden.
They point out that going for walks is a joint activity, a product of minds-
in-action; both person and dog(s) engage in mutual attention, movements
relative to one another. At times, they move apart, at others, they come
together, perhaps when passing another person and dog. Sometimes, either
one could become distracted; but most of the time, they attend at least
partly to the position and movements of the other, producing fields of ac-
tion.
Laurier et al’s study stresses the social skills these urban dogs have in
their mixed doghuman world; they can interpret signals and understand
what is required to walk in urban parks off the leash. This is not simply a
question of blind obedience to human commands, but is a recognition of
5 For a discussion of how the physical spaces of laboratories constrain how researchers
react to animals (and vice versa) see Birke, Arnold and Michael, 2007.
how to move through these physical and social spaces. Dog walking, they
suggest, becomes an accomplishment of both human and dog, both display-
ing intent and producing social objects, and both attending to one an-
other.
Sharing attention does not have to be visual. Much communication
between people and horses, for instance, is done through voice—and,
especially, touch. In her discussion of the act of riding, Game (2001) point-
ed out how movement is learned, kinaesthetically, through the bodies of
horse and rider; stories abound of horses—and riders- who anticipate the
other’s actions as a result of some minute movement. These shared, most-
ly tactile, acts of communication help to construct the relationship, as
Brandt (2004) argues in her study of humans and horses: this produces
patterns of relating that are profoundly embodied. Experienced horse-
people learn to ‘read’ and ‘feel’ the body of the horse (and the horse equal-
ly learns to interpret people). This ability to read the horse, indeed, is one
reason why inexperienced people sometimes have trouble with inexperi-
enced horses: too often, they put themselves in physical danger, because
they ‘didn’t see it coming’ (Brandt, ibid.: 310).
Shared bodily experience draws on a kind of empathy—what Shapiro
(1990) called kinaesthetic empathy, or an embodied sense of the other’s
experience. Shapiro’s discussion drew on his own encounters with his dog,
Sabaka. In his analysis, he makes two important points: first, that focusing
on specific relationships and specific individuals, means that we cannot
easily make generalizations. It is these particular individuals, with par-
ticular histories and experiences, who make relationships, not an exemplar
of dogginess or humanness. Such shared experiences create choreographies
in space and time (Symons, 2009), to which we should pay heed. Second,
he emphasises the spatial specificities of their mutual engagement. Sabaka,
he argues, is embedded in a lived rather than an objective space. It is a
space shaped and oriented by his own position, interests, and projects
(ibid.: 186), which create a field of action. This idea of ‘fields of action’,
rather like morphogenetic fields which shape the development of early
embryos, is something research could take much further. How do fields of
action mould our relationships with others, or our bodily senses?
Sensitivity to embodied experiences is part of how we interrelate. And
in doing so, we and they become transformed. Despret (2004) talks about
transformative exchanges between humans and animals as anthropo-zoo-
genetic practices. She uses as an example a laboratory scenario, in which
students worked with rats—arguably an example well removed from
everyday understandings of ‘relationship.’ But, she suggests, the way the

students behaved towards the rats helped encourage the animals to coop-
erate with the experiment6—The rat proposes to the student while the
student proposes to the rat a new manner of coming together, which
provides new identities, she suggests (p.112). However it happens, it is that
possibility of transformation which, Despret argues, is key to understand-
ing the complex ways in which we construct and experience relation-
ships—the nuanced layers that Haraway (2008) emphasizes in her concept
of relatings.
All of these studies—focusing on interactions, spatiality, embodied-
ness—are important in helping us to understand how relationships with
(at least some) animals pan out in practice. And they take animal actors
seriously, treating them as mindful participants, and the relationship as an
intersubjective process. That, however, is the point which invites criticism:
how can we empirically investigate embodiment or the co-creation of social
practices? How can we acknowledge the subjectivity of animal collabora-
tors? Some researchers consider that focusing on subjective experiences
of animals is doomed to fail. Thus, Jerolmack argues that studies of human-
animal interactions should “focus less on unverifiable speculations about
the inner lives of animals and examine instead what is knowable about
human-animal interactions and the significance that humans attribute to
them” (Jerolmack, 2005: 660).
In similar vein, Goode (2007), in his auto-ethnographic account of en-
counters with his dog Katie, criticizes previous ethnographic studies using
extensive interviews with people, on the grounds that we cannot infer dogs’
experiences from what people say. Perhaps not—but we do sometimes
infer people’s experiences on the basis of what other people have said. A
mother of a young, preverbal, infant might report her child’s behaviour to
the doctor, who might then make inferences about the child’s bodily ex-
periences. So, too, do we make sense of the experiences of some animals
on the basis of verbal reports from those humans who work closely with
them—guardians, caretakers—who have learned to ‘read’ the animals’
behaviour minutely, as Brandt’s horse people reported (Brandt, 2004).
Yet this ability to interpret animals’ subjective state is not just something
honed over many years of experience with a particular species. Although
6 In the example she cites, students were given rats they believed were bred to be
“maze-dull” or “maze-bright.” If the students thought their rat was “dull”, then lo and behold
it did poorly on the maze; if they thought it was “bright” it did well—irrespective of how
they were bred.
the fine details of reading horse behaviour, say, do indeed take years of
observation and working with horses, humans do bring to their encounters
with animals some ability to read them. In Tami and Gallagher’s (2009)
study of dogs, for instance, they reported that people can generally interpret
canine behaviour, irrespective of their initial level of experience.
Francoise Wemelsfelder’s work on assessing the subjective states of
animals is important here. Despite her training in ethology, with its stress
on observable states, Wemelsfelder has focused on those ‘unknowable
inner lives.’ Far from being unknowable, she suggests, humans do have the
capacity to recognize the emotional states of animals; we can recognise,
say, if a pig is happy or depressed. She argues that subjective experiences
are not merely private and inaccessible states, but represent a perspective,
‘what-it-is-to’ a particular animal. This perspective is manifest in how the
animal engages with the world (Wemelsfelder, 1997).
In later work, Wemelsfelder and colleagues developed this idea further
and examined how people ‘read’ the demeanour of pigs. In this case, the
people were not familiar with the animals, but were asked to observe their
behaviour. What is striking in this research is the consensus achieved;
observers showed considerable agreement in their assessment of the pigs’
emotional states (Wemelsfelder et al., 2001). That is, they are not focusing
on isolated behaviours, but on the behaver—the animal: “This behaver ....
executes these behaviours in a certain manner, and it is this instrumental
relationship that gives the animal’s movement its expressive
character”(Wemelsfelder et al., 2001: 219). Such descriptions of behavioural
expression and style are, they suggest, indicators of animals’ agency and
consciousness. Wemelsfelder draws on a concept of quality, emphasizing
the integrated behaviour of whole animals and their individualities
(Wemelsfelder, 2007). Such assessment of qualities has rarely been applied
to relationships, although similar approaches have been adopted in assess-
ing the quality of human mother-infant interactions. Thus, Kochanska et
al. (2008) have described ‘mutually responsive orientation’—a level of
mutuality seen in some parent-child dyads, which has implications for
later social development of the child. That is, some dyads develop a rela-
tionship in which behaviour of the two participants becomes enmeshed
and coordinated, in ways that can be investigated empirically. In many
ways, it is something similar happening when observers talk about seeing
‘good relationships’ between nonhumans and their people—these often
entail well-coordinated routines and close attention (interspecies prac-
tices such as dog agility and equestrian competitions such as dressage afford
clear examples).
Understanding relationships with animals is about listening to stories—
both human and animal. Whatever methods we use in our studies, those
methods are ways of listening; ethological studies of the communicative
abilities of dogs or apes are ways of finding out the animals’ tales, just as
art, poetry and interviews may all be ways of listening to humans’ stories
of their experiences with nonhumans. Emotions and attachments are
crucial building blocks to these stories, and research must always recognise
that.
In doing so, however, research should also heed the researchers’ own
stories. Far from being outside, dispassionate observers, researchers are
always implicated7. If we are studying relationships, then we too become
part of the relationships being studied: whether we will it or not, we alter
their trajectory in perhaps unforeseen ways. Feminists have long debated
what constitutes a feminist approach to research: among other things, that
can include debate over how to do responsible research, to do studies that
are accountable to the people studied (Skeggs, 2001). This meant also re-
jecting objectivist assumptions that researchers could stand apart from
their subjects, and aiming for research which involved both researcher and
those researched in producing knowledge. By contrast, we do not expect
to involve animals in research except as its subjects. They cannot comment
verbally on it (and perhaps we would not appreciate their comments)8 but
research into human-animal relationships does need to be accountable,
to ensure that—at least—no harms result (see also Birke, 2009). Thus, in
order to study human-animal relationships, we must be able to recognise
how we, as researchers, participate in the very processes we study (as Susan
Dawson notes, in her chapter), and what part we play.
7 The contributors to the book The Inevitable Bond: Examining Scientist-Animal

Interactions (ed. Davis & Balfour) make this point well. Scientists studying particular species
do not stand outside, but rather form bonds with (many of) the animals they study.
8 Unless that is, they are apes who have learned human language skills. One researcher
did just that, asking bonobos she was working with what they thought their priorities in
life were: and just as tellingly, contrary to the usual tenets of academic practice, their names
appeared as co-authors of the paper (Savage-Rumbaugh, Wamba, Wamba & Wamba, 2007).
Reprise: telling better stories
One thing is clear: to be able to understand that somewhat intangible

‘something’ that makes a relationship, we must be willing to jump over
disciplinary boundaries. We must learn not to mind the ‘mess’ that will
ensue when we resist fixed categories. Social life, Nicola Taylor points out
in the next chapter, is an accomplishment in motion, a process, a perfor-
mance, and should be studied as such. We need to consider, not how to
add animals in, but how to understand the practices and embedded ac-
tivities we share with nonhuman animals. This requires caution, however:
focusing on practices must be done in ways that do not obscure the animal’s
point of view and behaviour. Similarly, ethology’s insights into animals’
worlds should not obscure the perspective of humans.
There are many ways in which ‘relationships’ can be approached, and
there are several potentially useful lines of inquiry. We summarise here
three broad (and very overlapping) themes in research into human-animal
relationships. First, there are approaches using observation in some form.
In this book, these include investigations of dogs’ attachments to humans,
studies of animals’ cognitive abilities (including communicative skills and
recognition of other species’ gestures). They include direct observation, as
well as indirect, through post-event analysis of recorded material. They
also include, from different disciplinary traditions, ethnographic techniques
of tracking or following actors in social networks—tracing animal-human
relationships through food production systems, for example, or field ob-
servations of feral cats or working guide dogs.
A second theme has to do with assessing the quality of relationships.
This includes studies of animals’ emotional states, as well as work focusing
on intersubjectivity and production of meaning. What matters here is not
only the individuals who comprise the relationship but also the quality of
the interaction itself. It is this sense of an overall ‘togetherness’ that is
evoked in the discussion of embodiedness above, and in some of the chap-
ters which follow. We can often recognise a ‘good relationship’ between
horse and rider, or between person and dog—it is some (perhaps indefin-
able) quality which seems to transcend the participants.
The third theme is participation. In some research traditions, active
participation by the researcher is central—studies based in symbolic in-
teractionism, for example, have often emerged from the researcher’s own
involvement with specific animals. Other chapters underline the impor-
tance of shared meaning—whether through engagement with the animal
‘at home’, as Segerdahl emphasises, through mutual ‘tuning in’ and paying
attention to the other, or through the sharing of emotions. Dawson, in
particular, explores the significance of the researcher’s own emotional
experiences—experiences which are crucial to how we live with others of
any species, and which are important for our research. It is, after all, those
experiences that are pivotal to our shared biographies.
All of these three themes are important in the investigation of how re-
lationships are made; observation, participation, quality assessment—all
contribute different facets to the process. Cutting across these themes is
time. Often, we can frame research questions only in the present, and look
at outcomes, at human-animal relationships as they are currently experi-
enced and practiced. But we also need more longitudinal research, more
investigation of the processes that make (or break) our complex relation-
ships with other animals. This is not easy to do, since for us time itself is a
constraint.
The chapters that follow offer several important insights into how re-
search into relationships can fruitfully proceed. We need, however, to find
better ways to integrate them, to bring observational and participative
approaches together, to understand what the qualities of interspecies re-
lationships are. We need more daring visions, greater willingness to breach
borders, better ways of integrating methods and experiences. Bringing
nonhumans into the realm of social science has been visionary; so too has
bringing ‘unobservables’ such as qualities and subjectivity into natural
science. To really understand the processes of our relationships with animal
others, we need to go further, to be prepared to tell all kinds of animal-
human stories. And to listen, too.
References
Alger, J.M & Alger, S.F. (1997). Beyond Mead: symbolic interaction between humans and
felines. Society and Animals 5, 65–81.
Bekoff, M. & Allen, C. (1998). Intentional communication and social play. In: M. Bekoff &
J. Byers (Eds.) Animal Play: Evolutionary, Comparative and Ecological Perspectives (pp. 97–
114).Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Birke, L. (2008). Talking about horses: control and freedom in the world of natural horse-
manship. Society and Animals.16, 107–126.
online at http://www.depauw.edu/humanimalia/issue01/birke.html )
Birke, L. Arluke, A. & Michael, M. 2007. The Sacrifice: How Scientists and Animals Transform
Each Other. West Lafeyette, IN: Purdue University Press.
Brandt, K. (2004). A language of their own: an interactionist approach to human-horse
communication. Society and Animals 12, 299–316.
Bryman, A. (2004). Social Research Methods. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Budiansky, S. (1992). The Covenant of the Wild: Why Animals Chose Domestication. New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Chamove, A.S., Crawley-Hartrick, O.J.E. & K.J. Stafford (2002). Horse reactions to human
attitudes and behavior. Anthrozoos 15, 323–331.
Clutton Brock, J. (1992). The process of domestication. Mammal Review 22, 79–85.
Crist, E. (1999). Images of Animals: Anthropomorphism and Animal Mind. Philadelphia:
Temple University Press.
Darwin, C. (1872). The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. London: John Murray.
Davis, H. & Balfour, D. (Eds). (1992). The Inevitable Bond: Examining scientist-animal inter-
actions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Dawkins, M.S. (2004) Using behaviour to assess animal welfare. Animal Welfare 13 (supple-
ment), S3–7.
Human -Companion Animal Relationships. In L. Birke. & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing
Despret, V. (2004). The body we care for: figures of anthropo-zoo-genesis. Body and Society
10, 111–134.
In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 91-111). Boston & Leiden: Brill
Academic Press.
Dutton, D. & Williams, C. (2004). A view from the bridge: subjectivity, embodiment, and
animal minds. Anthrozoos 17, 210–224.
Flynn, C.P. (2001). Acknowledging the ‘zoological connection’: a sociological analysis of
animal cruelty. Society and Animals, 9, 71–88.
Franklin, A., Emmison, M. Haraway, D. & Travers, M. (2007) Investigating the therapeutic
benefits of companion animals: Problems and challenges. Qualitative Sociology Review
3, 42–58.
Game, A. (2001). Riding: embodying the centaur. Body and Society 7, 1–12.
Gaunet, F. (2010). How do guide dogs and pet dogs (Canis familiaris) ask their owners for
their toy and for playing? Animal Cognition 13, 311–323.
Goode, D. (2007) Playing with my dog Katie: an ethnomethodological study of dog-human
interaction. West Lafeyette, IN: Purdue University Press.
Haraway, D. (2003). The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People and Significant Other-
ness. Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press.
Haraway, D. (1989). Primate Visions: Gender, Race and Nature in the World of Modern Science
London: Routledge.
Harbolt, T. (2003). Bridging the Bond: the Cultural Construction of the Shelter Pet. West
Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press.
Hayward, E. (2011). Ciliated sense? In N. Taylor & T. Signal (Eds.) Theorizing Animals:
Re-thinking Humanimal Relations. Leiden: Brill.
Hemsworth, P.H. (2003). Human-animal interactions in livestock production. Applied
Animal Behaviour Science 81, 185–198.
Hosey, G.R. (2005). How does the zoo environment affect the behaviour of captive primates?
Applied Animal Behaviour Science 90, 107–129.
Irvine, L. (2007). The question of animal selves: Implications for sociological knowledge
and practice. Qualitative Sociology Review 3, 5–22.
Irvine, L. (2004). If you Tame Me: Understanding our Connection with Animals. Philadelphia:
Jerolmack, C. (2005). Our Animals, Our Selves? Chipping Away the Human-Animal Divide.
Sociological Forum 20, 651–660.
Kirksey S.E. & S. Helmreich (2010). The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography. Cultural

Anthropology 25 (4), 545–576.
Kochanska, G., Aksan, N., Prisco, T.R. & Adams, E.E. (2008). Mother-Child and Father-Child
Mutually Responsive Orientation in the First 2 Years and Children’s Outcomes at Pre-
school Age: Mechanisms of Influence. Child Development 79 (1), 30–44.
Latimer, J., & Birke, L. (2009). Natural relations: Horses, knowledge, technology. Sociologi-
cal Review 57(1), 1–27.
Latour, B. (1993). We Have Never Been Modern. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf.
Laurier, E., Maze, R. & Lundin, J. (2007). Putting the Dog Back in the Park: Animal and Hu-
man Mind-in-Action. Mind, Culture and Activity 13(1), 2–24.
Mead, G.H . ([1934] 1962). Mind, Self and Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Michael, M. (2004). On making data social: heterogeneity in sociological practice. Qualita-
tive Research 4, 5–23.
Nimmo, R. (2010). Milk, Modernity and the Making of the Human: purifying the social. London:
Routledge.
Normando, S., Stefanini, C., Meers, L., Adamelli, S., Coultis, D. & Bono, G. (2006). Some
factors influencing adoption of sheltered dogs. Anthrozoos 19, 194–210.
Noske, B., 2003. Horse images and the human self-image in equine research. In F. de Jonge
& R. van den Bos (Eds.). The Human-Animal Relationship: forever and a day. Assen:
Royal van Gorcum.
Nosworthy, C. (2006). Embodying Horse-space: The spatial-temporal practice of horse-human
interaction. M.Sc. Dissertation, University of Reading.
Proops, L., &McComb K. (2010). Attributing attention: the use of human-given cues by
domestic horses (Equus caballus). Animal Cognition 13, 197–205.
Rogers, L. (1997). Minds of their Own: thinking and awareness in animals. St.Leonards, NSW:
Allen and Unwin.
Sanders, C. (1999). Understanding Dogs: living and working with canine companions. Phila-
delphia: Temple University Press.
Sanders, C. (1993). Understanding dogs: caretakers’ attributions of mindedness in canine-
human relationships. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 22, 205–226.
Savage- Rumbaugh, S., Wamba, K., Wamba, P. & Wamba, N. (2007). Welfare of apes in cap-
tive environments: comments on, and by, a specific group of apes. Journal of Applied
Animal Welfare Science 10, 7–19.
Schwab, C. & Huber, L. (2006). Obey or Not Obey? Dogs (Canis familiaris) behave differ-
ently in response to attentional states of their owners. Journal of Comparative Psychol-
ogy 120, 169–175.
Shapiro, K.J. (1990). Understanding dogs through kinesthetic empathy, social construction
and history. Anthrozoos 3, 184–195.
Shore, E.R. (2005). Returning a recently adopted companion animal: adopters’ reasons for
and reactions to the failed adoption experience. Journal of. Applied Animal Welfare
Science 8, 187–198.
Skeggs, B. (2001). Feminist ethnography. In P. Atkinson, A. Coffey, S. Delamont, J. Lofland
& L. Lofland (Eds.). A Handbook of Ethnography. London: Sage.
Symons, G.L. (2009). Choreographing emotions and identities in organizations: doing ‘hu-
minality’ on a geriatric ward. Society and Animals 17, 115–135.
Tami, G. & Gallagher, A. (2009) Description of the behaviour of domestic dog (Canis famil-
iaris) by experienced and inexperienced people. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 120,
159–169.
Taylor, N. (2011). Can sociology contribute to the emancipation of animals? In: N. Taylor &
T. Signal (Eds.) Theorizing Animals: Re-thinking Humanimal Relations. Leiden: Brill.
van Kerkhove, W. (2004). A Fresh Look at the Wolf-Pack Theory of Companion-Animal Dog
Social Behavior. Journal of. Applied Animal Welfare Science 7, 279–285.
Wemelsfelder, F (2007). How animals communicate quality of life: the qualitative assess-
ment of behaviour. Animal Welfare 16(supplement), 25–31.
Wemelsfelder, F. (1997). The scientific validity of subjective concepts in models of animal
welfare. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 53, 75–88.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, T.E.A., Mendl, M.T., & Lawrence, A.B. (2001). Assessing the ‘whole
animal’: a free choice profiling approach. Animal Behaviour 62, 209–220.
Post-humanism, Sociology and Animal Studies 37
CHAPTER TWO
Animals, Mess, Method:

Post-humanism, Sociology and Animal Studies
Nik Taylor1
Animals have historically been studied in a particular way—as part of

nature, as the embodied version of that which is opposite to human culture.
As such the social sciences with their remit firmly being the ‘social,’ usu-
ally perceived as in opposition to the ‘natural’, have in large part ignored
animals. Over the last two decades or so this has been subject to small, but
concerted, challenge. The first wave of social science thinking about ani-
mals tended to be in keeping with this modernist—binaristic (that is, the
idea of self contained categories such as human v animal; ‘us’ v ‘them’)—
thinking and so studied animals from the point of view of their use to
humans, i.e. anthropocentrically. Thus, animals were studied as objects
wherein their only perceived importance was derived from their relation-
ships with humans. One example of how this kind of thinking is reflected
in research can be found in the recent and inter-disciplinary focus on links
between cruelty to animals and interpersonal violence which, for the most
part, have been predicated upon arguments concerning the gains that
humans will realize from recognition of this link (e.g. Arluke, 2006).
The second wave of social science thinking about animals is radically
different and offers a challenge not just to previous animal studies, but to
the very epistemological foundations of mainstream sociology (and other
disciplines) itself. As a loose category of diverse thinkers, this is com-
monly referred to as post-humanism. Post-humanism is a broad term that
means different things to different writers. In this chapter the term is used
to broadly indicate a dissatisfaction with two of the central tenets of hu-
manism; namely, that humans are the ‘centre of the world’ (i.e. anthropo-
centrism) and that, as ‘rulers’ of the natural world we have the right to
subdue it to our own interests, by creating it as an unruly ‘Other’ in need
of taming. Linked to this is the critique of certain—rationalist—assump-
1 Department of Sociology, Flinders University of South Australia.

38 Nik Taylor
tions about epistemology and methodology which I believe post-humanism

calls into question. Arguably, however, the methodological ramifications
of post-humanism—and in particular its disavowal of rationalism which
leads to its call to study embodied beings as opposed to philosophical
abstractions—are the most under-explored and it is with this that this
chapter is primarily concerned.
Philosophically, post-humanisms seek to challenge the ideas which
underpin modernist assumptions about the world and about knowledge.
In particular they offer a challenge to the idea of human centrality by
positing the idea that ‘pure’ categorizations (of, say human v animal, natu-
ral v social) operate politically and ideologically and are thus based on a
false premise. The argument here is that pure categories—i.e. those with
neat boundaries—do not exist other than in figments of textual imaginings.
Instead, there is a recognition of the messiness of categories, of the hybrids
that exist as a direct challenge to such ideas. Linked to this is the argument
that pure categories are created and used politically, for example, to include
one group (such as humans) whilst excluding another (such as animals).
This argument extends from the epistemological realm into the meth-
odological as post-humanists point out that methods are not only impli-
cated in this but are the main way in which this ‘purification’ is achieved.
Methods are “enactments of relations that make some things (representa-
tions, objects, apprehensions) present ‘in-here’, whilst making others absent
‘out-there’” (Law 2007: 14). If this is the case; if boundaries between human
and animal, between social and natural are, in part, the outcome of meth-
ods, of enactments which operate to set limits (Law, 2007) and which do
so due to a “panicky fear of seeing humans reduced to things” (Latour, 2004:
76) then methods are political. Take, for example, the consistent policing
of the human-animal barrier seen throughout the 70’s and 80’s in regards
to chimpanzees. It was assumed that one of the distinctions between hu-
mans and animals was the human ability to use tools, which animals sup-
posedly lacked. This was used to deny consideration of protection, or rights,
for animals and to reiterate human superiority. Justification for such beliefs
crumbled when it was discovered that many primates (at least) do use
tools, at which point the fact that humans use language and animals don’t
was considered the ultimate ‘proof’ of differences between ‘us’ and ‘them.’
In turn this ‘barrier’ was removed following the work of the Gardners with
Washoe, their American Sign Language-using chimp who learned, over a
five year period, to use over 160 words which she was able to use both
singly and in combination (Linden, 1976). The debate regarding human
difference to (and assumed superiority over) animals continues this day

with the current point of difference being seen as human morality (for a
critique of this see Bekoff & Pierce, 2009). The point here, then, is that the
boundaries between human and animal are not ‘natural’ but are con-
structed and policed in order to maintain the purity of the different catego-
ries. The ways in which they are constructed is certainly methodological
with all choices of current methods stemming from, and being reliant upon,
a rationalist empiricism. The ways in which they are policed is often meth-
odological too. For instance, the debate regarding chimpanzee abilities to
communicate using ASL turned into a debate concerning the rigours of the
methods used in such experiments (Linden, 1976). Similarly, today we still
see criticisms of scientific work that purports to show any similarity be-
tween humans and other animals as anthropomorphic (e.g. Wynne, 2004).
A recognition of the political nature of method has two important con-
sequences for animal studies (AS). The first is that an epistemologically
differently oriented social science can have room for animals, and the
second is that as social scientists who study AS we have to be mindful that
our methods are as much a part of the discourse which constitutes ‘animals’
as are the everyday practices of others.
Being mindful of this opens up two ways forward to social scientists of
this persuasion (and the two are not always mutually exclusive). The first
is to trace and identify these political methods and analyse their purpose
and their consequences. The second is to abandon these ‘original’ methods
and attempt to re-think them. This involves an acceptance of the argument
that social life is not ordered and rational and has not reached its zenith
and, instead is messy, knotty and emergent. In turn this forces us to think
about how we might approach the study of such mess. This is the focus of
the current chapter.
Animals
I share my life with two troublesome terriers—‘my’ dogs. I think ‘through’

my dogs. That is not to say that they are a category through which, by op-
position, I define my humanity and their animality, unlike many of the
early social science attempts to think about animals (e.g. Tester, 1991).
Rather, it is to say that I think with, and about, my dogs when I am trying
to think about this thing we call ‘animal.’ I talk to them, I ask them ques-
tions, I think what their worlds might be like and how they may be ordered
(olfactorily, for instance instead of cerebrally), I try to think what they
40 Nik Taylor
might want or wish for, what makes their lives different to mine (other
than four legs and a furry face). I am curious about this ‘we’ that we con-
stitute—canine and human—and how it might be and feel for them. Above
all, whenever I read something that claims to be ‘about animals,’ I place
my dogs forefront and centre in order to see how this might apply to these
particular, embodied, creatures. In this way, I truly think through my dogs.
I can’t help it. I am besotted by them and with them. Is this irrational as-
cription of emotion to other animals? Perhaps it is, and there are certainly
those amongst my contemporaries who dismiss this as anthropomorphiz-
ing of the very worst kind. But even if I could help it I wouldn’t. It keeps
me grounded. It reminds me that what ‘we’ do here in academic inquiry
has very real consequences—embodied consequences—which are inevi-
tably ramified by the fact that in (most) human-animal relationships hu-
mans hold all the cards. Of course, there are problems with this—‘my’ dogs
are happy, well looked after, ‘domesticated’, designated as both acceptable
‘companions’ and recipients of human affection and this is clearly not the
case for the vast majority of animals that humans have an impact upon (or
otherwise). However, it will suffice for the current point: when ‘thinking
about’ animals we simply must remember that we are thinking about
embodied individuals living their lives entangled with humans and their
own wider environment. We are not thinking about abstract categories
and above all we are not thinking about abstract categories that exist sim-
ply to give humans something to define themselves against, a category
against which to constantly prove and reiterate their own humanity.
Unfortunately, however, in the majority of work pertaining to animals
(at least from the social sciences), this seems to be a point often overlooked.
Animals get lost—just as Latour and Woolgar (1979) pointed out that what
‘really’ happened in the laboratory was ‘written away’ in the production of
texts and so on that constitute knowledge, that constitute the thing as it
is. In the same way animals are lost through the various transcription de-
vices used to ‘make sense’ of them within humanist and anthropocentri-
cally ordered disciplines. Think, for one example, of (traditional) animal
welfare science here whereby with its anthropocentric and utilitarian
approaches the animals’ point of view is not taken into consideration and
the end product—the animal itself—is often an abstract textualized non-
person (for further on this point see Birke, 2009; for a critique, see
Wemelsfelder, this volume). Why this occurs and how to prevent it is one
of the points of focus in this current chapter. One of the major reasons
animals are excluded, or written out of the social sciences, is through a
process of ‘purification’ whereby abstract categories (human; animal) are

created along with the attendant justifications that the social sciences need
only study humans, or ‘the social.’
Mess
According to Latour, purification is a cornerstone of modernist thinking,

i.e. a process which “creates two entirely distinct ontological zones: that of
human beings on the one hand; that of nonhumans on the other” (Latour
1993: 10–11). This is as a result of an intellectual legacy which strives to place
humans at the centre of things—anthropocentrism—and to claim their
superiority and thus justify their dominance. The social sciences are not
alone in this endeavour but are, arguably, one of the worst culprits due to
their insistence on a difference between the ‘social’ and the ‘natural.’
Moreover this process is both naturalised and labour intensive at the same
time. It is naturalised in that ‘we’ humans often do it without thought or
conscious effort, and because its existence is taken for granted, as the
‘Truth.’ By contradiction it is also labour intensive in that the boundaries
between human and nonhuman have to be continually maintained, po-
liced, and mended if necessary. At times, this boundary work is highly
visible and emotionally intensive (e.g. Taylor, 2010), and is always political.
It is political precisely because there are many vested interests in maintain-
ing it. The ‘insuperable line’ (Bentham, 1988) remains firmly in place and
stringently policed in order to justify and allow human uses and abuses of
animals and the natural environment. Put simply; consider the ramifica-
tions for the ways our societies and cultures are ordered were we to break
down the human-animal boundaries that exist. Much would be in need of
change and examination—our entire human-farm animal practices for
instance. Thus, ‘pure’ categories—and specifically their maintenance—are
about power in the Foucauldian sense whereby the power lies in the dis-
course. In this particular case the discourse is that of animality v human-
ity where, for example, humanity stands for all that is good—culture,
reason, intelligence, language—and animality stands for all that is to be
avoided if one wants to be a good human being—irrationality, bestiality,
impulse and so on. Furthermore this discourse is so firmly embedded in
our (western) culture that it is axiomatically taken to be ‘the truth’ and
thus is rarely questioned. However, the categories aren’t ‘natural’ or the
outcome of some pre-existing and universal ‘Truth’ but are created them-
selves by our very own (human) practices and epistemologies.
42 Nik Taylor
In this respect academic knowledge plays its own, not insubstantial part.
From the tomes of traditional science where anthropomorphism is es-
chewed and animals that are named in everyday interaction become ren-
dered as mere numbers in scientific literature (e.g. Weider, 1980) to
modernist social sciences where animals are ignored and consigned to the
less important realm of ‘nature’, there is ample evidence of purification
work. Moreover, this purification power game is an unbalanced power
game, as they all are, but in this case perhaps more so as the disempowered
are unable to argue back verbally in a landscape where verbal ability itself
is one of the criteria by which we allocate ‘things’ to the ‘nature’ or the
‘culture’ category! Put more succinctly:
The world is a knot in motion. Biological and cultural determinism are both
instances of misplaced concreteness—i.e., the mistake of, first, taking pro-
visional and local category abstractions like ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ for the
world, and, second, mistaking potent consequences to be pre-existing foun-
dations (Haraway, 1991: 6).
For those of us who reject this—for a variety of reasons—there is then a
need to see the world differently—messy, in motion, performative: to see
pure categories of us versus them (human v human as well as human v non
human) as the acting out of power, and to question this. In other words,
to see social life as an ongoing accomplishment that we study in motion
rather that seeing it as a finished product that we analyse after the fact.
The benefit of this for AS is that it allows us to look at the relatings (as op-
posed to the relationships) between people and animals, i.e. at the prac-
tices and embedded activities of humans with animals and vice versa.
Precisely because this approach rejects pure categories and stresses the
ongoing production of knowledge/lives/interaction and so on it becomes
possible to investigate human-animal relations differently. Instead of as-
suming the pre given nature of the thing under study we are able to start
from the point of view that “entities take their form and acquire their at-
tributes as a result of their relations with other entities” (Law, 1999: 3–4).
Therefore the ‘order of things’ does not exist: there is no tangible objective
reality, rather society is emergent and performatively constructed by the
relational interactions of its members which in turn constitute networks.
Furthermore these networks are “simultaneously real, like nature, nar-
rated, like discourse, and collective, like society” (Latour, 1993: 6) which
allows us to account for previous problems in social theory such as the
relationship between structure and agency or that between human and
animal. This would necessarily mean an acceptance of the fact that the
dividing line between humans and animals (and indeed material objects)
is subject to negotiation and change. An acceptance of this then allows us
to see, as Law (1992: 3) argues, “what counts as a person is an effect gener-
ated by a network of heterogeneous, interacting, materials … social agents
are never located in bodies and bodies alone, but rather ... an actor is a
patterned network of heterogeneous relations, or an effect produced by
such a network.” Such network theories lend themselves to the study of
human-animal relationships as they are predicated on the lack of a distinc-
tion between the social and the natural and thus an eradication of dualist
ways of thinking.
In other words, to use Haraway’s terminology, we allow ourselves the
opportunity to look at the knots we create, the ‘naturecultures’, the ‘world-
ings.’ As an example I return to my earlier point about thinking through/
with ‘my’ dogs. I remain permanently curious about the ‘we’ that the three
of us create—this messy grouping of human and canine; the relatings that
occur between us. Yet I remain aware that traditional sociology can do
nothing more than account for our relationship from my perspective, if at
all. The ‘knot’ that we three constitute is thus seen as a one plus two ‘others’
with the ‘one’ being the only object (subject?) of importance and interest
here. To account equally for the ‘plus two’ is a challenge to sociology and
a challenge which may—as many authors in the present volume suggest—
necessitate an inter-disciplinary framework of, say, ethologists and social
scientists.
On a slightly different tack I am also curious as to why this ‘we’ is not
recognised in sociology (and elsewhere) given the vast numbers of domes-
ticated animals that share their lives with humans. For example, 63% of
the 7.5 million households in Australia include companion animals (petnet.
com.au); 39% percent of US households contain at least one dog and 33%
percent contain at least one cat (humanesociety.org). Surely this is then
an important enough phenomenon to warrant the attention of social sci-
entists even if they purport to only study human life? Add to this the many
other ways in which ‘we’ humans rely on other animals and it seems to me
we should then be asking why animals are not considered part of the social
and given more attention. My answer to this is that we wilfully exclude
them for to include them is a scary prospect. Politically it’s a challenging
idea, as mentioned above, due to the changes it would necessarily force
were they to be included. But epistemologically, it is also a frightening
prospect for surely it would denote the ‘death of the social.’ This is not
necessarily in the political terms that Baudrillard (1983) was referring to,
44 Nik Taylor
but in epistemological terms in that without a ‘natural’ against which to

compare, ‘the social’ becomes meaningless: the division is removed: “if we
take nature away, we have no more ‘others’, no more ‘us..’...we are left with
only the banality of multiple associations of humans and nonhumans”
(Latour, 2004: 46).
In other words, if we wish to include animals in our thinking we need
to abandon pure categories and study the materialities of social life, which
in turn leads to questions about power and about ethics. It effectively opens
up new areas—emotions, kinship, family, materialities, environments—
that have to be addressed in different ways to even be ‘seen.’ In this respect
this argument has many parallels with early second wave feminist argu-
ments that traditional methods in the social sciences, which were based
on ‘writing out’ women’s experiences, could not be adjusted to include
them. Instead, an overhaul of the methods and their ontological and epis-
temological assumptions was needed (e.g. Harding, 1986). This opening up
of new areas leads to—allows?—arguments about morals and ethics but,
crucially, in a non-humanistic framework (for a further discussion, see
Whatmore, 2002, Segerdahl this volume). That is, it facilitates a consider-
ation of moral and ethical frameworks which do not seek to extend the
boundaries of human rights to animals—by proving that they are similar
enough to warrant this, and thus by impoverishing them and their own
unique abilities (as well as our own worlds I might add by disallowing a
consideration of their difference and uniqueness). Ironically non-anthro-
pocentric ways forward also have the potential to liberate humans as well
as animals (a nice humanist argument) by removing the ‘Othering’ en-
demic to modernist thought and thereby removing ‘difference’ as a cate-
gory by which people are excluded (e.g. Spiegel, 1988).
Where, then, does all of this leave the social sciences? The humanities
have been slow to catch up with many other disciplines such as ethology
in seeing animals differently (e.g. Wolfe, 2003) and arguably the social sci-
ences—particularly sociology—are even further behind. One explanation
for this lies in the remit and history of sociology. It is a social science that
was birthed during modernity. It is a discipline which holds dearly to the
very idea of ‘the social’ for without it, a nebulous discipline would, the
detractors argue, become even more nebulous or perhaps disappear alto-
gether. We must protect our humanity and our discipline! We sociologists
operate in, and study the social—narrowly defined, the human. Despite
some interesting attempts to extend the definition of the social (e.g. Dant,
2007) to include materialities, this remains a niche area in sociology and
one which rarely considers sentient non-human materialities. This not-

withstanding, however, there is a template for a way forward here.
Method
Through his analysis of the emergence of modern psychiatric disciplines

Foucault pointed out that the supposed rationality of certain knowledge
practices (i.e. psychiatry) were a pretence and a dangerous pretence at
that—it was these disciplinary discourses which produced the very subjects
that modern social sciences took to be irreducible agents. By doing so, it
allowed for the realization of power in-and-through them: hence hetero-
sexuality was cast as ‘superior’ to homosexuality (because it was seen as
‘normal’); human cast as superior to animal and so on. The modern separa-
tion of disciplines and the by-and-large taken-for-granted, assumed objec-
tivity of such disciplines does the same to animals (e.g. traditional biology).
Thus, according to Foucault, “it is in discourse that power and knowledge
are joined together” (2008: 100). Certain discourses and meaning systems
become privileged and assume the status of ‘Truth’, such as the idea that
animals are somehow inferior to humans. Once given the status of ‘Truth’
such discourses become power games wherein they operate to serve the
vested interests of one group (in this case, humans) over another (in this
case, animals). Moreover, power may also manifest itself in terms of the
silences created by discourse. So, for instance, the fact that animals are not
‘heard’ within human-animal research is just as much an outcome of the
operation of discourse as is the very idea that animals are inferior to hu-
mans.
If we accept this idea of discourse and power being interwoven then we
must be critically aware that our chosen methods are a part of that very
discourse—are a part of the ways in which animals become known to us
(for more on this see Law, 2009). This is particularly important if our cho-
sen methods silence animals—or at least silence the animal part of the
human-animal relationship. With their stress on both numerical and tex-
tual methods (Savage, 2009) the traditional social sciences have done ex-
actly this and silenced or written out animals. Even contemporary AS work
has a propensity towards this with its stress on the human side of the hu-
man-animal equation made clear through its choice of methods, for ex-
ample by the use of questionnaires designed to elicit human attitudes
towards animals (e.g. Franklin, 2007). In Foucauldian terms, then, there is
a need to make sure that any ‘discursive explosion’ regarding animals is
46 Nik Taylor
not simply a part of the repressive mechanism which seeks to control them
in the first place (2008: 38).
The post-humanist turn in sociology offers several interesting ideas here.
With their insistence that social life, relationships, and meanings are not
fixed but emergent, multiple, mobile and performative, post-human schol-
ars have begun advocating new methodologies (e.g. Busher, 2005). Busher
and Urry (2009) point out that this different way of thinking about social
life “engenders new kinds of researchable entities and a new or rediscovered
realm of the empirical” (p. 99). For example, post-humanism paradigms
and approaches have been useful in opening up social scientific studies of
various human-material interactions be those materialities computers,
cat-flaps or bridge structures (e.g. Bijker & Law, 1992). In terms of AS this
facilitates the opening up of new areas of enquiry which can include ani-
mals but also points towards the use of different methods by which to study
them and their relations with humans: methods which do not underscore
the old order, the old power games and discourses by silencing animals
and/or relegating them to the ‘natural order’ of things.
For the most part the methods suggested by those working within the
post-human template are ethnographic and involve ‘thick description’ and
a stress on fluidity and mobility as well as performativity. The argument
goes that if life is messy, mobile, and in constant flux (i.e. emergent) then
the methods that purport to study it have to respond to this and be able to
‘see’ the messiness as it emerges; to be mobile methods themselves (e.g.
Buscher & Urry, 2009). A further advantage of this is that the ‘metaphysics
of presence’ assumed by traditional social sciences is no longer necessary
and thus the ‘mobile turn’ in social theory allows analysis of ‘less direct
co-present social interactions’ (Buscher & Urry, 2009: 101). So, for example,
this opens up the study of at-a-distant relations between humans and
animals, where human relationships with animals operate in geographi-
cally removed spaces—say, for instance, between meat consumers and
animals down on the factory farm (see Buller, this volume). Moreover this
stress on the need for more observation comes with the additional benefit
that it “can be augmented by interactional, conversational and biological
studies of how it is that people read and interpret the face of the other, as
well as the body more generally” (Buscher & Urry, 2009: 104; see also Topál,
& Gásci and Lakatos & Miklósi, this volume) which gives rise to the pos-
sibility of a truly interdisciplinary AS. Whilst many of the scholars within
this field remain unashamedly anthropocentric, it is easy to see how such
ideas might translate to the field of AS.
In particular, the idea of visual methods (e.g. photographs, video-cams)

which comes from this theoretical tradition, it seems to me, has much to
offer AS. On a simple level (at least in principle) visual methods do not
exclude animals as much as traditional verbal or numeric methods (e.g.
questionnaires) where animals are excluded before the fact. In their as-
sessment of the utility of using a head mounted video camera to gather
data on social life, Myrvang Brown, Dilley and Marshall (2008) point out
that “talk and text have dominated sociological theory and methodology”
and that whilst the contribution of both should not be overlooked there is
an increasing need within the social sciences “to capture, evoke or somehow
convey social worlds beyond the linguistic, verbal and cognitive.” Given
that human-animal interactions and relations are often non-verbal (at least
in part) this is of paramount importance to those of us wishing to study
“non-verbal, particularly the corporeal, embodied, sensory, emotional,
habitual, pre-cognitive aspects of subjectivity” (Myrvang Brown, Dilley &
Marshall, 2008). What is particularly important about this kind of approach
is the opportunity it gives to take the animal subject as a central part of the
interaction. By not excluding them a priori (as with, say, language based
studies) we firstly give them space in the interaction. Then, by adopting an
inter-disciplinary approach—say, ethologists and social scientists—we
open up the door to an analysis of human-animal interaction which seeks
to consider the animal as of equal importance.
Of course, this kind of social science work has the opportunity to un-
dermine the ‘epistemic privilege’ of academics/researchers. There is no
Truth to be found and as such Truth-sayers and Truth-finders are not
needed. Members of society (be they animal or human according to your
own definition) become competent members who remain a part of the
construction of their own emergent reality, as opposed to cultural dopes
in need of experts to tell them what they are really doing and what is re-
ally going on.
Academics/researchers themselves become a part of this with their
participant observer status. Power is redistributed across a network of
interlinked ‘things’ including animals and humans. Discursive power then
becomes watered down as we are able to study exactly how it is that hu-
mans do relate to/with animals. Pure categories are abandoned and we are
able to study the glorious mess that is human-animal relatings. Thus,
previously thought of inconsistencies do not necessarily need explanation
as inconsistencies but can be explained and thought about differently. For
example, the daily practices of animal shelter workers which operate in
48 Nik Taylor
defiance of the division between human and animal do not need neces-
sarily to be conceived of with regard to how much they fit animal rights or
animal welfare beliefs and can, instead, be seen as a practical manifestation
of conjoined human-animal interactions which seek to challenge dominant
binaries regarding human and animal categories (Taylor, 2010). So, too, the
division between social and natural science approaches to animals can be
somewhat dismantled with, perhaps, the two ‘sides’ benefiting from each
other’s experience.
The suggestions in this chapter are not unproblematic, and post-hu-
manism is not necessarily a blueprint for the way forward for AS. However,
its epistemological insights and critiques do offer us food for thought and
a place to start from. What needs to be done now is a radical re-think of
the methods we use to make sense of the world and to make sense of hu-
man-animal relations and this re-think needs to be mindful of the power
games inherent in the methods we, as AS researchers, choose. Many who
work within the broad field of AS do so precisely to see/contribute to a
better world for animals. In this regard, our choice of methods becomes of
paramount importance. If we undertake research which underlines and
shores up the differences between humans and animals then our work
becomes self defeating as we make use of those very methods and assump-
tions which form the basis of animal oppression in the first place. In this
way then, the methods we use and the epistemologies which underpin
them are entirely political and never neutral.
Whilst for many, this road may be problematic precisely because it calls
into question the epistemic privilege of experts and because it begins to
break down the difference between human and animal, an acceptance of
this opens the door to broader research questions. For instance, what role
does technology play in the interaction between humans and animals; how
might other disciplines (e.g. ethology, see Topál & Gásci this volume; bi-
osemiotics, see Böll, this volume) contribute; what kinds of novel methods
can best capture human-animal experiences? One thing is for sure, if we
really want to study these entanglements of human and nonhuman animals
then holding on to traditional methods and ‘pure’ boundaries between
disciplines will not work. We must also get our disciplinary hands dirty,
question our underlying epistemologies and welcome the various entangle-
ments, challenges and insights from other disciplines. It is to many of these
issues that the remainder of this volume now turns.
References
Arluke, A. (2006). Just a Dog: Understanding Animal Cruelty and Ourselves. Philadelphia:
Bekoff, M. & Pierce, J. (2009). Wild Justice: The Moral Lives of Animals. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Bentham, J. (1988 [1823]). The Principles of Morals and Legislation. New York: Prometheus
Books.
Bijker, W. & Law, L. (Eds.) (1992). Shaping Technology, Building Society: Studies in Sociotech-
nical Change. Harvard, Mass: M.I.T. Press.
Birke, L. (2009). Naming names—or, what’s in it for the animals? Humanimalia, 1(1) (pub-
lished online at http://www.depauw.edu/humanimalia/issue01/birke.html )
Buller, H. (2012). Nourishing Communities: animal vitalities and food quality. In L. Birke &
J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 51–72). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic
Press.
Buscher, M., & Urry, J. (2009). Mobile Methods and the Empirical. European Journal of Social
Theory 12(1), 99–116.
Dant, T. ( 2007). The pragmatics of material interaction. Journal of Consumer Culture 8(1),
11–33.
Foucault, M. (2008 [1976]). The History of Sexuality Volume 1. Camberwell, Victoria: Penguin
Books.
Franklin, A. (2007). Human-Nonhuman Animal Relationships in Australia: An Overview of
Results from the First National Survey and Follow-up Case Studies 2000–2004. Society
& Animals, 15(1) (published online at http://www.psyeta.org/sa/abstract_15–1.shtml )
Haraway, D. (1991). A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in
the Late Twentieth Century. In Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature
(pp. 149–181). New York: Routledge.
Harding, S. (1986). The Science Question in Feminism. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
Humanesociety.org (2009). US Pet Ownership Statistics. http://www.humanesociety.org/
issues/pet_overpopulation/facts/pet_ownership_statistics.html
Latour, B. (2004). The Politics of Nature: How to Bring the Sciences into Democracy. Cambridge
and London: Harvard University Press.
Latour, B. (1993). We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Latour, B. & Woolgar, S. (1979). Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts. Princ-
eton: Princeton University Press.
Law, J. (2009). Seeing like a Survey. Cultural Sociology 3(2), 239–256.
Law, J. (2004). After Method: Mess and Social Theory, London: Routledge.
Law, J. (1999). After ANT: Complexity, naming and topology. In Law, J. & J. Hassard (Eds.)
Actor Network Theory and After. Oxford: Blackwell.
Law, J. (1992). Notes on the theory of the actor network: Ordering, strategy and heterogene-
ity. (published online by the Centre for Science Studies, Lancaster University at http://
www.lancs.ac.uk/fss/sociology/papers/law-notes-on-ant.pdf. )
Linden, E. (1976). Apes, Men and Language. New York. Penguin.
Myrvang Brown, K., Dilley, R., & Marshall, K. (2008). Using a Head Mounted Video Camera
to Understand Social Worlds and Experiences. Sociological Research Online 13(6), (pub-
lished online at http://www.socresonline.org.uk/13/6/1.html )
Petnet.com.au (2009). Pet Statistics http://www.petnet.com.au/pet-statistics
50 Nik Taylor
Savage, M. (2009). Contemporary Sociology and the Challenge of Descriptive Assemblage.

European Journal of Social Theory 12(1), 155–174.
comparative psychology. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 139–
160). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Spiegel, M. (1988). The Dreaded Comparison: Human and Animal Slavery, London: Heretic
Books.
Taylor, N. (2010). Animal Shelter Emotion Management: A Case of in situ Hegemonic Re-
sistance? Sociology 44(1): 1–17.
Tester, K. (1991). Animals and Society: The Humanity of Animal Rights. London: Routledge
Weider, D.L. (1980). Behaviouralistic Operationalism and the Life-World: Chimpanzees and
Chimpanzee Researchers in Face to Face Interaction. Sociological Inquiry 50(3/4), 75–103.
Whatmore, S. (2002). Hybrid Geographies: Natures, Cultures, Spaces. London: Sage.
Wolfe, C. (Ed.) (2003). Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal. Minneapolis & London:
University of Minnesota Press.
Wynne, C. (2004). The perils of anthropomorphism. Nature 428, 606 (8 April).
animal vitalities and food quality 51
CHAPTER THREE
Nourishing Communities:
animal vitalities and food quality
Henry Buller1
Introduction
Whatever came first, the sheep or the sheepdog (the domesticated animal
as accessible food source or the domesticated animal as not-to-be-eaten
companion), one of the most basic of all relational contexts for human and
non-human animals, as indeed one might argue for all inter-species mix-
ings, revolves around relations of consumption; of being made edible (or
not being made edible), of eating (or not eating) and of being eaten (or not
being eaten). Such relations are not necessarily fixed but assembled in what
are often temporary symphonies of becoming ecologies: just as predator/
prey relations oscillate in mirrored peaks and troughs, so the animal body,
for example, contains within it the bacteria that will eventually feed upon
it.
Within the context of human-animal relations, eating animals and its
obligatory corollaries of husbandry and killing lie arguably at the very heart
of the narcissistic ontologies and ethical borderlands that distinguish the
human (essentially non-edible) from the non-human (edible or poten-
tially edible) animal. Although Berger (1980: 2) warns that supposing “ani-
mals first entered the human imagination as meat or leather or horn is to
project a 19th Century attitude backwards across the millennia”—a mod-
ernist Cartesian attitude that denies any sense of the metaphorical power,
spiritual affect or zoomorphic agency of animals—these properties are
nonetheless fundamentally bound up in, and largely derive from, the ed-
ibility, or otherwise, of animals which has driven much of their broader
imaginary and metaphorical potency throughout human history (Thomas,
1983; Eder, 1996; Douglas, 1966). The cave walls of Lascaux are adorned with
predators and their prey, human and non-human. But, the relations of work
1 Geography, College of Life and Environmental Science, University of Exeter.

52 Henry Buller
(hunting and the making of hunting tools to functional ends) pre-date—

even though they are also ultimately transgressed by—the world of art
(representation for a more celebratory conviviality with sentient animals),
as Bataille observed in his essay on the Lascaux paintings (Bataille, 1958;
Hurri, 2010). The result is that perpetual juxtaposition of continuities and
sometimes transgressed discontinuities between human and non-human
animals which Aristotle, for one, struggled with (Steiner, 2005), and which
has characterised human/animal relations ever since. Yet, while edibility
remains a basic divide, there is also that ‘fleshy kinship’ between humans
and animals. For Aristotle’s Hellenic contemporary Theophrastus: “all the
animal kingdom, including human beings, is made up of the same basic
flesh-stuff and has some share in the perceptive powers to which this flesh
is heir” (Browning-Cole, 1992: 55), a perspective shared by Merleau Ponty
for whom, in Esposito’s (2008) words “it is precisely living flesh that con-
stitutes the tissue of relations between living and the world” (p 160). The
choice of the word ‘flesh’, with its suggestion of consumption, is apposite
here and I shall come back to our common ‘flesh-stuff’ and the ‘perceptive
powers to which this flesh is heir’ later.
For Bataille, somewhat like Berger, the representations of predated and
predatory animals on cave walls constitute the beginnings of human ‘art.’
For others, such early human/animal relations play central roles in human
biological development and social organisation: an increasingly carnivo-
rous diet facilitated geographical expansion (Toussaint-Samat, 1987).
Frederick Engels, Edmund Leach and Foucault saw organisation and re-
production of edible animals as helping to establish many of the founda-
tional structures and hierarchies of human societies. At one level, human
development, in its widest sense, thus becomes a relational achievement
of the interaction and relatedness that defines these mixed human/non-
human animal communities.
The Animal Studies Group (2006: 4) maintains:
… the killing of animals is a structural feature of all human-animal relations.
It reflects power over animals at its most extreme and yet also at its most
commonplace.
In fact, the actual killing and slaughter of stock animals are moments and
practices in what are far longer relational engagements that begin before
birth and continue after death (Wilkie, 2010). Rémy (2009: 3) refers to the
slaughter of farm animals as an ‘effet loupe’ (magnifying effect), one that
throws into perspective broader questions about human-animal relations
in general and the active presence of those animals within human lives,
societies and, ultimately, bodies. While those relations and the assem-
blages that accompany them, may be largely structured (and politicised),
in the case of farm animals, by the necessary confinement of the animals’
bodies, by the inevitability of their interrupted lives and by the procedures,
technologies and practices that lead ineluctably to that interruption, to see
them only as that, as ‘meat on legs’, is to deny their co-presence as subjects,
their co-corporeality and their co-vitality within those relations.
There is no way to eat and not to kill. No way to eat and not to become,
with other mortal beings to whom we are accountable, no way to pretend
innocence or transcendence or a final peace (Haraway, 2008: 295).
As Burt has argued, “because death is so striking, it is easy to overlook the
state of livingness” (2006: 7). This is all the more so in farm animals. Their
confinement, their ‘purpose’ within human worlds, and their destination,
over all of which they appear to have no choice, denies them intimacy
thereby rendering them, according to Callicott (1980), not worthy of mor-
al consideration. For Steeves (1999: 2), “When a cow is just a cow, McDonalds
becomes possible.”
This instrumentalist nature and consequent asymmetry of human/
farm-animal relations, coupled with the overt politicisation of both con-
finement (liberation) and meat-eating (vegetarianism and veganism) has
meant that such relations have often escaped critical examination from a
more abjectly social science relational perspective. They are, in Wilkie’s
(2010: 2) words: “an under-explored and little understood aspect of con-
temporary life.” Moreover, their relative invisibility as an area social inves-
tigation has both reinforced, and been reinforced by, their scientization
within a broader rationale of agricultural productivity. Despite their mate-
rial and metaphorical proximity to humankind, farm animals have tradi-
tionally been objectified by the biological and indeed by the veterinary and
ethological sciences as units of production whose ‘livingness’ and welfare
have been largely understood in terms of their ability to ‘perform’ as food
sources, an approach that has generally extended to human/animal rela-
tions on the farm (for example Hemsworth, Brand & Willems, 1981). Only
relatively recently it seems, and following shifts in the understanding and
the measurement of farm animal welfare (Duncan, 2006), have farm ani-
mal/human relations been acknowledged as having consequence, of mat-
tering, to both human and farm animal (for example, Waiblinger et al, 2006,
FAWC, 2007). There is here a great potential for more cross-cutting inter-
disciplinary as well as epistemological and methodological innovation into
54 Henry Buller
human/animal relations on the farm and elsewhere within husbandry

systems (Roe, Buller & Bull, 2011).
This is fortuitous, for recent years have seen the well documented growth
in (‘alternative’) food production systems that, amongst other things, seek
to create additional value through a more attentive and visible husbandry.
The development of ‘natural’, ‘high welfare’ and other animal product
chains that actively draw connections between husbandry practice, animal
care and product quality has been widely observed and commented on
(Marsden, 2002; Pollan, 2006; Buller & Morris, 2008). Across Europe and
the United States, specific assurance and labelling schemes have multiplied,
championing such things as ‘grass fed’ and ‘free-range’ systems in which
the living animal is a clear presence.
Inherent in many of these agro-food chains, is, one might argue, an ac-
tive and engaged re-vitalisation of the stock animal and with it an im-
plicit recognition of individual animal sentience. Significantly, the
enactment and embodiment of this vitality becomes a component of the
ultimate commercial value of the animal product. In contrast to the de-
vitalisation of more conventional food chains, the fact that these animals
are destined for human consumption, as the origin of more natural and
therefore higher quality food products, not only places a greater role upon
their co-authorship but also raises important critical questions about how
that vitality and presence is acknowledged, managed, acted upon and ul-
timately assembled and commodified within such food chains (Stanescu,
2010). For some commentators, such high quality / high welfare systems
raise more ethical problems than they solve (Cole, 2011: 96).
Yet, the societal choice, Midgley (2008) acknowledges, is often more
than simply that between eating or not eating animals: “there is a huge
range of choice available to us about how to treat them first, even if we do
still eat them” (p. 31). ‘Treating’ them, however, is not just a matter of fol-
lowing the prescribed practices of good welfare management and care. It
is to enter into a relation with them, one that acknowledges not only their
subjectivity but also the contribution of that animalian presence and vital-
ity to that of the human at their side. It is, in Boivin et al’s (2000: 5) terms,
a ‘double mirror’ which Waiblinger et al (2006: 189) describe in the follow-
ing manner;
… the mutual perception, which develops and expresses itself in their mu-
tual behaviour (Estep & Hetts, 1992). It is a dynamic process with the cata-
logue of previous interactions between the animal and humans forming the
foundation for an established relationship that then exerts a feedback effect

on the nature and perception of future interactions.
Animal husbandry and the human consumption of animal products are
therefore linked relational practices: the latter involving an inter-corpore-
ality, a transference of vitality and an assemblage, in Bennett’s (2010) terms,
of human and non-human bodies; the former involving an inter-subjectiv-
ity, a recognition of—and responsiveness to—the vital other self and an
affective mutuality.
This chapter explores one particular dimension of this re-vitalisation
and acknowledgement of the animal, its material and immaterial presence
within such food systems. Drawing upon some recent research on grass-fed
beef production (Buller et al. 2007) and borrowing Stassart & Whatmore’s
(2003) notion of the stuff of food as a ‘messenger of connectedness and
affectivity’ (p. 450), I seek, as a ‘conscientious omnivore’, to use Singer’s
phrase (Singer & Mason, 2006), to bring the stock animal back into our
accounting, not as a largely hidden meat-producing machine nor, as an
abstract ethical touchstone but as a living, acting, being member of a
wider human/non-human community. Doing this requires us to look dif-
ferently at the normative linearity and unflinching unidirectionality im-
plied by the term ‘food chain’, where inputs and outputs are pre-determined
and the variability, unpredictability and risks seemingly inherent in natu-
ral and animate processes are, to a greater or lesser extent, outmanoeuvred
by human interference. One way of accomplishing this, within the context
of these ‘alternative’ grass-based production systems, is to consider the
feeding behaviour of stock animals as an expression of (distinct) animal
vitality and a recognition, by those so concerned, of their co-presence.
Before doing so however, it is worth recognising that, in many modern
intensive livestock systems and consumer practices, the opportunities for
a more relational engagement with stock animals are, in fact, declining.
Hidden relations
‘Animals disappear’, wrote John Berger in 1980. They disappear both in

modern systems of production and in contemporary forms of consumption;
the two sites of invisibility—the supermarket and the farm.
It has become commonplace in developed western countries to obscure
the animal from the practices of acquisition and consumption of meat.
Countless popular surveys and newspaper reports record the fact that
56 Henry Buller
children no longer recognise the animal origins of such diverse foods as

‘fish fingers’, sausages, hamburgers, ‘nuggets’ or even more traditional cuts
such as steak, bacon and chops (Dairy Farmers of Britain, 2006). We have
become accustomed to food chains that actively de-animalise food origins
through established processes of re-naming, re-constitution and re-pack-
aging (Buller & Cesar, 2007; Fiddes, 1992). The declining number of high-
street butchers and of butchers’ counters at retail outlets contributes to
the growing distanciation while the shrinking place of offal, with its intrin-
sic corporal narrative, within contemporary diets exacerbates the somatic
anonymity of the more conventional forms of meat. We routinely practice
what Moussaieff-Masson (2009) calls a ‘denial’ of the animal in meat prod-
ucts. Following Elias (2000), we might measure our progression as ‘civilised’
society by our distance from both the materiality and immateriality of farm
animal lives, largely preferring to represent farm animals through a sym-
bolic agrarian bucolism rather than the far harsher actualities of indus-
trial capitalist husbandry (Shukin, 2009).
For us human animals, with all our cherished pet species, the predom-
inant ‘relationship’ we have with non-human animal species is driven by
our food demands. The estimated 500 million dogs in the world stands
small against the 24 billion chickens or 1.5 billion cattle. The USA, as one
example, slaughters around 10 billion land animals per year for food, against
a domesticated dog population of around 60 million all told. These human
food requirements have profoundly structured the non-human animal
universe into a functional hierarchy of specific and targeted nutritional
pathways that reach down to the microbial level. In his materialist history
of the world, De Landa (2005) puts it thus:
Together, humans and their ‘extended family’ of domesticates […] trans-
formed a heterogeneous meshwork of species (a temperate forest) into a
homogeneous hierarchy, since all biomass now flowed toward a single point
at the top. In a sense, a complex food web was replaced by a simplified food
pyramid (2005: 108).
There are a number of implications for human/animal relations here. First,
and perhaps most obviously, there is, in this highly mechanistic and in-
strumentalised relationality, a socio-technical ontology of animality as
body functionality, as ‘bare life’, as stimulus and response; in short, a rela-
tionality or “strategy”, as John Law (2007) calls it, “of scientism” that builds,
promulgates and performs a new and specific animal reality. Thus, the
unidirectional nutritional pathways that structure the agro-food sector
into De Landa’s pyramid have become extraordinarily precise, scientised
instruments through which animal feed inputs are calibrated to give food
body products that satisfy not only human nutritional demands but also
increasingly diverse gastronomic trends and ephemeral food fashions. The
bodies of the egg-laying chicken, like the dairy cow, become the somatic
housings for an intensive internal production bio-factory for eggs and milk
that has little to do with the animal subject’s personal biology and every-
thing to do with modern agricultural capitalism. Broiler chickens are ef-
fectively sculpted, through strict and highly regulated diets to achieve
rapid growth in 6 or 7 weeks, and standardised body conformation, which
includes maximum muscular tissue in certain areas—notably those result-
ing in the more expensive white breast meat cuts. Because the ability of
animals to put on weight is essentially genetically determined, rather than
environmentally determined, genetic selection also plays a key role in the
process of intensification of meat production, leading to such monsters of
modified metabolism as the Belgian Blue. Broiler chickens are generally
fed pellets, which they can eat faster, rather than grain, which require
wasteful amounts of energy in picking up. Animal feed environments are
increasingly controlled, to prevent additional and unplanned nutrients
entering animal bodies and achieve optimal conditions for growth. Such
nutritional fine-tuning is now extended even to the embryonic. Chicks are
coaxed into pre-hatching muscular development through the judicious
application of amino acids in the laying hen’s feed. As broiler chickens get
bigger and bigger, their additional weight demands greater skeletal
strength—and thereby the requisite nutritional inputs to secure that
strength—but this, of course, has little economic value. Lameness and
skeletal deficiencies are rife in intensive broiler production as producers
seek that fine line between minimum feed requirements and maximum
muscular development. This is biopower.
What I want to get at here is the increasingly sophisticated simplification
and narrowing of the management and operation of inter-species relations
within human food chains. Here we have a major and wilful reduction in
biological (and environmental) variables, a selectivity in increasingly spe-
cialised breeds, developed for their productivity but also for their adapt-
ability to industrial farming conditions, a concentration of feedstuffs into
an ever smaller number of elements and combinations, a precision in the
targeting of nutrient inputs to final carcass or meat-cut value, itself defined
by cultural practice and human nutritional science. In many ways, this is
classic substitutionism as socio-technical networks replace socio-natural
networks and inter-species ‘meetings’ are narrowed, controlled and chan-
58 Henry Buller
nelled through technological vectors into alimentary corridors from which

external factors are increasingly excluded and natural variations removed;
even the variabilities of weather are controlled for through computer
controlled massive indoor housing units. What follows is an impoverished
context for human/animal relations (Dockès & Kling-Eveillard, 2006) sub-
sumed by technological and material assemblages in which the living,
sentient non-human is both and obscured and rendered as, in Shukin’s
(2009) words, ‘carnal capital’ (p. 7) with no possibility of ‘life time’ or mate-
rial substance outside capitalist production.
The intensification and technological capitalisation of animal hus-
bandry has a second implication for human-animal relationality; that of
its impact upon the practice of interaction between stockperson and ani-
mal. A growing body of research demonstrates the importance of the
stockperson/farm animal relationship for both the productivity and the
welfare of individual farm animals (for example, Hemsworth & Coleman
1998, CIWF 2002 and more recently Wilkie 2010). For the UK Farm Animal
Welfare Council (FAWC) “The attributes of a good stockman [sic] include
an affinity and empathy with livestock, patience, and keen observational
skills amongst others” (2009: 7). Hemsworth (2004), drawing on over 20
years of research into human/animal relations in animal husbandry, argues
that “the stockperson may be the most influential factor affecting animal
welfare in intensively managed production systems (p. 34) while Coleman
(2004) reiterates the importance of empathy and “good insight into the
emotional responses of the animals in their care” (p. 171) for effective
stockpeople.
In the last few decades, however, dramatic changes have taken place in
husbandry practice. Average herd sizes are increasing (for example, by over
20% for the UK dairy sector between 1997 and 2007, FAWC, 2009) while
the ratio of stockpersons to stock animals is contrastingly in decline with-
in both modern intensive production systems and less intensive upland
systems (CLA, 2004; FAWC, 2009). The result is not only less frequent or
less individualised human/animal contact; it is contact of a different kind.
The process of rationalisation in husbandry, that is to say its transformation
into a series of animal productions, has in large part destroyed its original
characteristics, namely the sense of a working relation between humans
and animals (Porcher, 2010: 17, my translation).
Higher density production units can mean higher culling ratios shifting
the daily task of stockmanship from care to one of premature killing. The
growth of automated feeding and ‘zero-grazing’ systems further reduces
the possibilities and occasions for interaction between stockperson and

animal, reducing the perceived material co-presence of the latter even
more. Here too, the animal disappears.
Robotic milking implies an important shift in human-animal relationships
on dairy farms. Since the actual milking is conducted by the robot, there is
greatly reduced direct, physical contact between humans and cows in this
system, and a sense in which the human—cow relationship is mediated by
the robotic technology (Holloway 2007: 1049).
The reduced quotidian exchanges between stockperson and stock animal,
coupled with the growing number of technological and physical intrusions
to the integrity of the animal body (Hemsworth & Coleman, 1998), make
those contacts all the more problematic when they do occur thereby af-
fecting and re-casting the relations that exist. Waiblinger et al. (2006) show
that increasingly the events of contact between stockperson and stock
animal are negative and ‘predatory’; intrusions, physical manipulation,
restraint and so on, notably within a context of growing mechanisation.
Farm animals, they conclude, are generally frightened of humans.
The ‘mechanistic euphoria’ of agriculture, to use Midgley’s (2008: 21)
phrase, has thereby been largely predicated upon a denial of the animalian
realities of farm animals and their relegation to ‘thinghood’ (Midgley again).
Still much of the renewed academic interest in food consumption remains
curiously inattentive to the ‘field’-end of those much vaunted ‘field-to-fork’
pathways. Investigating risk within food chains, Stassart & Whatmore
(2003) write of contemporary research:
Even as they take the spaces of shopping, cooking, and eating more seri-
ously, too many investigators of food consumption seem content to accept
this terminal location—isolating these practices from their effective en-
tanglements with those of other moments in the assemblage of agrifood
networks (Stassart & Whatmore, 2003: 450).
Contemporary society’s meetings with farm animals are therefore almost
always post-mortem while our ethical engagement has been sometimes
over-simplistically polarised. The farm animal (singular) though, as an
individual (yet also multiple) subject of care and consideration, frequent-
ly disappears on either side of this ethical fault-line, whether in the interests
of a wider eco-centrism (Callicott, 1980, 1988) or a uniform liberationist
absolutism (Fraser, 1999; Food Ethics Council, 2001) or as merely anony-
mous, functional and unheard components of the humanist anthropo-
logical machine (Agamben, 2004), held tight by the ‘material-semiotic
loops’ (Shukin, 2009: 232) of animal capital.
60 Henry Buller
Acknowledging animal life
The problem is where does that leave the animals and their individual
vitalities? Do they continue to disappear (unseen and unheard) even further
into a purely bio-chemical/nutritional assembly—biomass converters of
ever-increasing productivity and ever-decreasing subjectivity? Or rather,
how might we then actively seek to re-vitalise farm animals both in those
interspecies entanglements and assemblages that inevitably populate hu-
man food chains and in our understanding and explanation of the rela-
tionality of eating and of raising and, of course, of killing? Moreover,
borrowing from the challenge presented by Shukin (2009), how might that
re-vitalisation bring together, on the one hand, the material, fleshy eating
(as well as eaten) animals with, on the other hand, the symbolic and the
semiotic placing of stock animals in those constructed economic, cultural
and affective relations we have with them? Should we, after Haraway (2008:
32) begin to see foods as “the contagions and infections that wound the
primary narcissism of human exceptionalism”?
For Michael Pollan (2008: 102), eating is fundamentally a relationship
between species, one that is dynamic, mutually affective and inter-depen-
dent. Donna Haraway (2008: 294) writes, of literally ‘nourishing’ communi-
ties with eating one another being one of the critical ‘transformative
merger practices’ (p. 31) between organisms. Plant species develop tasty
fruits to encourage animals to eat them and thereby aid in the plant’s
propagation. Animal species, including ourselves, develop digestive en-
zymes in response to food source availability and so on, adding to the
myriad examples of co-evolutionary eater/eaten trajectories and the mul-
titudinous bio-assembly that is eating. Extending Derrida’s acknowledge-
ment of the ‘infinite hospitality’ of food (1995: 282) to those animals we eat,
his phrase “one never eats entirely on one’s own’ (ibid) takes on a new
meaning. Taken further, the inter-corporeality of meat eating might sug-
gest, as Gilbert, quoted in Haraway (2006: 35) observes, that we are not,
nor ever have been, individuals.
A radical starting point might be to challenge the scientised and hier-
archical linearity inherent in food chains and, from them, our very ordering
of animal species. Haraway (2008) writes: “The shape and temporality of
life on earth are more like a liquid-crystal consortium folding on itself again
and again than a well branched tree” (2008: 31–32). In a similar vein, De
Landa (2005: 138) observes that “the picture of evolutionary processes re-
sembles more a meshwork than a strict hierarchy, a bush or rhizome more
than a branching tree.” If we are what we eat, then we are truly networked
into a multi-species relational web. Responding to Haraway’s (2008) call

to ‘pay attention’ not only to what you eat (Grassie, 2009) but also to the
necessities of ‘eating well—together’ (p. 295), my own approach here is to
return to food—and eating—as an active expression of, and not a replace-
ment for, animal vitality.
Food and feed, and in particular, a farm animal’s access to and choice
of its own food has emerged in recent years as a significant trope in the
development of an alternative ethical (and ethological) standpoint for
animal husbandry and agro-pastoralism. One that brings together notions
of nature and natural behaviour, welfare and sentience and a more sym-
metrical sense of agency between human and non-human; one that ac-
knowledges and accounts for animal motility and vitality; one that—in the
primatologist Shirley Strum’s words, as quoted by Despret (2005: 361)—al-
lows us to engage with “what counts for them.” Within the acknowledged
material and ethical complexities of animal husbandry, and in particular,
those engendered by higher welfare systems (Cole, 2011), what might count
for some of them (and thereby make them count) includes a degree of
freedom over grazing and food choice or, following Despret (2005), the
ability not to have to actively compete for intentionally limited food provi-
sions.
Schemes and systems promoting grass-fed and free grazing of stock
animals on relatively bio-diverse pastures are multiplying hugely, driven
by ethical concerns, by increasing consumer demand and by the seductive
economics of higher quality production systems, particularly for otherwise
marginalized producers. Websites and labelling schemes abound, claiming
out-door grazing systems are best for the animals’ health and welfare, for
environmental sustainability and for the health and gastronomic sensi-
bilities of those who consume the eventual meat products. A recent book
(Singer & Mason, 2006) reports favourably the position of British chef Hugh
Fearnley-Whittingstall (2004) for whom stock animals should be free to
walk around outside; farmers should embrace the idea of a moral contract
with their animals (Larrère & Larrère, 2000) and informed consumers
should ‘pay attention’ by only buying meat from such production systems.
Many of these extensive, grass-based husbandry systems draw attention
to the animal feeding opportunities and choices offered by grazing. For
example:
Our animals lead an ideal, unhurried existence, browsing the moors and
meadows. They thrive on the unploughed grasses, herbs, weeds and shrubs
that root deeply on the unimproved meadows and chalk Downs of Wiltshire
and peat uplands of Dartmoor, Devon (Wild Beef, undated website).
62 Henry Buller
The calves are brought up suckling their mothers and grazing the sweet
grasses and herbs of the upland ‘Dales’” (Steadman’s Butchers, undated
website).
Our Pedigree Defaid Llyn lambs thrive on the natural grassland available
all year round, in one of the most unspoilt environments in the world. These
hardy breeds are raised on fresh mountain grasses and luscious green low-
land meadows … (Glasfryn Siop Ferme, undated website).
There is, one might suggest, a ‘fleshy kinship’ in these descriptions, a cross-
species affinity (recalling Haraway’s “messmates at table” 2008: 301) in the
material and affective values of choosing what to eat. Echoing Strum
quoted above, Midgley (2008) argues that farm animals matter because
“things can matter to them” (p. 21). Recognising that ‘mattering’ in food
choice is one way of re-establishing a human/non-human relationality
within animal husbandry.
“I’ll have a bite of that”
A recently completed piece of research (Buller et al., 2007) investigated the

grazing behaviour and management of upland cattle and sheep on farms
producing meat products on natural, biodiverse grasslands. Although the
principal aim of that research was to establish links between various pa-
rameters of grassland quality and meat quality, and to test those links both
within the laboratory and through consumer preference, an associated goal
of that, and subsequent research, has been to explore the material and
semiotic role of the animals themselves in the construction and definition
of that ‘quality’, through field observation and through interviews with
farmers and stockpersons. This enabled us to re-constitute the nutritional
assemblage of humans and farm animals and, in doing so, seek to re-admit
animal vitalities by acknowledging their contribution to that meeting place.
In what follows, I draw upon these interviews to illustrate this fleshy con-
viviality.
As stated above, a central mechanism of the denied vitality of farm
animals within the intensive agro-food industry is their feed regimes.
Although many farm animals are essentially grass feeding ruminants, cere-
als and legumes (notably corn and soya) form the bulk of their diet and
this is the case across the species range. Beef cattle, dairy cattle, poultry,
sheep and pigs are all fed an essentially grain-based diet in conventional
intensive systems. Where this is supplemented by grass products, these are
often silage mixes based upon ‘artificial’ and sown grasses such as Lucerne,
rye grass, red clover and so on. By constrast grass-based and extensive
systems offer not only a far greater variety of food choices to farm animals
but also a degree of temporal and spatial self selectivity in access to them.
It is through these that the co-authorship of quality is performed by both
farmer and animal. There are a number of dimensions to this.
First, this co-authorship is constructed as an element and expression of
‘natural’ behaviour, a return to benevolent animality or ‘telos.’ One beef
farmer interviewed for this research observed:
The cattle have a great time down there. It’s lovely. Ours get a lot of variety
[…]. They have to find their way through scrub half the time and interesting
grass most of the time and marsh from time to time, underneath the reed-
bed, they have such a game
A second farmer makes a similar observation:
I can’t help being rather anthromorphic and I see them having fun. I see
them enjoying it.
Second, the ‘freedom’ the animals have to select foodstuffs on demand
bespeaks not simply of their agency but, more importantly, their subjectiv-
ity expressed through distinctive individual preference. Another beef
farmer noted:
You just leave it, there’s so much moisture in it. Now that we’re grazing on
tight … tight swards actually, it’s not that long, and there’s clover in there,
there’s body in there, there’s vetches, there’s all sorts in there and the cattle
are much happier.
To a degree, these cattle are taking back control and responsibility:
I watch animals selecting the plants they eat carefully and you have to as-
sume there’s something in why they select it and it’s either pleasure or
benefit. Either way, pleasure’s worth something as far as I can see (Beef
farmer).
Or another:
I see them thinking ‘oh that looks nice, I’ll have a bite of that.’ That seems
to me to be a benefit (Beef farmer).
The variety of plant types freely selected by the beef cattle and the sheep
studied here also reveals the extensiveness of the wider ecological assem-
blies in which they exist and the chances that such assemblies offer the
animals. Two lamb farmers made the following points:
64 Henry Buller
These animals graze—we counted—on a hundred grasses, herbs, and heath-

ers.
They have to rough it on the hills. But also sure that the natural grazing
process makes a big difference […] When the heather is in bloom, the sheep
really go for the heather…
A further dimension to this vital co-authorship concerns the observed
health and welfare of the freely grazing animals. This can work both ways;
while extensive out-door systems are often associated with ‘better’ welfare,
particularly by both farmers and consumers; they equally oblige a certain
acceptance of the inherent unpredictability of more natural systems:
Two of our upland lamb farmers made the following observations:
We hardly have to treat them ... but when’s the last time I called the vet?
They’re just quite healthy up there.
They’re very immune to a lot of things than other animals..... if they’ve had
lots of chemicals in them to keep worm numbers down, ours have natu-
rally created their own immunity.
Yet, for a third lamb farmer, living animals and living ‘Nature’ become
defined by what cannot be controlled.
Nature with diseases … can come in, which you just don’t have any control
over. It’s not something you can just work an extra few hours in the day to
get round, they’re just things you can’t deal with. At lambing time, you have
lambs, some lambs come out fine, some lambs you have to intervene, some
lambs you don’t see when they need help and you lose a lamb. It’s not ...
it’s the unknowns which you can’t really deal with in that way. So … and
you’re dealing with living animals and it’s … unpredictable sometimes.
A final quote, from a beef farmer, throws us right back to De Landa’s ‘mesh’,
Haraway’s ‘liquid crystal folds’ and Stassart & Whatmore’s ‘connectedness
and affectivity’:
I don’t farm in a conventional way, I have never farmed with rye grass,
I don’t believe in rye grass, I don’t believe in wet silage, I don’t believe in
intensive farming, it’s something that I don’t believe in. I believe in farming
where the animals’ welfare is at the paramount, that they have the best life
they can possibly have, so yeah, it’s my … I don’t believe in ploughing up
and putting rye grasses down. I don’t believe in losing ones birds and ones
flowers and ones butterflies and ones vertebrates and invertebrates. I believe
there is a very subtle chain and I believe that it’s all interconnected and
I believe that all part of it is man, beast, field, animal, it is a circular thing
and it is all dependent on something else that is in that chain.
Speaking for Animals: a reflection on method
A leading animal welfare scientist asked at a recent conference, ‘what can

the social sciences tell me about a farm animal’s life?’ Of the many pos-
sible responses to this provocative question, one might be to suggest that
coming to an understanding of such a life is fundamentally a relational
consequence or experience, whether those relations be mediated through
scientific instrumentation, societal and cultural contexts or through the
often troubling practice of observation and being with. Troubled by the
inherent anthropocentrism of much social science and by the unchallenged
exceptionalism of the human subject, a number of social scientists working
in the field of animal studies have recently sought to break away from the
traditional domains of cultural representation and normative hierarchies
to experiment with more ethnographic and performative approaches that
acknowledge animal agency in the negotiated processes of becoming, inter-
dependency and co-constitution (Ingold, 2011). However, as J. Lorimer
points out, “such more-than-human inclinations do not sit easily with the
orthodox methodologies of the interpretative social sciences” (2010: p. 239).
New approaches are therefore required to look beyond words and the
conventional framings of knowledge to different forms of social engage-
ment; performance, dwelling, living in the world, ritual, emotion, affect,
the corporal and the somatic. On the one hand, these more symmetrical
forms acknowledge the ‘mindedness’ and minded behaviour of both human
and non-human in what H. Lorimer refers to as ‘liberating encounters’
(2010). On the other hand, less normative forms of individual and social
action that cannot be so easily represented in classic forms of social science
accounting are exposed (Higgin & Buller, 2009).
The methodological techniques of ethnography and ethno-methodol-
ogy, coupled with ethology and behavioural observation have proved to
be a potent mix to this new more-than-human social science. They reveal
more prosaic knowledges and understandings both of animal subjectivities
and of human-animal inter-subjectivities than those of formal science, as
the quotations above demonstrate. In performing with, in sharing space
and the memory of place, the relations between the stockpersons and the
animals observed here, however temporary they might be, are built upon
shared somatic sensibilities (Greenough & Roe, 2011), upon affective soci-
ality and upon, what de Waal (2009: 65) calls the ability to ‘feel into’ each
other. In short, they re-vitalise.
66 Henry Buller
Conclusion: Assembling ‘quality’
In ‘From Trust to Domination’, Tim Ingold (1994) draws a critical distinction

between ‘hunters’ and ‘pastoralists.’ Under pastoralism he argues, a human/
animal relation characterised by ‘domination’, animals are “cared for but
are not themselves empowered to care” (p. 16), though he acknowledges
that in pastoral systems animals, like human beings, can be “endowed with
powers of sentience and autonomous action” (p. 18). In concluding this
chapter, there are two points I want to draw out, the first relating to the
role of human/animal relations in the practice of agriculture and the sec-
ond, to the nature and place of such relations in the notion (and com-
modification) of ‘quality.’
Contemporary accounts of human/animal relations within livestock
farming confirm a growing separation, spatially, morally, empathetically,
technologically and so on, of human and animal worlds. Intensive systems
have gone far beyond mere ‘domestication’ (Noske, 1997). Porcher (2010:
15), believes the word husbandry (‘élevage’) to be almost antonymic:
It is something other than husbandry, no longer the raising of animals but
the transforming of a resource (the animal resource) and to produce matter
(animal matter), in the same way that other industries produce petrol, coal
chemicals … (my translation).
Such de-animalisation or de-vitalisation of farm animals (as well as the
consequent de-humanisation of farm workers and stockpersons) has clear
implications for their moral status. If, drawing on Midgley (1983) and
Callicott (1992), moral status derives, at least in part, from intimacy, then
industrialised and intensive farm systems, in offering little occasion for, or
indeed desire for, human/animal interaction, implicitly reduce the moral
status of the animals so confined (Hadley, 2007).
By way of contrast, extensive systems can offer different contexts for
human/animal relations, a recognisable ‘bond’ and thereby intimacy.
Arguably, in such systems, the animals are, to a degree ‘empowered to care’
in things like their own uses of space and choice of food—itself generative
of, and consequent on, the ‘care’ of the animals as practiced by farmers and
stockpersons—as the above quotations from the research illustrate. From
a communitarian point of view, these animals might enjoy a significant
moral status.
The difficulty of using human/animal relationality and intimacy as the
basis for moral consideration is, as Hadley (2007) points out, that those
animals denied such intimacy have reduced moral status (at a time when,
one might assert, their need of moral consideration is greatest). Anthony

(2003) draws out the distinction between the moral impartiality of writers
like Singer and Regan and the implicit partiality of a communitarian or
care-based ethical framework. He nevertheless argues: “a morality that
does not recognise the moral significance of personal bonds is impoverished
since it fails to give due credence to the significance of human relationships”
(2003: 509). However, rather than merely accentuate the polarity that
underlies intensive/extensive systems between the ‘utilitarian’ and the
‘affective’ (Serpell, 2004), the ‘moral’ and the ‘instrumental’ (Macnaghton,
2001), the ‘detached’ and the ‘attached’ (Wilkie, 2005; Bock et al., 2007) or
the ‘personal’ and the ‘impersonal’ (and for a critique of the very notion of
such a polarity, see Cole, 2011), I want to end by considering the principle
of ‘quality’ in extending human/animal relationality within the wider hu-
man food chain.
Many of the extensive agro-pastoral systems such as those investigated
here, suffer from a number of constraints. For example, the body weights
at slaughter of the animals concerned are generally lower than those of
industrially farmed animals, while production rates are heavily influenced
by seasonality. Such systems survive, economically, because quality sells.
Consumers consider the resultant meat products to be of better quality—
in the widest sense—than those from intensive and industrialised systems.
That quality is multi-dimensional. It is comprised not only of the taste of
the meat as well as its texture (Whittington et al., 2006; Wood et al., 2007),
but also of public concern for and awareness of the human/animal relations
practiced in such systems. Hence the ‘naturality’ of animal lives and the
‘choices’ made by animal individuals contribute to the construction of
materially and semiotically embedded notions of product quality (even
though this is not always directly recognised by consumers, see for ex-
ample, Morris & Kirwan, 2010). Moreover, individual animal lives are often
written into affective narratives of quality food, whether through labelling
or through product advertising with packaging claims, labels and so on
frequently drawing attention to the quality of on-farm human/animal rela-
tions and to higher welfare standards (Buller & Roe, 2012). This is having
two important effects.
On the one hand, through the active commodification of the quality of
animal lives and the importance of human/animal relations, as components
of product quality and thereby value, these production systems, though
still relatively marginal within the broader agro-food economy, are unques-
tionably raising the profile of animal lives and animal vitalities in debates
68 Henry Buller
both over wider concerns for animal welfare, as research on retailer strat-
egies and farm assurance schemes has demonstrated (Buller, 2009; Buller
et al., 2010; Roe & Higgin, 2008), and over the mechanisms of welfare as-
sessment (Welfare Quality, 2009). For the UK’s Farm Animal Welfare
Council (2009), quality of animal life and indeed a ‘good life’ should become
the defining principle of all animal husbandry.
On the other hand, the extension of this composite notion of ‘quality’
into the wider food chain extends the moral community. Responding to
‘what counts for them’ and therefore ‘paying attention’ are all, in Despret’s
(2005: 368) terms ‘polite ways of entering into relationships with non-hu-
mans.’ Consumers are engaged not only through a broader sensibility of
the treatment of sentient animals in farm systems but increasingly through
an implied connection with the farmers and stockpersons responsible for
the animals themselves and the fleshy connectivity of being together in a
more-than-human world.
Acknowledgement
This paper draws partly upon the Economic and Social Research Council’s
RELU project ‘Eating Biodiversity’ (Award RES 224-25-0041). As such all the
members of that team contributed to the gathering of the empirical mate-
rial of this chapter: Jeff Wood, Carol Morris, Alan Hopkins, James Kirwan,
Robert Dunn, Owain Jones and Fran Whittingham.
References
Agamben, G. (2004). The Open: Man and Animal. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Animal Studies Group (2006). Killing Animals. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.
Anthony, R. (2003). The ethical implications of the human-animal bond on the farm. Animal
Welfare Journal 12(4), 505–512.
Bataille, G. (1958). Lascaux, or the birth of art. Translated by A. Wainhouse. Geneva: Skira
Books.
Bennett, H. (2010). Vibrant Matter. Durham: Duke University Press.
Berger, J. (1980). Why look at animals. In J. Berger (Ed.), About Looking. London: Pantheon
Press.
Bock, B., M. Prutzer, F. Kling Everard & Dockès A. (2007). Farmers’ relationship with differ-
ent animals. International Journal of Sociology of Food and Agriculture, 15 (3), 108–125.
Boivin, X., B.J. Lensink & Veissier I. (2000). The farmer and the animal: a double mirror. In
M. Hovi & M. Bouilhol (Eds.) Human-animal relationship: stockmanship and housing in
organic livestock systems. Proceedings of the Third NAHWOA Workshop Clermont-
Ferrand, 21–24 October 2000, Network for Animal Health and Welfare in Organic Agri-
culture (NAHWOA), University of Reading, pp. 5–13.
Browning Cole, E. (1992). Theophrastus and Aristotle on Animal Intelligence. In W.W.

Fortenbaugh & D. Gutas (Eds.) Theophrastus: his psychological, doxographical, and
scientific writings (pp. 44–62). Brunswick New Jersey: Transaction Publishers.
Buller, H. (2009). What can we tell consumers and retailers? In A. Butterworth, B. Jones,
H. Blokhuis & I. Veisier (Eds.). Delivering Animal Welfare and Quality: Transparency in
the Food Production Chain (pp. 43–46). Welfare Quality / European Union. ISBN 978-90-
78240-03-7.
Buller, H. & Cesar, C. (2007). Eating well, eating fare: farm animal welfare in France. Inter-
national Journal of Sociology of Agriculture and Food, 15(3), 45–58.
Buller, H. & Morris, C. (2008). Beasts of a different burden: agricultural sustainability and
farm animals. In S. Seymour, R. Fish, & S. Watkins (Eds). Transdisciplinary Perspectives
on Sustainable Farmland Management (pp. 135–148). Wallingford: CABI.
Buller, H. et al. (2007). Eating Biodiversity: an investigation of the links between quality food
production and biodiversity protection. Final Report to the ESRC, Award RES 224-25-0041.
University of Exeter.
Buller, H., E. Roe, A.C. Dockès, J. Bull, F. Kling-Eveillard & Godfrey C. (2010). Constructing
quality: Negotiating Farm Animal Welfare in Food Assurance Schemes in the UK and
France. Welfare Quality Reports, 10, Cardiff: Cardiff University.
Buller, H. & Roe, E. (2012). Co-modifying Animal Welfare. Animal Welfare, 21 (S1), 131–135.
Burt, J. (2006). Morbidity and Vitalism: Derrida, Bergson, Deleuze and Animal Film Imagery.
Configurations 14, 157–179.
Callicott, J.B. (1992). Animal Liberation and Environmental Ethics: Back Together Again.
In E.C. Hargrove (Ed.) The Animal Rights/ Environmental Ethics Debate (pp. 249–62).
Abany: State University of New York Press.
Callicott, J.B. (1988). Agroecology in Context. Journal of Agricultural and Environmental
Ethics 1 (1), 3–9.
Callicott, B. (1980). Animal ethics: a triangular affair. Environmental Ethics 2, 311–338.
CIWF (2002). Farm Assurance Schemes and Animal Welfare: can we trust them? Compassion
in World Farming, London.
CLA (2004). A Future for Livestock Grazing in England and Wales. Country Landowners
and Business Association, London.
Cole, M. (2011). From ‘animal machines’ to ‘Happy Meat’? Foucault’s ideas of disciplinary
and pastoral power applied to animal centered welfare discourse. Animals 1 (1), 83–101.
Coleman, G. (2004). Personnel Management in Agricultural Systems. In G. Benson &
B. Rollin (Eds) The well-being of farm animals (pp. 167–183). Ames: Blackwell Publishing.
Dairy Farmers of Britain, (2006). Grass is Greener Campaign. Dairy Farmers of Britain.
De Landa, M (2005). A thousand years of non-linear history. London: Zone Books.
Derrida, J. (1995). Eating well or the calculation of the subject. In E. Weber (Ed.) Points:
Interviews with Jacques Derrida 1974–1994 (pp. 255–286). Stanford CA: Stanford Univer-
sity Press.
Despret, V. (2005). Sheep do have opinions. In B. Latour & P. Weibel (Eds.) Making things
public: Atmospheres of Democracy (pp. 360–369). Boston: MIT Press.
De Waal, F. (2009). The age of empathy. New York: Harmony Books.
Dockès A-C & Kling Eveillard, F. (2006). Farmers and advisors representations of animals
and animal welfare. Livestock Science 103 (3), 243–249.
Douglas, M. (1966). Purity and Danger. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Duncan, I.J.H (2006). The changing concept of animal sentience. Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 100, 11–19.
Eder, K. (1996). The social construction of nature. London: Sage.
Elias, N. (2000). The Civilising process. Oxford: Blackwell.
Esposito, R. (2008). Bios: Biopolitics ad Philosophy. Mineapolis: University of Minnesota
Press.
70 Henry Buller
Estep, D.Q. & Hetts, S. (1992). Interactions, relationships and bonds: the conceptual basis
for scientist–animal relations. In: H. Davis & A.D. Balfour (Eds.), The Inevitable Bond—
Examining Scientist–Animal Interactions (pp. 6–26). Cambridge: CAB International.
FAWC (2009). Farm animal welfare in Great Britain: Past, Present and Future. London: Farm
Animal Welfare Council.
FAWC. (2007). Stockmanship and Farm Animal Welfare. London: Farm Animal Welfare
Council.
Fearnley-Whittingstall, H. (2004). The River Cottage Meat Book. London: Hodder and Stough-
ton.
Fiddes, N. (1992). Meat: a natural symbol. London: Routledge.
Food Ethics Council (2001). Farm animals for food: towards a moral menu. Brighton: Food
Ethics Council.
Fraser, D. (1999). Animal ethics and animal welfare science: bridging two cultures. Applied
Glasfryn Siop Ferme, (undated) (Published online at http://www.siop-glasfryn.com/farm-
shop-meat.htm. Accessed on the 2nd July 2010).
Grassie, W. (2009). Eating Well Together: Donna Haraway’s Companion Species Manifesto.
The Global Spiral: an e-journal. (published online at http://www.metanexus.net/maga-
zine/tabid/68/id/10690/Default.aspx )
Greenhough, B. & Roe, E. (2011). Ethics, space, and somatic sensibilities: comparing relation-
ships between scientific researchers and their human and animal experimental subjects.
Environment and Planning D : Society and Space 29, 47–66.
Hadley, J. (2007). Critique of Callicott’s Biosocial Moral Theory Ethics & the Environment,
12 (1), 67–78.
Hemsworth, P. (2004). Human-Livestock Interaction. In G. Benson & B. Rollin, (Eds.) The
well-being of farm animals (pp. 21–38). Ames: Blackwell Publishing.
Hemsworth, P. & Coleman, G. (1998). Human Livestock Interactions. Wallingford: CAB In-
ternational.
Hemsworth, P., Brand A. & Willems P. (1981). The behavioral response of sows to the pres-
ence of human beings and their productivity. Livestock Production Science 8, 67–74.
Higgin, M. & Buller, H. (2009). What are animals? Exploring the taxonomies of the Sciences.’
Workshop Paper 1. Human/Animal Interactions, University of Exeter.
Holloway, L. (2007). Subjecting cows to robots: farming technologies and the making of
animal subjects. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 25, 1041–1060.
Hurri, S. (2010). Editorial. No Foundations 7, 1–4.
Ingold, T, (1994). From trust to domination: an alternative history of human-animal rela-
tions. In A. Manning & J. Serpell (Eds.) Animals and Human Society (pp. 1–22). London:
Routledge.
Ingold, T. (2011). Being Alive. London: Routledge.
Lorimer, H. (2010). Forces of Nature, Forms of Life : Calibrating Ethology and phenomenol-
ogy. In B. Anderson & P. Harrison (Eds.) Taking Place : Non-Representational Theories
and Geography (pp 55–77). London: Ashgate.
Lorimer, J. (2010). Moving methodologies for more than human geographies. Cultural
Geographies 17 (2), 237–258.
Larrère, C, & Larrère R. (2000). Animal rearing as a contract. Journal of Agricultural and
Environmental Ethics 12 (1), 51–58.
Law, J. (2007). Actor Network Theory and Material Semiotics. Version of 25th April 2007
(downloaded on 18th May, 2007). (published online at http://www. heterogeneities. net/
publications/Law2007ANTandMaterialSemiotics.pdf )
Macnaghton, P. (2001). Animal Futures: Public Attitudes and Sensibilities towards Animals
and Biotechnology in Contemporary Britain. Report by the Institute for Environment,
Philosophy and Public Policy, Lancaster.
Marsden, T.K. (2002). Organic livestock production and marketing in Wales. In J.D. Van der
Ploeg, A. Long & J. Banks (Eds.) Rural Development Processes in Europe: the state of the
art. The Netherlands: Elsevier.
Midgley, M. (2008). Why farm animals matter. In M. Dawkins & R. Bonney (Eds.) The Future
of Animal Farming. Oxford: Wiley.
Midgley, M. (1983). Animals and Why They Matter. Athens: University of Georgia Press.
Morris, C. & Kirwan, J. (2010). Food commodities, geographical knowledges and the recon-
nection of production and consumption: the case of naturally embedded food products.
Geoforum 40 (3), 292–302.
Moussaieff-Masson, J. (2009). The Face on Your Plate: the truth about food. London: Norton.
Noske, B. (1997). Beyond Boundaries: Humans and Animals. Montreal: Black Rose Books.
Pollan, M. (2008). In defence of food. New York: Penguin Press.
Pollan, M. (2006). The Omnivore’s Dilemma. Harmonsdworth: Penguin Press.
Porcher, J. (2010). Cochons d’Or. Versailles: Editions Quae.
Rémy, E. (2009). La fin des bêtes. Paris: Economica.
Roe, E.J & Higgin, M. (2008) European meat and dairy retail distribution and supply net-
works: a comparative study of the current and potential markets for welfare-friendly
foodstuffs in six European countries. In U. Kjaernes, B. Bock, M. Miele & J. Roex (Eds.)
Consumption, Distribution and Production of Farm Animal Welfare. Opinions and Prac-
tices within the Supply Chain (pp. 129–256). Cardiff: Cardiff University (Welfare Quality
Reports, 7 Part II).
Roe, E.J., Buller H. & Bull J. (2011). The performance of farm animal welfare assessment.
Animal Welfare 20, 69–78.
Serpell, J. (2004). Factors influencing human attitudes to animals and their welfare. Animal
Welfare 13, 145–151.
Shukin, N. (2009). Animal Capital. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Singer, P. & Mason, J. (2006). The ethics of what we eat. New York: Rodale.
Stanescu, V. (2010). Green eggs and ham? The myth of sustainable meat and the danger of
the local. Journal for Critical Animal Studies VIII (1/2), 18–35.
Stassart, P. & Whatmore, S.J. (2003). Metabolising risk: food scares and the un/re-making
of Belgian beef. Environment and Planning A 35(3) 449–462.
Steadman’s Butchers (undated).( Published online at http://www.steadmans-butchers.
co.uk/beef/index.htm. Accessed on the 2nd July 2010).
Steeves, H.P. (1999). Introduction. In H.P. Steeves (Ed) Animal others: on ethics, ontology
and animal life (pp. 1–14). New York, State University Press.
Steiner, G. (2005). Anthropocentrism and its discontents. The moral status of animals in the
history of Western Philosophy. Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg Press.
Thomas, K. (1983). Man and the Natural World. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Toussaint-Samat, M. (1987). Histoire naturelle et morale de la nourriture. Paris: Bordas.
Waiblinger, S., Boivin, X., Pedersen, V.,Tosi, M., Janczak, A., Visser E. & Jones R.B. (2006).
Assessing the human–animal relationship in farmed species: A critical review, Applied
Animal Behaviour Science 101 (3), 185–242.
Welfare Quality (2009). Assessment Protocol for Cattle. Wageningen: Welfare Quality.
Whittington, F.M., Dunn, R., Nute, G.R., Richardson R.I. & Wood J.D. (2006). Effect of pasture
type on lamb product quality (pp. 27–31). 9th Annual Langford Food Industry Conference,
New Developments in sheepmeat Quality 24–25th May, Bristol, UK. Proceedings of the
British Society of Animal Science.
Wild Beef, (undated). (Published online at http://www.wildbeef.co.uk/contact/. Accessed
on the 12th July 2010).
72 Henry Buller
Wilkie, R. (2010). Livestock / Deadstock. Philadeliphia: Temple University Press.

Wilkie, R. (2005). Sentient commodities and productive paradoxes: the ambiguous nature
of human livestock relations in Northeast Scotland. Journal of Rural Studies 21, 213–230.
Wood, J.D., Richardson, R.I., Scollan, N.D., Hopkins, A., Dunn, R., Buller, H. & Whittington,
F.M. (2007). Quality of meat from biodiverse grassland (pp. 107–116). In J J Hopkins, A.J.
Duncan, D.I. McCracken, S. Peel & J.R.B. Tallow (Eds.) High Value Grassland. Cirences-
ter: British Grassland Society.
Being guided by dogs 73
CHAPTER FOUR
Being guided by dogs
Marc Higgin1
Rational Man divides the world in two. On the one hand, there is human
action that can be understood by reference to ‘intentional’ and ‘conscious’
thoughts and desires—the world of the subject. On the other, lie natural
phenomena, whose intentionality and agency cannot be accessed ratio-
nally through either introspection or language, and therefore are necessar-
ily irrational and unintelligible except through causal (rational) mechanisms
extrinsic to the phenomena themselves—the world of the object. Here the
abyss between Man and The Animal, mind and body takes shape and be-
comes embodied in distinct epistemological and methodological prac-
tices: the Social and Natural Sciences are born. This ‘great divide’ embodied
in the Sciences has left specifically human-animal relations hanging in the
void. The challenge, as Nik Taylor lucidly illustrates in her chapter (Taylor,
this volume), is to not only build new ontological and epistemological
foundations that reject the narrow anthropocentric worldview outlined
above (often labeled as Modern or Humanist by its critics) but to also de-
velop new methodologies that can begin to articulate our multifarious,
complex relations with other animals; how we live together, how we get
know one another.
The focus in this chapter is on one very particular form of human–non-
human relating: the guide dog partnership. The challenge: how best ar-
ticulate this relationship as an achievement between two very different
beings, two very different bodies, which nevertheless succeed in living and
working together. The sight of a dog guiding a human through busy streets,
safely past hordes of relentless shoppers and indiscriminate street furniture,
is one that inspires almost unconditional admiration for our canine friends
and testimonials to their intelligence and selflessness that would make
Lassie blush. While this may partly explain why Guides Dogs for the Blind
are one the best funded charities in the UK, it does mean they have a hard
1 Department of Anthropology, University of Aberdeen.

74 Marc Higgin
time explaining to people that, in fact, dogs are not clever little people,
they don’t possess the Knowledge and, for all it would help human-animal
studies (HAS), they can’t talk or write. Although each guide dog’s intelli-
gence, character and discrimination are essential to a working guide dog
partnership, it is precisely that—a partnership, that develops with and
through the particular capabilities of each partner.
Drawing on research conducted with five guide dog partnerships in
Bristol, England, we explore this process of ‘learning with’ and how it is
productive of new bodies, new subjectivities. Neither the guide dog nor
the guide dog owner pre-date the partnership; both the human and canine
emerge as works in progress, knotted together in a common ‘social.’ What
implications this has for how we ‘do science’ is the unsettling (ethical and
political) challenge HAS brings to the Academy. This chapter’s modest goal
is to add its small voice to a growing clamour.
Method
So how do we open this space that [co]operates between guide dog owner
and guide dog?
the path to science requires…a passionately interested scientist who provides
his or her object of study with as many occasions to show interest and to
counter his or her questioning through the use of its own categories (Latour,
2004: 218; my emphasis).
Latour demands one thing from empirical research—that we risk being
moved by others and in the process become transformed. My research was
essentially an ethnography; I visited each guide dog partnerships a number
of times over the course of five weeks, spending time with them in their
homes and accompanying them around on their daily routines through
villages or the city, walking, sometimes talking; in short, getting to know
something of them, their relationship and the lived order of their lives. My
observations shaped our conversations, these in turn opened up aspects
of practice that would otherwise have gone unrecognised. My reflections
in the following days would likewise inform the following meeting. In ad-
dition, I conducted more ‘formal’ interviews with the guide dog owners,
trainers, and staff of Guide Dogs for the Blind involved with the breeding,
training and selection of guide dogs.
I brought to the ethnography my previous fieldwork experience with
Black-backed Jackals, Brown Hyena and Chacma baboons, as well as my
everyday urban life shared with an elderly female Labrador. The challenge
throughout the research was becoming aware of those events, relations,
happenings that are seen but often go un-noticed and un-remarked and
articulating them back into the research, allowing them to be contradicted
and embellished by the guide dog owners and guide dogs themselves. In
order, to paraphrase Paul Cloke et al. (2004), not extract realities from the
field but arrive at ‘intersubjective truths’ negotiated out of the warmth and
friction of an unfolding iterative process.’ I was learning and developing
my skills on the job, with the help of the guide dog partnerships themselves.
Guide Dogs for the Blind
There is evidence that dogs have been guiding humans for millennia,
documented in Egyptian hieroglyphs and Roman mosaics2. However, the
modern history of guide dogs for the blind begins after the First World War
in Germany, when thousands of dogs were trained to help soldiers who
had been blinded in battle. An American, Dorothy Eustis, working in
Switzerland training German Shepherds for police and military work, was
so impressed with these early guide dogs that she decided to start training
dogs for guide work herself. On her very first encounter with a guide dog
team, the potential for dogs to ‘transform’ the lived experience of people
with visual impairment hit home:
It was as though a complete transformation had taken place before my eyes.
One moment there was an uncertain shuffling blind man, tapping with a
cane, the next there was an assured person, his dog firmly in hand, his head
up, who walked towards us quickly and easily, giving his orders in a low,
confident voice (Dickson, 1942, quoted in Michalko 1999: 35).
Dorothy Eustis promptly set up the first guide dog centres in Switzerland
and the US. A guide dog centre was founded in the UK in 1931 by two dog
trainers, Muriel Cooke and Rosamund Bond; this became the Guide Dogs
for the Blind Association. There are currently 5000 working guide dog
partnerships in this country and the numbers continue to grow.
Guide dogs are mobility aids, ‘designed’ to help people regain their in-
dependence. However, this independence is dependent on the dogs them-
selves, and as such is intrinsically an inter-dependence. To propose that
guide dogs are an exclusively human accomplishment, a transformation
of brute Nature through rational mastery is a misrepresentation that mir-
2 (see www.guidedogs.org.uk for more details).

76 Marc Higgin
rors the narrowly anthropocentric account of domestication that Anderson

(1997) has sought to problematise by emphasising the entwined destinies
of human and animal in the process of domestication:
Domestication [places] humans and animals into socio-spatial relations of
not only control but also affinity, proximity as well as distance, companion-
ship as well as service. Converting wolves to ‘dogs’…perennials into ‘crops’,
aurochs into ever more specialized ‘cows’, has not always or only been a
tyrannical act of domination over a hapless subject nature (p. 482).
Guide dogs have emerged from millennia of human co-habitation with
wolves, a co-habitation in which they have been domesticated to, and into,
us, and we have been domesticated to, and into, them (Hearne, 1987).
Haraway (2003) sees this as essentially a process of co-evolution, the trac-
es of which figure as much in our genome as that of dogs.
For Ingold (2000) the processes of domestication and selective breeding
are not the result of the imposition of human design on a passive nature,
but a question of creating the right ‘conditions of growth’: “[h]uman beings
do not so much transform the material world as play their part, along with
other creatures, in the world’s transformation of itself” (p87).
The selective breeding of guide dogs has evolved within specific, his-
torical engagements between dogs and humans that, over time, have be-
come embodied in the organisational practices of Guide Dogs for the Blind.
This has revolved around the criteria for a ‘sound’ dog, a dog with the right
temperament for guiding work: confident, intelligent and well balanced.
These are not ontological properties of dogs as such, but rather become
intelligible within the lived context of working with the dogs.
Guide Dogs for the Blind have had a breeding and socialisation pro-
gramme (puppy walking scheme) since the late 1960’s, prior to which they
were reliant on donated dogs whose success as guides was fairly low.
Puppies born to the programme are socialised within puppy walker homes.
They are habituated to as wide a variety of environments and situations as
possible, engage in family life and taught basic obedience. Through the
twelve months (on average) of socialisation with the walker and within
the home environment, the dog’s temperament emerges; its willingness to
listen to the walker’s commands, its awareness of its environment and its
reaction to novel situations. At the end of this period the dogs are assessed.
Those clearly not suitable are ‘de-selected’, and usually taken by other
working dog organisations—Police, Customs and Excise, Hearing Dogs for
the Blind—or otherwise they are found homes with volunteers. At the
opposite end of the scale, those dogs that have shown the most potential
are earmarked to become part of the breeding stock. Those neither de-
selected nor selected for breeding move on to training. Training usually
takes another year, within which the dog works closely with an individual
trainer to learn the basic language of guiding. Each individual dog meets
this challenge differently, each dog has a distinct personality whom the
Guide Dogs for the Blind team try to pair with a suitable prospective guide
dog owner, matching the dog’s particular strengths and weaknesses vis-à-
vis its role as guide and companion to the personality and needs of the
guide dog owner. This, as with all blind dates, is only the uncertain begin-
ning.
The Guide Dog partnerships
Mary and Eddie

Eddie is Mary’s fourth guide dog and
they have been together for the last three
years. Eddie, otherwise known as
‘Steady Eddie’ for his calm and focused
guiding work, is a boisterous male
golden Retriever of five years. They live on
a busy stretch of the A38, and negotiate the
narrow pavement by which huge lorries
roar by, with a fluency, balance and
calmness that is remarkable.
Figure 4.1. Mary and Eddie.

Reproduced with permission.
Mary
This one—he loves his soft toys and he loves me and he gets excited by people as
you saw. And he does things on the spur of the moment. If he’s got a toy in his
mouth, he’ll drop it and go on to the next thing.
Jerry and Freeway

When I first met them, Jerry and
Freeway had only known each
other for four weeks and been a
qualified guide dog partnership
for two. Jerry is a first time
guide dog owner as well as a
first time dog owner.
Figure 4.2. Jerry and Freeway.
78 Marc Higgin
Jerry
It’s hoovering most days, grooming him—it’s extra time out of your life but then,
what you lose there you make up ten times over actually getting somewhere. And
I got my independence back really, in a lot of ways.
Malcolm and Twig

Malcolm and Twig have
been working together for
the last three years. Twig
is Malcolm’s fourth guide
dog, all of which have
been German Shepherds.
The two walk together at a
pace that astonished me
as I pretty much jogged to
keep up with them.
Figure 4.3. Twig and Malcolm.
Malcolm
When there is ice and snow outside, she stops and looks round, “should you be do-
ing this?” I have to take the harness off and use just the lead, so it takes the pressure
off. If she is in a field free-running she is loves snow but when she is working she is
very cautious. She’s concerned for my welfare.”
Alan and Oscar

Alan and Oscar have been together for the last
three months. Alan lost his sight in his thirties
and started using a guide dog two years that.
Oscar is his fourth dog. Oscar is two year old
male golden Retriever built pretty solidly that
was quiet and restrained while working,
although he has another side to him …
Alan
this dog, personally, is on love with another
dog, my mate’s dog [Crumbles] and whenever
they see each other they go totally bananas Figure 4.4. Alan and Oscar.
and although his dog has been done, castrated, Reproduced with permission.
he’ll immediately try and see if it is working
and it goes on. But he does touch any other
dog, he leaves other dogs alone but this one
particular dog, he thinks the world of her.
Sally and Breeze

Sally and Breeze were in the process of
doing their training on both occasions I
visited them. In the week after I saw
them, they qualified as a working
partnership. Sally is a second time
guide dog owner.
Sally
She’s good, rises to a challenge, she’s a
nice character. And I like the fact that
she has attitude.
Figure 4.5. Sally, Breeze and

Richard—mobility instructor.
Bodies: a place to begin
In opposition to the Modernist position outlined at the beginning of the

chapter, a broad current of critique as emerged since the 1960’s that has
sought to undermine the core binary distinctions at the heart of Modernity:
Society and nature, Rationality and madness, Man and woman, Man and
animal to name but a few. Those concerned with dismantling the anthro-
pocentric architecture of Western thinking have been thrown into the loose
category of posthumanists—I’m thinking here of Isabelle Stengers, Jacques
Derrida, Deleuze and Guattari, Donna Haraway and Bruno Latour amongst
others. Whilst very diverse in their thought and emphasis, all these writers
begin from an alternative starting point:
[w]hat happens if we begin from the premise not that we know reality
because we are separate from it (traditional objectivity), but that we can
know the world because we are connected to it? (Hayles, 1995, quoted in
Whatmore, 1999: 34)].
Haraway and Goodeve tell us “we are always inside a fleshy world … we
are never a brain-in-vat” (2000: 100). We are never nowhere, we are always
somebody, involved in some way, with the world. The:
human condition … [is] … that of a being immersed from the start, like
other creatures, in an active, practical and perceptive engagement with the
constituents of the dwelt-in world (Ingold 1995: 42).
Knowledge, within this perspective, becomes an ‘active, practical and
perceptive engagement’ by the organism as whole, with the world and its
80 Marc Higgin
constituents; ‘acquiring a body is thus a progressive enterprise that pro-

duces at once a sensory medium and a sensitive world’ (Latour, 2004: 207).
This is exactly the epistemological position the first time guide dog owner
has little choice but to live:
Malcolm
In the beginning it was a bit strange. Not something I had experienced
before holding onto a harness and following a dog. Its just a little dog re-
ally and you think ‘does it really know what its doing? How reliable is this?’
And you are …not sure, what happens if it doesn’t stop at the kerb, say it
wraps you round a lamppost.
Malcolm did not discover the reliability of the guide dog through disinter-
ested, objective reflection but by putting himself, his body on the line and
getting to know another being, an other body, within the practical everyday
context of ‘doing things together’ (Laurier, 2006). To have a body is, to
paraphrase Bruno Latour, to learn to be affected—meaning to be moved,
to be put into motion by other entities, other bodies, whether they be hu-
man or non-human. For Latour the body is a process: it is not enough to
say that as bodies we are continually being jostled by the world and its ten
thousand things; we must also try and understand how particular bodies
develop, how they learn to be affected and to affect others.
Sally
[The initial feeling of being with a dog was] very scary. Just thought ‘I’m
sure it is unsafe to be moving at this speed when I don’t trust this animal
at all’.
That was why I found my first lot of training so difficult. I didn’t even know
how to talk to a dog on a basic level: tell it sit, stay, wait….. Not knowing
how to communicate with the dog on a basic level was really tough.
Sally’s initial experience of her first guide dog was defined by her inability
to communicate, she had no means of understanding what her dog was
doing and no means of making herself understandable to her dog.
The guide dog partnership develops as a shared language, as a becoming
together or, as Ingold (2000) would put it, ‘a mutual tuning-in.’
Dogs can’t talk but they are anything

but silent. We encounter them as
bodies that jump around, roll on their
backs and yap. All the actions of a dog
are communicative in the sense that
they provide the ground for possible
relations. Likewise, in the presence of
a dog, I experience my body not just
for myself, but equally as a body for
the dog (Goode, 2007). This ‘inter-
subjective’ body is always expressive,
that is, affective, whether we like it or
not. However, the ability to ‘read’ this
expressivity of one’s own body and an Figure 4.6. Mary, and Eddie wrestling
other’s, to make sense of it as anger or his favourite toy. Reproduced with
permission.
love or a request to go outside and
pee, emerges as a process of learning
in which differences come to be
perceived and articulated within a
continually unfolding field of
relationships.

The motif
I’m going to use one relatively minor event that occurred during Sally and
Breeze’s training together in order to explore the development of the ‘lived
order’ of the guide dog partnership. Although Tim Ingold’s idea of ‘mutual
tuning-in’ is a useful one, bringing attention to the relational and temporal
nature of dwelt relationships, it is in many ways too blunt an instrument
to be of much use here. So I draw on the work of David Goode and his
ethnomethodological study of playing games of stick and ball with his
companion dog, Katie. For Goode (2007), the interaction between him and
Katie can only be understood indexically: the meaningful or recognizable
forms of participation that play assumes—the motifs—emerge within the
specific histories that their play has taken over time. We turn now to a
motif that an emerging guide dog partnership must learn and articulate in
order to work safely.
82 Marc Higgin
Observation notes. 04/08/05. 09:45

They do a back turn left off kerb to warm up. First time, Breeze is dis-
tracted, looking at us, at Sally, at the ‘do not distract’ sign newly fastened
to her harness handle. Command comprises of tapping right hip, sweeping
to the right with arm, verbalizing ‘left’ and moving the feet round. Sally
brings Breeze up to kerb to start again—she sits 30 cm away and Sally brings
her forward to sit up to the kerb—this time it is more fluent, but Breeze’s
attention not entirely on Sally and the turn. Sally rewards Breeze with a
‘good girl’
The initial turn is awkward. Breeze is not focused on this inter-action but
on the ‘do not distract sign’ on her harness. The motif of the back left turn
of the kerb is clearly one that demands the interest of both parties, it has
to be accomplished under always particular circumstances: here of Richard
and I watching, Breeze being overexcited, cars passing on the road and so
on. To develop the motif, they require, not perfect repetition, but a coher-
ence and consistency. Each party has to learn to recognise, and act on, what
is important in the other’s actions. Sally’s command for the turn off the
kerb comes after she’s recognised that Breeze has sat in front of the kerb
outside her house. Breeze shows she’s partially understood the command,
doing a turn of sorts. But just as importantly, they have to be open to un-
derstanding what is important in their own actions for the other party. By
bringing her back to the start and going through the manoeuvre again, Sally
makes clearer to Breeze that that particular version of the motif was not
desired. And by rewarding the more fluent second turn off the kerb, Sally
reinforces that particular interpretation of her commands.
Each one inscribes their own preferences in the other, both co-constitute
the motifs of perception and action that grow within the daily perfor-
mances of making mistakes, holding back and walking in rhythm. As the
possibilities of the motifs, and practices they embody together, widen, each
learns to trust, listen and respect the other. The individual body emerges
as a ‘dividual’ achievement, as ‘anthropo-zoo-genetic’ to quote Despret
(2004).
Mike Tomasello (1999), working within the field of primatology, calls
this process of social learning ‘ontogenetic ritualization.’ He defines it as
“a communicatory signal created by two organisms shaping each other’s
behaviour in repeated instances of a social interaction.” Importantly, this
meaning of the signal for two parties does not have to be symmetrical, but
rather the act has to mutually intelligible i.e. it arises within an evolving
history of inter-action, where one action leads to another and so on.
A particular arena for this inter-action that has interested many research-
ers from across the scientific disciplines is play. Play, in all its apparent
extravagance, is found throughout the animal kingdom, though best de-
scribed in social living mammals. While remaining quintessentially hard
to define and explain, play is increasingly seen as fundamental to both
cognitive development and the process of socialization. Play is seen as a
time of experimentation, of inter-action, of growing individualization
through social and intersubjective relations. Mark Bekoff (2004) sees play
as the arena in which the rules of social engagement are negotiated and
hence the basis of the social.
Nor is the social defined by species boundaries; the intense play that
characterises human dog relations has begun to be explored by scientists
from across the disciplines (Bradshaw et al., 1995; Miklósi et al., 2000;
Horowitz, 2009; Bekoff, 2004; Goode, 2007; Laurier, 2006; Lakatos & Miklósi,
this volume). This research has highlighted the degree to which dogs are
ontogenetically primed to pay attention to and play with humans, and, in
so doing, develop the shared meanings and coordination that form the
basis for all the varied social worlds of human and dogs; from pastoral
communities and hunting parties, to suburban pets and dog fighting rings.
Nature and Society, animals and humans are not two different realms,
they exist separately only in the abstraction of our representations. In
practice, we make a home for ourselves in the company of many Others,
and them in us. Non-human agency is more than a ‘haunting’ (Thrift 1999),
it is very much present in flesh and blood and fur in the rhythms and
bodily routines of ‘everyday life.’ To quote Lefebvre (1991):
Rhythms in all their multiplicity interpenetrate one another. In the body
and around it … rhythms are forever crossing and recrossing, superimposing
themselves upon each other, always bound to space (1991: 205).
The human body is resonant: the rhythms and spaces it produces are the
result of innumerable ‘interpenetrations’, infolded into the body as mem-
ory, as skills, as knowledge.
Emotion
This rhythmical understanding of the body presented above is neither

objective nor subjective: it is affective—knowledge here is the ability to
affect and be affected by others (Wylie, 2005; Dewsbury, 2003). The guide
dog owner’s response to the novel situation of following a dog, is not one
84 Marc Higgin
of detached puzzlement, but a keenly felt fear of smashing into a lamppost

or missing a step, which manifests itself in the tension of muscles, in a
pulling back, in the helplessness of thought, in a surge of adrenaline. Affect
(and fear) is a form of thinking of the whole organism, a “vital part of the
body’s anticipation of the moment” (Thrift 2004: 67).
Jerry
When I first got him, I pulled back every time we got to a shadowed area,
…. don’t really want to go in there. And now I will go in, although reluc-
tantly, he can see where he is going, you have got to tell yourself that.
The fearful stance of holding back is both a perception of the situation and
a response to it, both configured and configuring. The trust Jerry has begun
to develop with Freeway is not merely sentimental or subjective but rath-
er, is an expression of the vitally inter-twined nature of their working to-
gether. However, this journey from fear to trust is not inevitable, it is does
not flow unproblematically from ‘dwelling with’ an animal. It is, as Jerry
explains, a ‘big thing’:
Jerry
And it takes a lot to put your trust in … well to put your trust in a human
is difficult but to just transfer trust to an animal that you hardly know is
quite a big thing.
It has to be negotiated and worked for. It has to emerge in practice by put-

ting one’s body on the line. Mary provides a good account of how her trust
in Eddie developed within the shared affectual context of negotiating an
unfamiliar and bewildering railway station when their partnership was still
in its early days. They had to follow the customer assistance officer, who
was guiding Mary’s friend, to get to the taxi rank:
Mary
He said “will he [Eddie] follow?” I said “this is the first time I’ve been to
Reading station with Eddie so I don’t know.” I had had him for about 8
months at the time and he was still very young. So I said we would give it
a go. And we did and he was brilliant. We went all the way, we must have
gone down, underground, up the other side. It was awful, so noisy, we went
up steps, down steps and now again he [Assistance] checked and I said “I
don’t think he’ll lose you” and he didn’t lose them at all. And when we got
to the taxi rank I said, “now I know I have a good dog.” He just followed and
he did all the things he should do, and they were walking quite quickly and
I was worried because I didn’t know where we were but he was good, he
was excellent. After having done that with him, I really did trust him.
Although unsure and worried, Mary put her trust in Eddie, or rather she
opened herself, her body, to the possibility that trust could emerge from
the situation—that Eddie and her would work it out. And Eddie, ‘Steady
Eddie’, performed; he articulated his part in the emergence of partnership,
he brought his calmness and competence as well as his penchant for lung-
ing at pigeons to it. However, there was always the risk that it didn’t work
out, that the experience would lead to misunderstanding, fear and a poor
working relationship.
Mary’s faith in Eddie is not peripheral, but a necessary condition of the
working partnership. As they have responded to the challenges of negoti-
ating busy streets and buildings day after day, their repertoire of shared
understanding—their vocabulary—has expanded, as has their mutual
trust that each would behave responsibly.
Animals are not somehow ‘out there’ in nature, they are ‘in here’ with
us. We encounter them within specific relations, in particular places. As
Dawson’s chapter on people’s experience of working through bereavement
related to companion animals echoes, emotion is a key dimension to our
relatings with animals (see Dawson, this volume). Fear, joy, sadness, disgust
do not have to be dismissed as fuzzy anthropomorphisms but can be ap-
prehended as complex responses understandable through an individual’s
life history of social relatings. They are shorthand for the fabulous diver-
sity by which we (comprising all animal kind!) learn to live in the world
and its fellow inhabitants.
Farms, abattoirs, Trafalgar Square and its thousands of streetwise pi-
geons do not represent human constructions of nature—forms of “arte-
factual natures” to quote Demeritt (2002)– but are particular spatialities
defined by particular relations with animals, with other beings. As Paul
Patton (2003), drawing on Foucault and Nietzsche as well as the work of
Vicki Hearne, argues, these social relations are essentially relations of
power. Rather than making the distinction between power-laden, unethi-
cal relations on the one hand, and equal, ethical relations free from power
on the other, he understands the ethics, agency and freedom as always
taking place within relations of power. The difference between the ethical
and unethical then becomes a tricky matter of consequences (see Donna
Haraway 2008 for a fascinating exploration of this position). Is the quality
86 Marc Higgin
of the relation such that it ‘enhances the power and the feeling of power
of both’ participants (Patton, 2003)? Or put another way, does the relation
open new ways of being and engaging in the world? Hearne (1987) figures
this inter-relational quality as intelligence.
[t]o the extent that the behaviourist manages to deny belief in the dog’s
potential for believing, intending, meaning…..there will be no flow of inten-
tion, meaning, believing going on. The dog may try to respond to the be-
haviourist, but the behaviourist won’t respond to the dog’s response: there
will be between them little or no space for the varied flexions of looped
thought. The behaviourist’s dog will not only seem stupid, she will be stupid
(Hearne, 1987: 58).
The dog’s (and human’s) stupidity is profoundly ethical in nature. The
behaviourist aspires to be an ‘automaton’, a body that won’t be moved by
others. She denies that a bond exists between them and is thus immune
to the ethical implications of her actions, as well as the creative possibilities
that are inherent within that relationship. It is, to quote Despret, a “world
of minds without bodies, of bodies without minds, bodies without hearts,
expectations, interests, a world of enthusiastic automata, observing strange
and mute creatures; in other words, a poorly articulated (and poorly ar-
ticulating) world” (Despret, 2004: 131).
Methodology as a social process
With Donna Haraway, Bruno Latour and Vincienne Despret, this chapter
advocates a passionately interested approach to articulating and under-
standing human-animal relations as complex social phenomenon. We
outline an ethnographic and participatory methodology that focuses on
particular human and canine subjects in-the-making, tracking flows of af-
fect and skill as they emerge. The challenge is to allow the guide dog part-
nerships to counter a line of questioning and interpetation with questions
and meanings of their own. Knowledge not as detached reflection but as
a way of moving forward or rather further into an ongoing relationship. As
a participatory form of research its integrity is consequentialist, it should
be judged by what it makes possible: does it allow for a more intelligent
form of relating?
The developing field of HAS is beginning to explore the diverse shared
social worlds humans and other animals inhabit that have traditionally
fallen through the gap left between the ‘natural’ and ‘social’ sciences.
Clearly, the methodology outlined here favours animals whose size and
inclination permit proximal, intensive and long-term relatings. The diver-

sity of beings and relatings being researched in HAS calls for diverse metho
dologies from across the sciences as well as development of novel
approaches. The challenge and opportunity is that research becomes aware
of itself as a social process, with the ethical and political consequences that
come with this.
Dogs are not surrogates for theory; they are not here just to think with. They
are here to live with (Haraway 2003: 5).
References
Anderson, K. (1997). A walk on the wild side: a critical geography of domestication. Progress
in Human Geography 21, 463–485.
Bekoff, M. (2004). Wild justice and fair play: cooperation, forgiveness, and morality in ani-
mals. Biology and Philosophy. 19, 489–520 .
Bradshaw, J.W. S. & Nott, H.M. R. (1995). Social and communication behaviour of compan-
ion dogs. In: J. Serpell (Ed.) The Domestic Dog: Its Evolution, Behaviour and Interactions
with People (pp. 115–130). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Cloke, P., Cook, I., Crang, P., Goodwin, M., Painter, J., & Philo, C. (2004). Practising Human
Geography. London: Sage.
Human -Companion Animal Relationships. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing
Demeritt, D. (2002). What is the ‘social construction of nature’? A typology and sympa-
thetic critique. Progress in Human Geography 26, 766–789.
Despret, V. (2004). The Body We Care for: Figures of Anthropo-zoo-genesis. Body and Society
10 (2/3) 111–134.
Dewsbury, J.D. (2003). Witnessing space: ‘knowledge without contemplation.’ Environment
and Planning A. 35, 1907–1932.
Goode, D. (2007). Playing with My Dog, Katie: An Ethnomethodological Study of Canine-human
Interaction. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press.
Haraway, D.J. (2008). When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press.
Haraway, D. & Goodeve, T. (2000). How like a leaf: an interview with Thyrza Nichols Goodeve
and Donna Haraway. New York: Routledge.
Haraway, D. (2003). The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Other-
ness. Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press.
Hearne, V. (1987). Adam’s Task. New York: Skyhorse Publishing.
Horowitz, A. (2009). Attention to attention in domestic dog (Canis familiaris) dyadic play.
Animal Cognition. 12 (1), 107–118.
Ingold, T. (2000). The Perception of the Environment: Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill.
London: Routledge.
Ingold, T. (1995). Building, dwelling ,living: how people and animals make them selves at
home in the world. In M. Strathern (Ed.) Shifting Contexts: Transformations in Anthro-
pological Knowledge. London: Routledge.
88 Marc Higgin
Latour B. (2004). How to talk about the body? The normative dimension of science studies.
Body and Society 10, 205–229.
Laurier, E., Maze, R. & Lundin, J. (2006). Putting the Dog Back in the Park: Animal and Hu-
man Mind-in-Action Mind. Culture and Activity 13(1), 2–24.
Lefebvre, H. (1991). The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell.
Michalko, R. (1999). The Two in One: Walking with Smokie, Walking with Blindness. Philadel-
phia: Temple University Press.
Miklósi, A, Polgárdi1, R., Topál, J. & Csányi V. (2000). Intentional behaviour in doghuman
communication: an experimental analysis of “showing” behaviour in the dog. Animal
Cognition. 3, 159–166.
Patton, P. (2003). Language, power and training of horses. In: C. Wolfe (Ed.) Zoontologies:
the Question of the Animal. (pp. 83–99). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Taylor, N. (2012). Animals, Mess, Method: Post-humanism, Sociology and Animal Studies.
Thrift, N. (2004). Movement-space: the changing domain of thinking resulting from the
development of new kinds of spatial awareness. Economy and Society 33 (4), 582–604.
Thrift, N. (1999). Steps to an ecology of place. In J. Allen & D. Massey (Eds.) Human Geogra
phy Today. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Tomasello, M. (1999). The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition. Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press.
Whatmore, S. (1999). Hybrid Geographies: rethinking the ‘human’ in human geography. In
D. Massey, J. Allen & P. Sarre (Eds.) Human Geography today. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Wylie, J. (2005). A single day’s waling: narrating self and landscape on the South West Coast
Path. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers. 30 (2), 234–248.
Modes of embodiment in human-animal encounters 89
PART TWO
SHARING LIVES
90 Diane Dutton
CHAPTER FIVE
Being-with-Animals:
Modes of embodiment in human-animal encounters
Diane Dutton1
I live in the facial expressions of the other, as I feel him living in mine.
Merleau-Ponty (1964)
You do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone
Miller Williams (1997)
Borderlands
In her thought-provoking book Animal, Erica Fudge discusses the memo-

rable image of Ham, the first chimpanzee sent into space, photographed
on his return from his 1961 NASA flight. Ham appears to be grinning, reach-
ing for an apple that is held out to him by an anonymous human hand.
Questioning this superficially positive interpretation of the gesture, Fudge
reads something deeper, identifying Ham’s expression as a fear-grimace,
indicative perhaps of “the terror that he felt” following his experience
(Fudge, 2002, p. 27). The guileless reworking of the image in the popular
mind is, according to Fudge, a striking reminder of the existence of often
conflicting discourses about animals, reflecting the challenge of under-
standing our relationships with the non-human beings that feature in our
lives.
In order to effectively traverse the boundaries between human and
animal two tendencies must be considered. The first consists of a ‘crossing
over’, a negotiation of troublesome borders, and this might be a good anal-
ogy for the growing effort to reach a better understanding of our relation-
ships with animals. However, another meaning of ‘traverse’ is to resist, to
dispute, to deny and contest. And this tendency too is a feature of the
borderlands in which we approach the human-animal relationship, since
1 Department of Psychology, Liverpool Hope University.

92 Diane Dutton
this relationship can be characterised by conflict and misinterpretation,

by ambivalence and reluctance, as well as by an acute sense of the concep-
tual lacunae that inevitably limit our understanding.
Within psychology, as in other disciplines, the academic gaze has alight-
ed much on humans, often on animals, but rarely on the encounters be-
tween them. Although a number of writers have insisted on the crucial
importance for the human psyche of relating to animals (e.g. Shepard, 1996;
Abram, 1996; Melson, 2001) in more formal research endeavours the expe-
riential aspects of this participation, for both humans and animals, have
rarely been the primary focus. Instead, human-animal relationships have
functioned largely as a kind of subtext in scientific writing; at worst ap-
pearing as a source of unwelcome ‘noise’ obscuring the clarity of purely
objective visions of animal behaviour, at best serving as useful instruments
in the development of human social competence or stress reduction.
Everyday encounters with animals appear fleetingly in such literature,
meaningful perhaps only as inspirational anecdotes to fuel more rigorous
methodological approaches.
In her linguistic analyses of naturalists’ accounts of animal behaviour,
Crist (1999) has documented the shift from the pre-mechanistic, more
experiential vernacular discourse of writers in the 19th century—infused
with a sense of the significance and transparency of animal experience—
to the ‘mechanomorphic’ terminology later adopted by ethologists and
sociobiologists, which portrayed animals as passive objects buffeted by
involuntary instinctual mechanisms2. The accounts of early naturalists
provide a sense of the lived experience of the animal, the sense that actions
are inherently meaningful and coherent, and an insistence that the mean-
ing of action only becomes apparent within an intersubjective milieu (Crist,
1999).
The process that Crist documents reveals a gradual eclipse of the lives
of individual animals in scientific discourse; a pronounced absence of
animal presence (Birke, 2009) and of the experiences of relating to animals.
From the perspective of modern psychology, this lack of regard has perhaps
been almost inevitable, given the discipline’s dualistic assumptions. By
instantiating a fundamental split between rationality and the senses, the
2 One impetus of this shift was a gradual devaluing of everyday encounters with animals;
what Costall (1998) has called the “informal and intimate knowledge” of lay observers and
pet owners. Crist (1999) notes how the work of naturalists, although inspiring ethological
methods, “remained largely peripheral” to scientific ethology which modelled itself on the
physical sciences (p.8). See also Burghardt (1985).
dualistic program sundered meaning from behaviour, from the body

and its relationship with the world, calling into question both the desir-
ability and feasibility of examining such issues as the intentionality of
animal behaviour and the richness of non-human subjective experience
(Wemelsfelder, 2001; Melson, 2002; Dutton & Williams, 2004)3. Within such
a framework, the meaning of action and interaction becomes so detached
from the lived, embodied reality of everyday experience that there can be
no obvious connection, no bridge, to understanding other species.
This chapter argues for an alternative perspective, namely that direct,
embodied experience should be central to the effort to understand human
and animal nature. There is currently something of a ‘renaissance’ of inter-
est in the embodied nature of experience that cuts across disciplinary
boundaries in both the social and biological sciences. This trend has re-
initiated a concern with ‘lived experience’, with the everyday manner of
‘being-in-the-world’ (Heidegger, 1962), drawing upon phenomenological
methods to furnish new insights into processes such as empathy, intersub-
jectivity and relationship.
Phenomenological philosophers, like the early naturalists, emphasised
that meaning is inherent in experience and action, rather than being a
purely subjective quality that is assigned to specific objects in the world.
Phenomenology embraces a ‘first-person’ perspective on the world in its
insistence that all experience is experience from the perspective of a par-
ticular subject. However, a phenomenological approach is not a solipsistic
one, since experience is always in relation to a world of objects, people,
relationships. Consciousness, meaning and even self-awareness can be said
to be co-constituted, to arise from our relations with the world (rather than
being purely subjective phenomena). Phenomenological research aims to
investigate and uncover the essence of the phenomenon, or “the level of
structures that constitute particular psychological meanings in particular
contexts or situations” (Polkinghorne, 1989: 50; cited in Garza, 2007). But
in doing so, it reinstates the importance of the personal and the specific,
and the value of studying life as it is lived, in everyday settings.
Phenomenological research methods allow the investigation of how
meaning arises from experience, and specifically how meaning is co-cre-
ated between participants in a particular setting (Garza, 2007). It is assumed
that data are not meaningful in themselves (in a ‘transcendent’ sense);
rather, the data are meaningful “only in relation to the attitude and set of
3 Shapiro (1990) makes the point that psychology has not been overly interested even
in human experience.
94 Diane Dutton
the researcher” (Giorgi, 1985: 15; cited in Garza, 2007). Husserl (1931; 1964)
wrote of the necessity of separating out, or ‘bracketing’ any consideration
of what the phenomena are ‘in themselves’ (i.e. outside of my own experi-
ence of them). Garza (2006; 2007) has termed this a kind of ‘radical em-
piricism’, as it seeks to focus strictly on the nature of experience itself, since
ultimately this is the only standpoint we have. The meaning of the data is
co-constituted for the researcher; it arises from the relationship between
the researcher and those aspects of the world that are studied. An important
part of phenomenological research, then, must be the identification and
exploration of the researcher’s perspective, or stance, towards the data.
A phenomenological stance provides a natural method of enquiry for
human-animal studies, since it is primarily concerned with the study of
relationship (and with reflection on those relationships). Since phenom-
enological research is characterised more by a particular understanding of
meaning-making, rather than a single prescriptive method, it can incorpo-
rate and infuse many of the methods of inquiry we might employ in ap-
proaching human-animal relationships, including observational/
ethnographic research (e.g. Churchill, 2007), qualitative analysis of expe-
riential accounts (e.g. Shapiro, 1990), and even analysis of historical narra-
tives (e.g. Crist, 1999)4. In its emphasis on everyday, lived experience, the
phenomenological method also redirects our attention to the body, as the
necessary origin of movement, perception, experience and relationship.
In the investigation of the embodied nature of encounters with animals
which follows, I focus on some of those aspects of interaction that, although
pivotal to the structure and development of relationships, have something
of an involuntary and intangible nature, precisely because they are aspects
of embodied awareness, arising only in an intersubjective context5.
Meaning, method and the body
In exploring a more embodied methodology for human-animal relation-

ships, I will draw primarily on developments within my own discipline of
psychology. It is important, however, to acknowledge the growing number
of complementary approaches within other disciplines which have focused
4 Garza (2007) provides a very useful typology of different kinds of phenomenological

methods.
5 I draw here upon Leder’s (1990) observation that, to the extent that the lived body is
the locus of self and action, in the course of engagement with the world a sense of the body-
as-object disappears.
on embodied interaction. Following Sanders and Arluke’s (1993) call for a

more direct engagement with the perspectives of nonhumans, and a great-
er reflexivity on the part of the researcher, a number of sociological studies
have used a social constructionist framework to argue that mindedness,
self-identity and personhood are products not of individuals but of relation-
ships—suggesting that intersubjectivity, not subjectivity should be the
central focus (c.f. Alger & Alger, 1997,1999; Brandt, 2004; Goode, 2007; Irvine,
2004; Taylor, 2007; Sanders, 2003). The dog owners interviewed by Sanders’
(1993), for instance, talk of the reciprocity that characterises relationships
with their dogs, of the ease with which intersubjectivity seems to be
achieved. This mutual intelligibility is fostered by a shared coordination
of “activities, moods, and routines” … [which] results in a mutual recogni-
tion of being “together.”” (1993: 222).
Cognitive ethologists too have advocated a more participatory approach
to understanding animal experience (although one that perhaps has some-
times focused too exclusively on mental states and cognitions). Burghardt
(1985, 1991) for instance, has called for a ‘critical anthropomorphism’, which,
by supplementing more traditional behavioural methods with intuition
and empathy, seeks a more authentic understanding of animal experience.
In recognising that our relationships with animals are based upon a com-
mensensical, or ‘folk psychology’ stance (Beer, 1997), approaches such as
cognitive ethology have questioned the limitations of objectivist perspec-
tives. In fact, those circumstances in which we do treat animals as objects
to whom we cannot relate are quite specific, and tend to be the result of
an active and deliberate abstraction from a more natural sense of relation-
ship. For instance, Birke (2003) explores the ambivalence which charac-
terises relationships with rodents used in laboratory settings; such species
undergo a transformation from beings who are natural, animate individu-
als, to units of data who hardly seem to merit the title of animal anymore.
This abstraction is in many ways a process of disembodiment: the specific-
ity of the individual animal, and the human response it calls forth, is sub-
sumed under the more general category of species or strain, allowing the
evasion of responsibility that full relationships might entail.6
The dualistic abstraction of meaning from the body and the world is
explicitly rejected in many contemporary accounts of the mind in psychol-
6 That this process requires a sustained effort not to relate to individual animals is
illustrated by the comments of a laboratory technician interviewed by Birke (2003) who
revealed that the scientists in her laboratory preferred to house the rats in opaque cages,
because in clear cages the “animals could look at you.” (p. 215–216).
96 Diane Dutton
ogy and cognitive science (Sampson, 1996). The articulation of an ‘embod-

ied cognition’ by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (Lakoff & Johnson 1980;
Lakoff & Johnson 1999; Johnson 1987), and the work on ‘enactive cognition’
by Francisco Varela and his colleagues (Varela, Thompson & Rosch, 1991),
situate thought and meaning firmly in somatic experience. Lakoff and
Johnson (1999), for instance, show how even quite abstract concepts and
categories acquire their nature and structure from sensori-motor and
perceptual experience. The somatic basis of the concept of ‘dominance’,
for instance, is apparent in the way that superiority is mapped spatially,
with ‘up’ as dominant and ‘down’ as subordinate. The fact that this con-
ceptual understanding is a cross-species one is apparent to anyone who
has encountered a dog grasp the neck of a subordinate and hold it close to
the ground, or watched an adult male chimpanzee, hair standing on end,
bluff or jump over a subordinate.
A growing body of neuroscientific evidence provides an additional
level at which we can conceptualise intersubjectivity. Vittorio Gallese and
his colleagues have shown that neurons which activate when an individ-
ual is performing a goal-related action also fire when the individual is
simply observing another performing the same action (Gallese, 2001;
Rizzolatti, Fogassi & Gallese, 2001). In humans and monkeys, this ‘mirror
neuron system’ is activated when individuals observe a whole range of
experiences in others, including emotional reactions, communicative and
imitative actions, and painful sensations. This suggests a similarity at a
neurobiological level of first and third person perspectives; an internal
embodied simulation of the experiences of others. Understanding another’s
experience does not happen by abstract analogical inference, but is an
automatic and embodied process: “The other’s emotion is constituted,
experienced, and therefore directly understood by means of an embodied
simulation producing a shared body state.” (Gallese, 2006: 50). Gallese has
suggested that this ‘shared manifold of intersubjectivity’, constituted by a
kind of ‘intentional attunement’ may be the basis of social competence
and empathy—the means by which we understand both the similarity and
alterity of others in relation to ourselves.
This neuropsychological evidence suggests, interestingly enough, the
appropriateness of phenomenological accounts of experience. From a phe-
nomenological perspective, perception is not merely a passive sensing of
aspects of the world, but an active, almost irresistible exchange; aspects of
the world ‘catch’ our attention, beckon us, almost invading our awareness
and drawing us into co-presence (c.f. Abram, 1996: 53–57). This continuous
reciprocal exchange between an individual and the world can also be lik-
ened to an experiential sense of attunement, in which the boundaries of
the self are more porous than we think. Merleau-Ponty’s (1968) notion of
the flesh of the world expresses this sense through his image of the chiasm,
or mutual intertwining, between self and world. The flesh is the matrix that
underlies both self and world, perceiver and perceived.
I am aware, for instance, that my interactions with my cat, Bibby, do not
consist of simple linear sequences of actions and reactions, through which
I must struggle to breach some kind of conceptual and emotional chasm
in order to understand how he ‘intends’ the world. When I lazily stretch
out a bare foot to gently stroke him as he lounges by the fire, my action is
called forth by the affordance of his soft exposed belly; the luxuriant way
he stretches his whole frame to orient, moment-to-moment, to my touch
is part of a seamless flow—stretch, stroke, stretch, stroke … a mutual ges-
tural dance with no set choreography. It is not strictly accurate to say that
he relates to me in this shared engagement, nor I to him (for we are not
objects to each other); rather, in this shared proprioception the He and the
I are indistinguishable at the point of touch.
Grounding the study of human-animal relationships in embodiment
redirects focus to the phenomenological experience of interacting with
animals in everyday situations. Present research by myself and some of my
students is attempting to apply phenomenological analysis to embodied
aspects of relationship between people and their companion animals, by
combining videotaped interactions with structured interview techniques.
Participants are asked to reflect and comment on their thoughts, feelings
and interpretations of interaction. Close, intimate observation in these
kinds of settings may provide a deeper understanding of the processes
through which meaning is co-created in relationship.
Yet all relationships are embedded (and embodied) in social, historical
and cultural contexts and our analysis must be sensitive to the way in which
meaning and identity are constructed and shaped by this context (Shapiro,
1990). In modern Western culture, for instance, close relationships with
domestic animals are shaped by existing assumptions and attitudes, by
what the anthropologist Thomas Csordas has called ‘psychocultural
themes’—frameworks which determine our stance towards particular
phenomena (Csordas, 1997). Accounts of the lived experience of everyday
encounters with animals indicate at least three such orienting themes: an
expectation of intimacy (i.e. the structuring of interactions according to
the strength of relationship), an assumption of individuality (our tendency
98 Diane Dutton
to assign the status of personhood to animals in our interactions with

them), and an engagement with alterity (since animals are essentially
Other).
Bearing these broad themes in mind, my aim in the rest of this chapter
is to begin to identify some of the intersubjective processes by which hu-
man-animal relationships develop. In focusing on the more embodied
aspects of interaction I aim to examine those qualities of relationship which
are best captured by a phenomenological approach; that is, the dynamic,
transformative and indeterminate character of interaction. Three inter-
subjective processes are identified which may also loosely be conceptual-
ised as stages in the development of close relationships with nonhumans;
I have termed these embodied attention, attunement, and transformation.
My discussion and understanding of these processes is particularly in-
fluenced by two examples of embodied experiential methodology. Fol
lowing his early account of a reflective phenomenological method that
identified bodily states as the foundation of meaning (Shapiro, 1985),
Kenneth Shapiro (1990) has presented one particular ‘bodily reflective
mode’—kinesthetic empathy—as a means by which to access and under-
stand animal experience. Shapiro (1990) argues that access to the lived
experience of the Other is possible through mutual recognition of shared
bodily expression, and that this intersubjective understanding is the basis
of relationship.
In attempting to identify specific intersubjective processes—embodied
processes through which humans and animals orient themselves towards
one another—I also draw upon Thomas Csordas’ concept of somatic modes
of attention, defined as “culturally elaborated attention to and with the body
in the immediacy of an intersubjective milieu.” (1993: 139). Because percep-
tion is embedded in the cultural world (Merleau-Ponty, 1962), attending
to the bodily states of oneself and others is a fundamental recognition of
the intersubjective nature of experience. The basis of this recognition is
the body: “… intersubjectivity is not an interpenetration of intentionalities,
but an interweaving of familiar patterns of behaviour.” (Csordas, 1993: 151).
An attentional shift: the pull of embodiment
The value of a phenomenological approach for our current purpose is that

its central focus is always, and unavoidably, relationship. The phenomena
under investigation are never assumed to be ‘facts’ waiting to be uncovered
(as in an objectivist framework); rather, phenomena emerge out of a matrix
of meaning, out of relationship (Garza & Fisher Smith, 2009). Meaning is

therefore always already intersubjective. The understanding of another’s
experience is more than just a mental or imaginal exercise; it is a more
embodied, visceral process:
The communication or comprehension of gestures comes through a reci-
procity of my intentions and the gestures of others, of my gestures and in-
tentions discernible in the conduct of other people. It is as if the other
person’s intention inhabited my body and mine his (Merleau-Ponty, 1962:
185).
This shared somatic awareness, which I argue is a feature of close human-
animal encounters, seems often to be characterised by an initial shift in
attention manifesting as an increased awareness of one’s own or another’s
bodily state, together with a reflection upon this awareness. This atten-
tional shift may be the result of a deliberate effort to inculcate a sensitiv-
ity to bodily modes, as in Shapiro’s (1990) development of ‘kinesthetic
empathy’ as an investigatory stance, Churchill’s adoption of ‘empathic
imitation’ to explore human-bonobo interactions (2006), or Gent’s (2002)
observational phenomenological exploration of intentionality in chimpan-
zees.
Sometimes, however, this increased somatic focus has a spontaneous,
involuntary quality. Consider Churchill’s account of his intersubjective
encounter with a bonobo at a Dallas zoo (Churchill, 2003, 2006, 2007).
Demonstrating to his students the bonobo ‘head-bob’ Churchill finds his
gesture suddenly returned by one enthusiastic bonobo. Finding himself
“called out of my own self-absorption …” (Churchill 2006, p.6), Churchill
and the bonobo participate in an extended reciprocal exchange of head
bobs and arm gestures. In this encounter with alterity, Churchill is forced
to recognise a certain familiarity in both the gestures and gaze of the
bonobo; he is “engaged, enthralled, enraptured” at the experience because
he has a sense of ‘true’ communication, the sense of contact with another
‘self.’
The feeling of being captured by the intentional immediacy of the o ther
is apparent here; Churchill writes of being “locked into the moment” and
“caught under the spell” in his physical encounter with the bonobo. The
presence of the other draws one in; this surrender is a recognition of inter-
corporeality, a surrendering of the boundaries of the body, with each in-
tentional being “drawing the other by invisible threads like those who hold
the marionettes—making the other … become what he is but never would
have been by himself” (Merleau-Ponty, 1964: 19; cited in Churchill, 2003).
100 Diane Dutton
This indeterminate, dynamic status of the self is apparent in a collapse of

the distinction between subject and other, experienced as a merging of
subjectivities:
once the interaction began, I was no longer “in my head” but totally “in my
body” … was dwelling less within my “own” sphere, and more within the
sphere of “in-betweenness”(Churchill, 2003: 24).
The primatologist Barbara Smuts describes a similar development of so-
matic awareness in the course of her fieldwork with wild baboons (Smuts
2001). Smuts found her efforts to play the role of a detached observer con-
stantly thwarted by the baboons’ insistence on treating her as a subject
(albeit a strange and unfamiliar one). In learning to recognise and mirror
the signals and gestures of baboon social life, Smuts nurtured a deliberate
reflexivity about her embodied dealings with the baboons, slowly changing
her gestures and movements to better mesh with theirs:
… in the process of gaining their trust, [I] changed almost everything about
me, including the way I walked and sat, the way I held my body, and the
way I used my eyes and voice. I was learning a whole new way of being in
the world—the way of the baboon. (2001: 295).
But following months of living closely with the baboon troop, Smuts also
experienced a less voluntary change in her sensed awareness of their ac-
tions. Observing how the entire troop could simultaneously sense the
precise moment to stop feeding and run for cover before an approaching
storm broke, Smuts gradually found herself responding in the same way:
… something shifted, and I knew without thinking when it was time to
move. I could not attribute this awareness to anything I saw, or heard or
smelled; I just knew (2001: 299).
What is the nature of this ‘shift’? It signifies the suspension of a more self-
conscious abstract mode of thought, and a movement into a more incar-
nate, embodied awareness. Like Churchill, Smuts notes a change in her
sense of self, experienced as an intersubjective merging of identities:
Increasingly, my subjective consciousness seemed to merge with the group-
mind of the baboons. Although ‘I’ was still present, much of my experience
overlapped with this larger feeling entity. (2001: 299).
This experience of the self as emergent and indeterminate illustrates the
grounding of the self-concept in embodied interaction. In its co-constitu-
tion, the self is not a fixed entity but a process by which an individual is
oriented to the world (Csordas, 1997). And the encountering of sentience
in the world scaffolds our own sentience and identity: “...through other
eyes we are for ourselves fully visible …” (Merleau-Ponty 1968: 143).7
Yet the negotiation of ontological boundaries inherent in shared so-
matic states can be experienced as problematic. Kohn (2007) has docu-
mented the unique way in which the communicative strategies used by
the Runa people of the Upper Amazon to interact with their dogs are an
attempt to limit an almost unavoidable blurring of species boundaries. For
the Runa, consciousness and selfhood is constituted only through the ca-
pacity to experience other selves as selves, i.e. intersubjectivity. Yet pos-
sible dangers arise if this ontological blurring extends too far. In an
environment where the inner lives of animals, including their motivations
and their dreams, are assumed to be inherently knowable “… dogs and
people come together as part of a single affective field that transcends their
boundaries as species—an emergent and highly ephemeral self distrib-
uted over two bodies.” (2007: 17). It is because these subjective boundaries
are experienced as constantly shifting that the Runa use particular semi-
otic forms, such as ‘canine imperatives’8, to negotiate their relationships
with their dogs, in order that this fragile selfhood may be preserved.
Inherent in the shift to a shared somatic state, a shift Merleau-Ponty
called ‘interanimality’ (Dillard-Wright, 2009), is an implicit abstraction and
reflection upon the experience. We simultaneously incorporate and anal-
yse the world, a process of becoming A.N. Whitehead (1969) called ‘prehen-
sion.’ This tension is nicely expressed in Caesar’s (2009) reflections on the
experiences of his dog, Inu, following a hip operation. Watching Inu’s slow
recuperation, Caesar finds himself thrust into a heightened awareness of
her bodily movements, of her lameness; experienced as an unwelcome
recognition of her suffering. In his new role as nurse, Caesar struggles with
the notion of a direct empathic knowing based on shared bodily under-
standing:
I feel close to Inu now because of her pain. But I don’t understand her better,
because I don’t know how she understands the pain, if she can (p. 29, em-
phasis added).
7 Irvine (2004), for instance, writing about subjectivity and selfhood in animals, is also
led to consider how human selfhood is predicated on animal presence; she notes how the
way in which her own dogs and cats greet her “confirms my sense of myself.” (p.16).
8 This involves the use of the third person to address dogs (e.g. “it will not bite chickens”)
in an attempt to objectify the animal; this ensures that human and canine subjectivities do
not merge (Kohn, 2007).
102 Diane Dutton
Alongside his attempt to somatically empathise with Inu is a sense of the

phenomenological gap that frustrates attempts to understand her subjec-
tive world. Caesar seeks solace in those “objective moment[s]” when Inu
returns from therapy; in scrutinising her bodily comportment, her way of
being-in-the-world, he may discover a sign of her subjective reality as when
“… she returns with a bright, eager look” (p. 32).
Experiences of pain disrupt the seamless flow of experience by reorient-
ing attention to the body as Other. Pain narrows the focus; if I am in pain
the seamless connections between myself and the world recede, and my
attention is contracted to my suffering (Leder, 1990). Caesar worries about
the possible impoverishment of Inu’s experience due to her pain, but her
restricted behaviour also seems to narrow the scope of the relationship for
him. As her injury heals, Caesar’s attention is less anchored to every detail
of her movement in his search for signs of pain. This shift away from an
increased somatic awareness of her pain signifies a welcome change of
focus, although the constraints of intersubjectivity shape the tentative final
stages of her recovery:
… my whole sense of the dog is altering. Now it’s based less on Inu’s body
than her—well, than let’s term it her soul” (p. 38–39).
If Inu is not yet free from the expectation (mine) of pain, she may now be
free of pain (hers)” (p. 39).
Becoming-attuned
I have argued that embodied attention involves an experience of intercor-

poreality, a re-orienting of somatic awareness to the gestures and actions
of another. This process may be experienced as an increased sense of at-
tunement. Writing about healing encounters, Williams, Dutton and Burgess
(2010) have termed this type of attunement a kind of ‘co-proprioception’,
in which reciprocal action and gesture can create a shared conceptual
space. Consider, for example, Shapiro’s (1997) analysis of the subjective
experience of his dog, Sabaka. In empathising with Sabaka’s “bodily com-
portment, posture, and action” (p. 289), Shapiro focuses particularly on the
dog’s embodied attention to human action. Observing Sabaka’s minute
awareness of the tiniest gestural signs of an imminent walk, he notes that
sometimes Sabaka ‘misreads’ a movement, such as Shapiro shifting in his
chair, that is not a signal of Shapiro’s intention to get up and take him for
a walk. However, Shapiro finds himself wondering:
At least I think he is wrong. At least I am aware of no such intention on my

part in such a moment. But … sometimes his obvious conviction that I am
going to take him out promotes just that project in me (p. 290; emphasis
added).
Abstract inference is unnecessary for either participant to understand the
other’s intentions, since the “intention is implicit in the action sequence”
(p. 291). And more, the intention arises, is co-constituted, from a shared
locus of intersubjectivity, a shared sense of corporeality. A sense of attun-
ement to the disposition of the Other may be experienced, in close relation-
ships, as the gradual cohering of intention and action through close
familiarity. Ian Wedde’s observation, in his vivid account of his interactions
with his dog Vincent, that “…we inflect each other’s behaviour” (2007: 284;
emphasis added) expresses well the harmonisation of action and intention
that this implies. Reflecting on his experiences with Vincent, Wedde writes
of the modulation of his own attitude that occurred as a result of their joint
projects:
… after running for years with this alert, courteous dog, I learned to think
outside the claustrophobic confines of strategizing my day: my thought re-
sembled running, sniffing, and looking, more than it did planning. (2007:
283).
But the spontaneous emergence of intercorporeality and attunement is
clearly not a feature of all human-animal relationships. Wedde contrasts
the “empathic” dog-walkers he and Vincent encounter with the humourless
“leash-tuggers”; fellow walkers whose dogs are “often unsocial, anxious,
scared, and aggressive” (2007: 285). Can we identify any characteristics of
interaction that tend to result in a more embodied sense of relationship?
Smuts (1999) provides a clue when she speaks of the “voluntary, mutual
surrender to the dictates of intersubjectivity” (1999: 118). If surrender indi-
cates a giving-up, what is relinquished in this process? And what kind of
effort, what kind of embodied mode, is required in this process of acqui-
escence?
Brandt (2004) has provided an instructive qualitative account of some
of the challenges of achieving intersubjectivity in human-horse interaction.
In explaining the system of non-verbal communication that develops be-
tween horse and rider, Brandt’s respondents emphasised the importance
of a sense of ‘heightened awareness’ of both their own and the horse’s
bodily signals; and a greater awareness of these signals as meaningful
signs—as having an intersubjective import. Novice riders have to develop
an ability to both “read” the meaning of the horse’s movements and to
104 Diane Dutton
modulate their own actions. Perhaps more than with many other human-
animal relationships, these interactions hinge upon a constant tactile
connection between horse and rider, a kind of interface by means of which
intersubjectivity is expressed.
The development of human-horse intersubjectivity seems to involve a
propensity to “tune in” to the horse’s bodily communication. Yet this is
recognised as a “co-creative” process; effective interaction depends on a
mutual somatic awareness, a “kind of blending” (2004: 308). According to
Brandt’s respondents, if this is to be achieved, the rider must re-orient their
level of perception to the “subtle” and “nuanced” movements of the horse.
This requires a more mindful type of proprioception, expressed as both a
bodily control (for example, maintaining balance) and an inner silence:
[It is]...like a stillness … I want to be quiet … I wanna tune in and pay at-
tention … (p. 306).
At its best, horse-human interaction is described as a complete synchrony
of movement which appears effortless to onlookers because it is so subtle.
This kind of attunement involves a different type of somatic awareness,
one that holds within itself the possibility of intersubjectivity. Behnke
(1999) terms this a shift into a “kinaesthetic dimension”, a movement “from
a “separative” to a more “connective” experiential style” (p. 109). Rather
than involving the enactment of a predetermined response, this state
is better conceptualised as a “not-knowing” or a “not-doing” (ibid.). It is in
this sense that intercorporeality may be experienced as a form of ‘surren-
der’, as a loosening, an opening up of our usual narrow focus on the self as
bounded9. Yet the reification of abstract, rational, more fragmented modes
of thinking in modern urban industrial cultures may make the achievement
of embodied attention more effortful. Perhaps those (rare) societies, like
the Runa, that are still immersed in co-presence may retain more transfor-
mative experiences of alterity.
Transformations
In exploring the phenomenology of embodied encounters with animals I

have argued that experiential methods foster a more authentic understand-
ing of relationship. Using intersubjectivity as the context for identity and
meaning re-orients investigation back to the bodily basis of experience.
9 Connor (2006) terms this movement an ‘emptying towards’ the world.

Phenomenological methods are in accord with this re-focusing, as they

incorporate an informed reflexivity; a sensitivity to the psychological per-
spective of the researcher in relation to the data. This kind of reflexivity
helps us recognise that our thought and perception are embedded within
a network of natural relations, and that our thinking and identity is scaf-
folded by interactions with sentient Others. As Armstrong and Simmons
(2007) vividly put it: “Animality infests us, plagues us, goes feral on us.”
(p. 2).
The discourses examined here point to the potentially transformative
quality of close attunement in interspecies encounters. The intertwining
of mood, intention and action that may involuntarily occur in close relation
ships can co-create a new, shared, intersubjective meaning and identity.
But what kind of reality is created as a result of these shared conceptual
and somatic spaces? For humans, this encountering implicitly involves a
reflection, an ability to abstract about the experience, to initiate a distanc-
ing. It is unlikely that this is the case for most animals. Immersed more
completely in intersubjectivity, the consequences for animals of close re-
lationships with humans are perhaps more profound. Haraway (2009), for
instance, wonders whether the baboons that Smuts interacted with were
“redone” as a consequence of “having entangled their gaze with that of this
young clipboard-toting human female” (p. 25).
The recognition of a kinship with other species based on intercorpore-
ality provides the grounding for a more integrative approach to negotiating
species boundaries. Becoming sensitive to the embodied nature of relation-
ship may deepen understanding of the lived experience of other species,
helping to orient thinking about welfare issues. Cataldi’s (2002) framework
of animal ethics, for example, is structured around a concern for animal
dignity. She emphasises the importance of respecting boundaries between
humans and animals, in terms of honouring each species’ unique way of
being in the world. In allowing each animal the right to “a life fitted for its
species-specific nature” (2002: 113–114, in Dillard-Wright, 2009), the essen-
tial alterity of animal nature is not compromised. This poses a serious
challenge to present day practices, when human presence increasingly
encroaches on animal life-worlds.
I would argue that a more corporeal ethics also places a responsibility
on us to bear witness to the ways that oppression and impoverishment of
experience may be embodied and expressed. To the extent that they focus
on a concernful reflexivity about our presence in relation to the world,
qualitative and phenomenological methods may help to highlight these
106 Diane Dutton
aspects of our relationships with animals. The work of Francoise

Wemelsfelder has drawn attention to the way in which qualitative measures
of expressive behaviour can enrich more traditional observational methods
to assess the welfare of animals in captive situations (1999, 2007, this vol-
ume; Wemelsfelder, Hunter, Lawrence & Mendl, 2001). By using person-
ally generated descriptors to characterise behavioural expression over time,
this method helps to capture the ‘attentional style’ of an animal, the more
dynamic and holistic aspects of behaviour that traditional objective mea-
sures omit. In aiming for a description of the ‘animal-as-a-whole’, this
method acknowledges both the subjectivity of the animal and the incarna-
tion of that inner life in action and gesture.
Negotiating the experiential chiasm—the intertwining—between our-
selves and other species demands awareness that it tends to be humans
that structure the type, and quality, of interspecies relationships. Animals
are “carriers of human meanings and possibilities” (Dillard-Wright, 2009:
97), and the discourses that we tell about animal encounters can be con-
flicting. Caesar (2009) tells an instructive tale of his emotive response to a
blind dog he and his wife discovered one night,
wobbling down the street, stinking of shit and moldy leaves … We were
stunned, moved, delighted. A victim! (p. 11).
The dog will not so easily be categorised however. It transpires that, far
from needing their solicitude, the dog lives just down the street. When his
owner appears to collect him the next morning, the expected scenario of
reunion fails to materialise: both owner and dog are singularly uncon-
cerned. But as their “narrative of victimization” fails to unfold in expected
ways, the dog becomes “a creature more enchanted”— more mysterious
because of the assertion of his alterity.
As Caesar (2009) points out, our understanding of animals is both seduc-
tive and elusive. During fieldwork for my thesis some years ago, I spent
many months observing captive chimpanzee interactions at a local zoo-
logical park. I was struck by both the ease with which visitors identified
with the actions and gestures of individual apes, and the constriction of
interpretation to an anthropocentric focus. In making a corporeal connec-
tion, visitors had no difficulty in imputing personhood and intentionality
to the chimps; however, the boundaries between similarity and alterity
could often blur in the process. This often occurred during conflict episodes
when visitors would remark on the number of “smiling” chimpanzees (who
were actually expressing fear-grins). Like the chimpanzee astronaut Ham,
zoo animals may reflect discourses about embodiment that gloss over the
essential nature of the animal, promoting both a “voyeuristic removal” and
a “prying proximity” (Acampora, 2006).
In focusing on human-animal relationships, our most significant chal-
lenge may be to become more aware of how the phenomena emerge from
this context, of how intersubjectivity and intercorporeality frame analyses.
Yet the transformative possibilities that relationships engender may help
us to shift perspective, to develop more authentic modes of enquiry. In
analysing human-feline encounters, Elizabeth Behnke (1999) describes her
deliberate adoption of a particular kinaesthetic style—the “practice of
peace”—to attune her awareness both to her own bodily responses and to
a shared intercorporeal field. Dealing with a situation of aggressive con-
frontations between her own cat and a homeless cat who had strayed into
his territory, Behnke becomes aware of the “intercorporeal circulation and
contagion of fear” (p. 101), contributed to by her own anxious efforts to
ameliorate the aggression. Recognising her habitual bodily state of tense
reactivity, Behnke develops a way of ‘grounding’ her attention and adopt-
ing a more ‘cotentive’, (inclusive, connected) type of gaze to relax the cats.
Becoming aware of the tightness in her chest when confronting them, she
attempts to ‘open’ her heart and deepen her breathing, developing an inner
bodily awareness. This is not just a ‘symbolic gesture’ but has a specific
intercorporeal effect. This embodied stance, together with a “genuine at-
titude of not-knowing” and not-doing serve to re-orient her usual kinaes-
thetic response and allow the potential for the meaning of the encounter
to shift, and be categorised as something other than just aggressive.
In permitting human-animal encounters to take on an indeterminate
character, in developing a kinaesthetic awareness of interaction, we allow
space for meaning to evolve and for human and animal selves to emerge.
I have focused here on some aspects of the embodied nature of interaction,
and tried to explore how intersubjectivity emerges from a shared sense of
somatic attention and attunement. Adopting a phenomenological stance
to the study of human-animal relationships highlights the embodied, dy-
namic and intersubjective aspects of this important relationship, and
fosters a deeper sensitivity to the bodily basis of understanding. Such a
perspective can infuse a myriad of different forms of enquiry (c.f. Garza,
2007), all of which have at their root the aim of redirecting attention back
to the everyday, to relationships as they are lived.
Yet a focus on the phenomenology of relationships requires a great deal
of the researcher, whose presence and attitude frame any enquiry.
108 Diane Dutton
Phenomenological research is concerned with depth, and demands of its

practitioners both empathic and analytic capacities in order to steer a
course between an unexamined subjectivity and a overly rational objectiv-
ity. To successfully do so requires a willingness to engage in research over
a longer time span, to venture deeper into the detail of interactions, and
to be open to the indeterminacy of the traditional self/other dichotomy.
The co-constitution of self and intention that shared encounters can en-
gender tends to challenge our most habitual modes of thinking and re-
sponding. Close relationships with animals provoke a confrontation with
alterity, which may be experienced as transformative or even disturbing.
By engaging with the immediacy of lived experience, it is more likely that
we will develop authentic accounts of human and animal being when in
the presence of each other.
References
Acampora, R. (2006). Corporal Compassion: Animal Ethics and Philosophy of Body. Pittsburgh,
PA.: University of Pittsburgh Press.
Abram, D. (1996). The Spell of the Sensuous. New York: Vintage Books.
Alger, J.M. & Alger, S.F. (1997). Beyond Mead: Symbolic interaction between humans and
felines. Society and Animals, 5 (1), 65–81.
Alger, J.M. & Alger, S.F. (1999). Cat culture, human culture: An ethnographic study of a cat
shelter. Society and Animals, 7 (3), 199–218.
Armstrong, P. & Simmons, L. (2007). Bestiary: An introduction. In L. Simmons & P. Arm-
strong (Eds.), Knowing Animals. Leiden & Boston: Brill.
Beer, C. (1997). Expressions of mind in animal behavior. In R.W. Mitchell, N.S. Thompson
& H.L. Miles (Eds) Anthropomorphism, Anecdotes, and Animals (pp. 198–209). Albany:
State: University of New York Press.
Behnke, E. (1999). From Merleau-Ponty’s concept of nature to an interspecies practice of
peace. In H.P. Steeves (Ed.), Animal Others: On Ethics, Ontology, and Animal Life. New
York: State University of New York Press.
Birke, L. (2003). Who—or what—are the rats (and mice) in the laboratory? Society and
Animals, 11 (3), 207–224.
Birke, L. (2009). Naming names—or, what’s in it for the animals? Humanimalia, 1, 1 (pub-
lished online at https://www.depauw.edu/humanimalia/issue01/birke.html)
Brandt, K. (2004). A language of their own: An interactionist approach to human-horse
communication. Society and Animals, 12 (4), 299–316.
Burghardt, G.M. (1985). Animal awareness: Current perceptions and historical perspective.
American Psychologist 40 (8), 905–919.
Burghardt, G.M. (1991). Cognitive ethology and critical anthropomorphism: A snake with
two heads and hognose snakes that play dead. In C.A. Ristau (Ed.), Cognitive Ethology:
The Minds of Other Animals: Essays in Honor of Donald R. Griffin. (pp. 53–90). Hillsdale,
NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Caesar, T. (2009). Speaking of Animals: Essays on Dogs and Others. Leiden/Boston: Brill.
Cataldi, S.L. (2002). Animals and the concept of dignity. Ethics and the Environment, 7 (2),
104–126.
Churchill, S.D. (2003). Gestural communication with a bonobo: Empathy, alterity, and

carnal intersubjectivity. Constructivism in the Human Sciences 8 (1), 19–36.
Churchill, S.D. (2006). Encountering the Animal Other: Reflections on moments of em-
pathic seeing. Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology 6, 1–13.
Churchill, S.D. (2007). Experiencing the Other within the We: Phenomenology with a
Bonobo. In L. Embree & T. Nenon (Eds.), Phenomenology 2005, Vol. 5: Selected Essays
from North America. Bucharest: Zeta Books.
Connor, S. (2006). How to Get Out of Your Head: Toward a Philosophy of Mixed Bodies. A
talk given to the London Consortium, 26 January 2006.
Costall, A. (1998). Lloyd Morgan, and the rise and fall of “animal psychology.” Society and
Animals 6 (1), 13–29.
Crist, E. (1999). Images of Animals: Anthropomorphism and Animal Mind. Philadelphia:
Csordas, T.J. (1993). Somatic modes of attention. Cultural Anthropology 8 (2), 135–156.
Csordas, T.J. (1997). The Sacred Self: A Cultural Phenomenology of Charismatic Healing.
London: University of California Press.
Dillard-Wright, D.B. (2009). Ark of the Possible: The Animal World in Merleau-Ponty. Lanham,
MD.: Lexington Books.
Dutton, D. & Williams, C. (2004). A view from the bridge: subjectivity, embodiment and
animal minds. Anthrozoös, 17 (3), 210–224.
Fudge, E. (2002). Animal. London: Reaktion Books.
Gallese, V. (2001). The “shared manifold” hypothesis: From mirror neurons to empathy.
Journal of Consciousness Studies, 8 (5–7), 33–50.
Gallese, V. (2006). Mirror neurons and intentional attunement: Commentary on Olds.
Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 54 (1), 47–57.
Garza, G. (2006). A clarification of Heidegger’s phenomenology: A response to Kendler.
American Psychologist 61 (3), 255–256.
Garza, G. (2007). Varieties of phenomenological research at the University of Dallas: An
emerging typology. Qualitative Research in Psychology 4, 313–342.
Garza, G. & Fisher Smith, A. (2009). Beyond neurobiological reductionism: Recovering the
intentional and expressive body. Theory and Psychology 19 (4), 519–544.
Gent, L.M. (2002). Consciousness in Animals: A Phenomenological Investigation of Inten-
tionality of Behavior in Chimpanzees. Unpublished undergraduate thesis, University of
Dallas, Irving, TX.
Goode, D. (2007). Playing With My Dog Katie: An Ethnomethodological Study of Dog-Human
Interactions. West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue University Press,
Haraway, D. (2009). Becoming-with-companions: Sharing and response in experimental
laboratories. In T. Tyler & M. Rossini (Eds.), Animal Encounters (pp.115–134). Leiden/
Boston: Brill.
Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and Time. New York: Harper & Row.
Husserl, E. (1931). Ideas: General Introduction to Pure Phenomenology (W.R. Boyce Gibson,
Trans.). London: George Allen and Unwin. (Original work published 1913).
Husserl, E. (1964). The Idea of Phenomenology. (W. Alston & G. Nahknikian, Trans.). The
Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. (Original lecture course presented 1907).
Irvine, L. (2004). A model of animal selfhood: Expanding interactionist possibilities. Sym-
bolic Interaction 27 (1), 3–21.
Johnson, M. (1987). The Body in the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Kohn, E. (2007). How dogs dream: Amazonian natures and the politics of transspecies
engagement. American Ethnologist 34 (1), 3–24.
Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M. (1999). Philosophy in the Flesh. New York: Basic Books.
Leder, D. (1990). The Absent Body. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
110 Diane Dutton
Melson, G.F. (2001). Why the Wild Things Are: Animals in the Lives of Children. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Melson, G.F. (2002). Psychology and the study of human-animal relationships. Society and
Animals 10 (4), 347–352.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962). Phenomenology of Perception (C. Smith, Trans.). London: Rout-
ledge (original work published 1945).
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1964). Signs (R.C. McCleary, Trans.). Evanston, IL.: Northwestern Uni-
versity Press (original work published 1960).
Merleau-Ponty, M (1968). The Visible and the Invisible. Evanston, IL.: Northwestern Univer-
sity Press (original work published 1964).
Rizzolatti, G., Fogassi, L. & Gallese, V. (2001). Neurophysiological mechanisms underlying
the understanding and imitation of action. Nature Neuroscience Reviews 2, 661–670.
Sampson, E.E. (1996). Establishing embodiment in psychology. Theory and Psychology 6 (4),
601–624.
Sanders, C.R. (1993). Understanding dogs: Caretakers’ attributions of mindedness in canine-
human relationships. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 22 (2), 205–226.
Sanders, C.R. (2003). Actions speak louder than words: Close relationships between humans
and nonhuman animals. Symbolic Interaction 26 (3), 405–426.
Sanders, C.R. & Arluke, A. (1993). If lions could speak: Investigating the animal-human
relationship and the perspectives of nonhuman others. The Sociological Quarterly 34
(3), 377–390.
Shapiro, K.J. (1985). Bodily Reflective Modes: A Phenomenological Method for Psychology.
Durham: Duke University Press.
Shapiro, K.J. (1990). Understanding dogs through kinesthetic empathy, social construction,
and history. Anthrozoos 3 (3), 184–195.
Shapiro, K.J. (1997). A phenomenological approach to the study of nonhuman animals. In
R.W. Mitchell, N.S. Thompson & H.L. Miles (Eds.), Anthropomorphism, Anecdotes, and
Animals (pp. 313–334). Albany: State: University of New York Press.
Shepard, P. (1996). The Others: How Animals Made Us Human. Washington, D.C.: Island
Press.
Smuts, B. (1999). Reflections. In J.M. Coetzee, The Lives of Animals. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
Smuts, B. (2001). Encounters with animal minds. Journal of Consciousness Studies 8 (5–7),
293–309.
Taylor, N. (2007). ‘Never an it’: Intersubjectivity and the creation of animal personhood in
animal shelters. Qualitative Sociology Review 111 (1), 59–73.
Varela, F.J., Thompson, E. & Rosch, E. (1996). The Embodied Mind: Cognitive Science and
Human Experience. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.
Wedde, I. (2007). Walking the dog. In L. Simmons & P. Armstrong (Eds.), Knowing Animals.
Leiden/Boston: Brill.
Wemelsfelder, F. (2007). How animals communicate quality of life: the qualitative assess-
ment of animal behaviour. Animal Welfare, Supplement, 16, 25–31.
Wemelsfelder, F. (2001). The inside and outside aspects of consciousness: complementary
approaches to the study of animal emotion. Animal Welfare 10:S129–139.
Wemelsfelder, F. (1999). The problem of animal subjectivity and its consequences for the
scientific measurement of animal suffering. In F.L. Dolins (Ed.) Attitudes to Animals:
Views in Animal Welfare (pp.37–53). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, E.A., Lawrence, A.B. & Mendl, M.T. (2001). Assessing the ‘whole-
animal’: a free-choice-profiling approach. Animal Behaviour 62, 209–220.
Whitehead, A.N. (1969). Process and Reality. New York: Macmillan.

Williams, C., Dutton, D., Burgess, C. (2010). Communicating the intangible: A phenomeno-
logical exploration of energy healing. Qualitative Research in Psychology 7, 45–56.
Williams, M. (1997). The Ways We Touch. Illinois: University of Illinois Press.
112 Diane Dutton
Honouring Human Emotions 113
CHAPTER SIX
Honouring Human Emotions

Using Organic Inquiry for Researching Human—
Companion Animal Relationships
Susan Ella Dawson1
Companion animal caregiving in Western society generates intense feelings

and divided opinions (Serpell, 1986), sometimes evoking high emotion,
cynicism, prejudice and ridicule. Despite these ambiguities companion
animals are usually perceived and related to as legitimate and valued fam-
ily members by their caregivers (Dawson, 2007; Carmack, 2003; Cohen,
2002; Harris, 1984; Katcher & Rossenberg, 1979; Lagoni, Morehead, Butler
& Brannan, 1994; 2001).
Contradictory beliefs, attitudes and behaviours permeate boundaries
of self and other within affectionate relationships between people and
companion animals. Perhaps this is seen most poignantly in reactions to
expressions of grief in relation to companion animal loss. Mourning the
death of a human family member usually meets with compassionate un-
derstanding and sympathy, whereas open displays of distress arising from
companion animal bereavement are frequently perceived as pathological
or sources of amusement; even some companion animal caregiving com-
munities appear anxious to seem unemotional and ‘in control.’ Ultimately
such rejections render companion animal loss as disenfranchised (Dawson,
2007; Grey, 2006; Carmack, 2003) and force grievers underground, in at-
tempts to keep this disallowed emotionality a secret from others.
Only relatively recently, have emotional attachments between people
and non-human animals been recognised, as anthrozoology evolved. This
recognition helps to legitimise non-human animals as potentially signifi-
cant attachment figures in the life-worlds of people (also see Topál & Gácsi
this volume). However, until human emotionality in these relationships is
acknowledged, interspecies attachments will continue to meet suspicion
and incredulity from a scientific community which believes, “that as long
1 University of Manchester, U.K. and Animal-Kind UK.

114 Susan Ella Dawson
as they are not conscious of any bias or political agenda, they are neutral
and objective, when in fact they are only unconscious,” (Namenwirth,
1989:29).
Such approaches to investigating human -animal relationships demand
researchers adopt artificial objectivity and detachment from human emo-
tions, dislocating the very heart of what is being researched—human
feelings (Dawson, 2007). In this chapter, I introduce Organic Inquiry (OI)
as a qualitative emotion-sensitive methodology, appropriate for use by
researchers investigating human companion-animal relationships, and
illustrate the compatibility of voice centred relational analysis (Brown &
Gilligan, 1992, Mauthner & Doucet, 1998, Lawthom, 2004, Dawson, 2007)
within OI.
This work is informed by a feminist spirituality (Plaskow and Christ,
1989, Christ, 1997) and relational ontology. OI incorporates creative, expres-
sive approaches to data gathering and representation; these generate the
potential for personal transformation in participants, researchers, and
those coming into contact with the research findings—a fundamental
requirement of OI methodology.
In contrast to most approaches to research, OI takes as a starting point
the lived personal experience of the researcher, viewing this as an interpre-
tive lens through which data are analysed. The researcher’s own experi-
ences of companion animal caregiving are not set aside but are
incorporated, with the researcher’s own story forming the first case study
within an inquiry. Here, I illustrate principles and procedures for conduct-
ing OI using examples from a study of lived human experiences of com-
panion animal euthanasia (Dawson, 2007), which also highlights the
requirement to connect with the sacred. Some of the inherent ambiguities
and power differentials within human-companion relationships become
visible within these examples, demonstrating the suitability of OI as a
methodology for researching emotionally sensitive issues in anthrozool-
ogy.
Human emotions in research: introducing OI
Societal ambivalence towards non-human animals is reflected in relation-

ships between companion animals and their caregivers. The term ‘human-
companion animal bond’, seems to dilute the integral emotional intensity,
diminishing and dismissing it to a different status than human-human
attachments. Perhaps this reflects a subconscious desire to delineate hu-
mans from animal others, legitimising the inherent exploitation and abuse
of some species. Scientific discourses distance us from complicated emo-
tions involved in human- animal relationships and so construct a process
whereby companion animals can be more easily objectified.
Positivist approaches to science quintessentially focus on pursuing ob
jectivity, part of the stereotypic masculinity of scientific practice (Keller,
1985): “a corollary of that ideology of objectivity is that it denies feelings,“
(Birke, 1995:43). Feminist critics, on the contrary, emphasize the insepara-
bility of subjectivity and objectivity in how we know the world (Birke, 1995;
Hubbard, 1990).
From a feminist paradigm, organic inquiry (OI) methodology holds hu-
man feelings to be a legitimate data source, as legitimate as cognition.
Recognising that emotions are integral within interspecies attachments
allows intersubjectivities to be explored. The intersubjectivity in turn makes
it impossible to scrutinise interspecies interactions without identifying
and understanding emotional components constructing the relationship.
OI thus provides an emotion sensitive methodology ideal in investigating
human- animal intersubjectivities, within wider societal contexts of com-
munity and culture.
Situated knowing
OI is relational ontology, making no separation of knowledge from context,

emotion from cognition, or the spiritual from the physical. In construing
everything as sacred and interconnected, OI principles require researchers
to trace connections which may initially appear tangential or separate
(Curry & Wells, 2003), and to accept the multiple interconnectedness of
self and all life. It also recognises the sacred can be found in everyday rela-
tions, events and activities as well as in exceptional experiences, allowing
discovery of the sacred within everyday human-animal interactions,
through such intangibles as human love, empathy and compassion. OI
methodology requires the researcher to connect in some way with the
sacred throughout the research in planning, design, implementation and
analysis. For researchers investigating human- animal relationships this
connection may be embodied through meditative reflection on daily con-
tact with specific animals or enabled by, for example, actively connecting
with nature by taking a walk.
Sacred knowing
Connecting with the sacred can be construed as a form of sacred knowing

bringing subconscious thoughts and feelings, and tacit knowledge into
conscious awareness. Curry and Wells (2003) refer to researchers partner-
ing with spirit, actively seeking spiritual engagement. This transcends
merely spiritual knowing but involves liminal dimensions and explicating
knowledge from the chthonic (the unconscious); it also entails accepting
guidance from other spiritual teachers, including research participants,
study supervisors, environmental qi (energy) and even strangers not in
volved directly in the research (Curry & Wells, 2003). Engaging with the
sacred and partnering with spirit involves researchers being open to other
ways of knowing such as intuition, creativity and flashes of inspiration and
hunches (Curry & Wells, 2003; Gendlin, 1997). Using methods of data gath-
ering, analysis and interpretation that encourage spiritual guidance are
requirements within OI. Curry (cited in Curry & Wells, 2003), for example,
used breath centering techniques within meditative practice whilst engag-
ing with data analysis, with the intent of moving beyond her cognitive
mind, and allowing herself to be more open to direct forms of knowing—
sacred knowing, which brings subconscious thoughts and feelings to con-
sciousness. Intuition and emotion are here as valid as cognition.
Sacred embodiment is also fundamental in OI. Traditional paradigms
usually focus researchers on linear, cognitive tasks, giving no space for
unfolding of tacit knowledge or ways of accessing the subconscious. By
contrast, OI researchers must prepare with rigorous literature reviews and
attention to ethical practice, but then to surrender with love, reverence and
respect to other ways of knowing. Creating sacred embodiment could in-
volve integrating personal rituals (e.g. lighting candles before data analysis,
meditative practice) to shift consciousness away from the everyday mun-
dane, or using reflexive process journals to capture reverence, respect, awe,
wonder and connectedness between self and other. To Curry and Wells
(2003), the sacred within OI is a larger reality which we are all part of, with
these parts interconnecting, thus removing artificial delineations between
human and non-human animals (Dawson, 2007).
Transpersonal Psychology
In viewing all things as inter-connected, OI is situated within transper-

sonal psychology and feminist spirituality (Christ, 1997; Curry & Wells,
2003; Dawson, 2007). Transpersonal psychology seeks to honour human

experience in its fullest expressions and identifies transformative change
as integral process to research and life itself. Mapping transformation in
self (researcher), research participants and all those coming into contact
with the research and its findings, is central to OI. Transpersonal psychol-
ogy is usually described as the Fourth Force in psychology and as a paradigm
is used to delve deeply into exceptional human experiences, such as near-
death and spiritual experiences. More recently, though, it has been used
for investigations in human medicine and healing (Curry & Wells, 2005),
anthropology (Braud & Anderson, 1998) and anthrozoology (Dawson, 2007).
In taking holistic views of both person and environment, OI methodology
is particularly relevant to human-animal interactions, and gives voice to
companion-animal caregivers often silenced in scientific research.
The origins of OI
OI methodology originated in 1994 by Jennifer Clements, Dorothy Ettling,

Diane Jennet and Lisa Shields (1998) who were seeking to find a sacred and
personal voice in research. Deah Curry and Steve Wells further developed
a cosmological model of OI (2003). From an epistemological perspective
OI shares its philosophical ground with the worldview of indigenous soci-
eties (Curry & Wells, 2003)—what Tarnas, Laszlo, Gablik and Perez-Christi,
(2001) refer to as the cosmic world and Naess (1973) describes as deep
ecology.
What separates OI from other qualitative approaches, however, is its
engagement with the sacred throughout the research. Central to under-
standing such research is, “a model of the human psyche that recognizes
the importance of the spiritual or cosmic dimensions and the potential for
consciousness evolution,” (Stanislav, 1985 p.197). Human emotions, integral
to human-companion animal relationships, are seen as sacred, not as
something to be isolated, removed and extricated from the study.
Usually OI reports are written in the first person, which is atypical in
most scientific writing, although not in qualitative work. Quantitative sci-
ence typically uses the passive voice, essentially creating what Birke
(1995:43) identifies as the ‘missing agent’—the self of the researcher. The
‘scientist’ thereby generates a sense of there being no person involved.
Within methods employed in OI, researchers’ feelings are made transpar-
ent, becoming a legitimate data source (Etherington, 2004). Emotional
expression can be integrated, e.g. expressive art with accompanying inter-
pretative summaries (Dawson, 2007), or stream of consciousness writing.

Meditation can precede data analysis, e.g. meditative listening (Ettling,
1994; Dawson, 2007) to the stories of participants. Researcher reflexivity
can be presented as a creative synthesis, such as a work of expressive art
(see Figure 6.1) with accompanying interpretation (Dawson, 2007) or as a
poem.
Organic inquiry seeks engaged dialogue with others, aiming to catalyse
transformative learning, (Curry & Wells, 2003). This includes not only the
researcher, but also consumers and participants in the research. Creative
multi-modal approaches (Willis, Smith & Collins, 2000) are used to present
findings, permitting engagement at multiple levels, e.g. presenting case
studies as sequence poems (Dawson, 2007; Richardson, 1994; Langer &
Furman, 2004). Publishing findings in lay publications such as animal care
magazines and practitioner/professional journals is perceived as equally
valuable as academic publications. This is because the potential for per-
sonal transformation increases with each new engagement with the find-
ings. At this juncture it is useful to explore the different models of OI.
Principles of OI
OI methodology has at its foundation other research methodologies,

noticeably the heuristic (Moustakas, 1990), phenomenological, feminist
and narrative. The starting place of OI in the lived experience of research-
ers, and their personal stories (Clements et al. 1998) draws on feminist
approaches. Within my investigation of caregivers’ experiences of eutha-
nasia of their terminally ill companion animal (Dawson, 2007), my own
personal experience of the euthanasia of my first rescue dog Oliver, in April
2002, was the seed from which the study grew. This deeply personal and
emotional experience formed the first case study, becoming a lens enabling
interpretation of others’ experiences. The basis for this inclusion of self
within OI is perhaps made clear by returning to the original description of
the methodology, presented in the metaphor of the growth of a tree:
Figure 6.1. The seed from which the study grew: expressive artwork mapping researcher
reflexivity.
Expressive artwork: interpretive summary
I employed OI methodology in a study of caregivers’ experiences of terminal prognosis

veterinary euthanasia (Dawson, 2007). I made this expressive art work at the start of the
study in 2003. I began with no plan or intention and just let the shape take its own form.
The painting was in colour, mostly pinks and reds which I find uplifting, paralleling feel-
ings within my relationship with my dog, Oliver. This choice also embodies my authentic
self, the self I am able to be within the human-companion animal bond. The pinks, how-
ever, were interwoven and sometimes eclipsed by encircling darkness, represented in
black. This symbolises the distorted perspective that grief temporarily generates, magnifying
the unpleasant feelings associated with loss, making it feel as though these are much
bigger than the previous feelings of happiness within the relationship. There is also a
womb like feeling about this work, particularly in the central foetus-like figure. Initially
my interpretation was that this represented Oliver, his dependency on me and his vulner-
ability at the end of his life, perhaps even my ‘child-like’ construction of him as innocent
and dependent on me. But on revisiting this work at the close of my research journey I
see a very different interpretation with the foetus like being representing self at multiple
levels; the caregiver who found containment in a warm, human relationship with a non-
human animal other and the researcher at the outset of significant scientific study nurturing
and growing the seed to fruition. Paradoxically this very first expressive art work within
the study could also be positioned as essentially embodying the duality/unity of the human-
companion animal relationship of the container/contained and in representing a new seed
for growth into further inquiries.
The elements of OI are:

The Sacred—preparing the soil (understood as attitude, receptiveness and
frame of mind in planning and preparing for the research journey).
The Personal—planting the seed (the researcher connects with his/her

own personal experience)
The Chthonic—the roots emerge (on a psycho-spiritual level this is a place
and time of tests and challenges for the researcher)
The Relational—growing the tree (connecting with other study participants
and people in communicating the study’s findings)
The Transformative—harvesting the fruit (mapping transformative change
using expressive methods such as automatic writing, or art, to facilitate
awareness of subconscious processes catalysing change).
(adapted from, Clements et al., 1998; Dawson, 2007).
A closer look at each of these principles illuminates the salience of OI as a

methodology within anthrozoology:
The sacred is an attitude of respect and reverence (Curry & Wells, 2003),
which pervades the research journey and prepares the researcher. Clements,
et al. (1998) describe this principle as an aspect of expanded consciousness:
spading up one’s old habits and expectations and achieving an ongoing
attitude which respects and allows for the sacred to emerge…so that when
the seed of the research is planted, it will find fertile conditions in which
to grow…Doing this work requires honouring ourselves, our collaborators,
our readers, and the context in which we work, as well as intentionally
keeping ourselves open to the gifts of our own unconscious mind and those
of the divine (Clements et al. 1998: 14).
Within anthrozoology this principle also embraces honouring the animals
whose lives inform or have touched the study. Within my study I honoured
participants’ companion animals in diverse ways, through incorporating
rituals of remembrance before analysing data, and by dedicating my thesis
to their memory, including presentation of individual photographs of each
animal on the opening pages. The principle of the sacred is central to the
original model of OI, defining its difference from other qualitative meth-
odologies, although in Clements’ (2000, 2001) revised model, emphasis
shifts to the three-part process of travelling to the liminal domain, gather-
ing wisdom and insight there, then integrating this, so that the focus on
the sacred is slightly less emphatic. The liminal domain is literally a tran-
sitional place describing a passageway to the chthonic.
Inclusion of the sacred is “both an embodiment of the sacred, and cre-
ation of a consciousness of sacredness” Curry & Wells (2003: 21). This
conceptualisation expands to daily life and is not restricted to research
planning, design and procedure. Researchers are thus urged to attend to
spiritual needs within and outside of the study. Within my study, connect-
ing the energy of the life force through purposeful interaction with living
animals, e.g. walking dogs, riding my horse, became a powerful embodi-
ment of making visible the transitional act of euthanasia in linking life and
death (Dawson, 2007).
The sacred within an investigation of human-animal bonds
The sacred can be conceptualised at a number of different levels:

–– As respect and reverence for human participants in the study, extend-
ing to honouring human emotions arising from human-companion
animal relationships e.g. making emotions visible and explicit as a
valid data source.
–– As an attitude of equal respect and reverence for non-human animals
as for humans, recognising individuality and uniqueness of compan-
ion animals—e.g. by using their given names or personal pronouns
she or he.
–– As recognising the sanctity of human-companion animal interactions,
thus legitimating the relationship e.g. enabling caregivers to iden-
tify relationships shared with companion animals; researchers ac-
tively privileging participants’ voices.
–– Recognising the interconnectedness and interdependence of all life,
e.g. viewing non-human animals as mindful entities and construing
human-animal interactions as symmetrical.
–– Holistic interpretations and understandings of research data gener-
ated, acknowledging connections of self, the spiritual, physiological,
cognitive, psychological and social. This enables contextual, embod-
ied understandings of human-companion animal interactions, which
are always situational.
In the Five Principles Model (Clements et al., 1998) the sacred is seen as
the phases of the research where the ground is prepared, “before the seeds
are planted, the earth must be spaded and broken up, old roots and stones
removed, fertilizer added,” (Clements et al., 1998: 117). What Clements (1998)
refers to here is the researcher’s preparation in expanding consciousness,
“this involves achieving an attitude that digs out old ways of thinking to
allow for the sacred to emerge,” (Clements et al. 1998:117). It is essential
that researchers investigating human -animal relationships begin with an
open mind and a willingness to consider intersubjective intangibles such

as human love as legitimate data sources.
The Personal: OI methodology foregrounds researchers’ personal sto-
ries, but is also extended to readers of the research, expressed in a hope
that research findings may resonate with personal experience and shed
new insights (Curry & Wells, 2003; Dawson, 2007). Inter-subjective inter-
pretation is a vital knowledge source within organic methodology, and
research findings are thus construed as an organic entity continuously
being shaped, formed and re-formed with each new individual engagement.
The Chthonic means ‘the earth’, (Curry & Wells, 2003), literally a dark
place—in shamanic terms an underworld. This is seen as a “place of tests
and challenges” (Walsh, 1990: 147), as unformed potential and contents in
the subconscious (Clements et al. ,1998; 1999). The chthonic within or-
ganic methodology is like the gardener trusting what is in the earth to
generate growth of a seed. “Although the research begins with responsible
intent, the methodology often evolves and changes during the research
because of synchronicities, dreams, intuition, or other manifestations of
inner knowing and tacit knowledge. The researcher is urged to pay atten-
tion to expressions of the unconscious throughout the research process,”
(Clements et al. 1998:119).
The original unclear positioning of the chthonic in relation to the sacred
is a feature Curry & Wells (2003) develop in their reconceptualization. They
argue “the implication is that is it something separate from the sacred. This
positioning is seen to be consistent with some spiritual systems that do not
conceive of the dark being part of the light, but rather a separate domain,”
(Curry & Wells, 2003: 22). They challenge this, taking a more Taoist or
Shamanic view that light and dark are indivisible and connected. They add
a new principle, that of the numinous which they describe as the “upper-
world counterpart to the chthonic,” (Curry & Wells, 2003: 23).
Human- animal relationships embody paradox: that is, some species of
animal are ‘befriended’ and welcomed into our homes and families, whilst
others we identify as fundamentally different from ‘us’, constructing an
emotionless detachment that enables them to be farmed and harvested
for milk, meat, clothing and used for scientific experimentation. Uncom
fortable dualities exist within human-animal interactions, contradictory
attitudes and behaviour pervade and underpin even affectionate human
companion- animal relationship. This paradox is clearly illustrated in the
act of veterinary euthanasia, which by virtue of companion animals’ in-
ability to communicate their explicit wish to die at a particular given point
in time is always a decision made by proxy by the human-caregiver/owner.

As euthanasia of healthy animals does occur for human convenience and
further is legal throughout most of the world, the potential for abuse of
power within human companion-animal relationships is massive (Dawson,
2007). In this way the numinous and chthonic embody the lived paradox
of companion animal euthanasia with its dualistic nature, to relieve and
prevent suffering or to act as an instrument of human convenience. The
concept of the numinous can thus be incorporated with the chthonic
within investigations of human-companion animal relationships from a
Taoist perspective, in order to bring about harmony and balance in a cos-
mic sense.
The numinous is described as the upperworld counterpart of the ch-
thonic, “from which the researcher may receive inspiration, direct knowing
and other forms of inter-subjective guidance,” Curry &Wells (2003:23). The
numinous is seen to refer to higher states of consciousness as a place where
we are sometimes literally taken out of and beyond our mundane person-
alities into a greater transpersonal reality (Curry &Wells, 2003).2 Curry
&Well’s (2003) recommendation of making use of both the principles and
process model (revised by Clements, 2000, 2001) can be used within re-
search investigating human-animal relationships to, “achieve a rich descrip-
tive study that never forgets that the researcher and researched are
operating in a sacred manner and in partnership with Spirit,” (Curry &Wells,
2003:19).
The relational within OI methodology is the connections, the inter-
related ways of knowing, “between old and new theories, paradigms, cul-
tures, or world views to create a new synthesis,” (Neilsen, 1990:28). It is also
the inter-personal relationships between researcher and participants. OI
places a premium on context (Clements et al., 1998) and thus, on situated
knowledge, which makes it particularly suitable for research investigating
inter-personal or interspecies relationships, which are always formed
within cultural, political and spiritual contexts. Of particular relevance to
researchers is OI’s requirement for researchers to make visible and explic-
itly acknowledge, “the constant relationship and situation of interdepen-
dence with all the forms of life and energy with which we come in contact
2 OI methodology does not incorporate all elements of a shamanic cosmology, so the
concept of balancing the chthonic with the numinous is better described as a quasi-
shamanic cosmology (Curry & Wells, 2003). In an indigenous or participatory cosmology
the upperworld and the underworld would be irreducible within the whole and as such it
is essential to incorporate the numinous with the chthonic
within the course of our work,” (Curry &Wells, 2003:25). This makes pow-
erfully visible the interconnectedness of human and non-human animal
life.
Interconnectedness also pervades human relationships within research.
Throughout OI, warm, friendly relationships, within ethical boundaries,
are encouraged between researcher and participants, “holding them and
their stories in sacred trust,” (Curry &Wells, 2003:25). This is very different
to traditional approaches to research relationships. OI allows the research-
er to connect with a community of others to co-construct new knowledge,
illuminating diverse understandings of human-animal relationships by
researching with people in partnership with spirit.
The transformative principle ranges from radical, profound transfor-
mative change, temporary or permanent, to more subtle changes in attitude
or feeling. It can be visualised as being the growth that participants, re-
searchers and those encountering the research findings experience. This
growth can be conscious or unconscious. “To truly experience another’s
story requires the willingness to be altered by it. A story offers transforma-
tion to both the teller and to the listener,” (Clements et al., 1999: 50). It was
impossible for me not to be moved emotionally, cognitively and spiritu-
ally when witnessing the grief of companion animal caregivers as they
spoke about their relationships with their animals, as they described the
personal difficulties arising from euthanasia decision making and illumi-
nated the facets of responsibility grief, the distinct category of grief arising
from veterinary euthanasia (Dawson, 2007).
A central feature of OI is that, “The point of research is to communicate
our findings,” (Clements et.al. 1998: 53). This is an important means of
embodying the sacred, enabling others to bear witness to lived experiences
of human companion-animal relationships. It also generates potential for
transformative change, within companion animal caregiving communities,
professional animal welfare communities, academics, lay communities
and the self of the researcher. The methodological standpoint of OI is that
the results of the research reside in the individual transformation of all
those who find themselves involved anywhere in the process (Clements
et al. 1998). OI crucially has an expanded notion (Curry & Wells, 2003) of
self in that it moves beyond the purely cognitive, thus drawing on “a concept
of self that of wholistic,” (Curry & Wells, 2003: 30). Transformative change
may be generated from feeling responses as well as cognition and reason. It
is a “quality of difference that occurs in a shift from one set of assumptions
or way of being to another, whereby an essential condition or character of
a person is changed in a profound way, which may or may not be long

lasting,” (Curry & Wells, 2003: 26).
Presenting interpretations of lived human experiences of companion
euthanasia at conferences enables others to feel moved, emotionally as
well as intellectually, in the process of empathic and sympathetic reso-
nance. Clements et al. (1999) characterise the transformative aspect of OI
as a willingness to be changed through conscious and unconscious engage-
ment with and participation in the research. “A story offers transformation
to both teller and listener. Transformation may be an apparently small
insight into one’s understanding of past actions or it may be a restructuring
of lifestyle,” (Clements et al. 1999: 50). The principle of the transformative
in OI positions OI methodology as participatory research, and also links
with the emancipatory aspects of feminist ideals.
The process of OI
The principles informing OI allow for integration of diverse methods of

data collection, e.g. ritual within the research process can enable data col-
lection from liminal realms—the researcher’s subconscious. Engagement
with the sacred, furthermore, facilitates both analysis and personal self-
transformation through empathic resonance. Within my study, connecting
with the sacred became an important metaphor and practical means of
re-engaging and reconnecting with universal life force, acknowledging the
sanctity of and interconnectedness of all life (Dawson, 2007).
The lived concept of interconnectedness is central in generating trans-
formative change in those involved. Engaging with the study thus facilitates
opportunities for people to recognise aspects of their own experiencing in
others’ experiences—empathic resonance. This engagement can open up
new dialogues about human-animal relating which may have previously
been silenced. Communicating findings is central; research findings are
construed as an organic entity with fluid, interrelated, yet boundaried
meaning. Different audiences enable connections, through multiple mo-
dalities and at different levels. The researcher is one audience; multi-dis-
ciplinary academics, veterinary communities, human health professionals,
animal welfarists and companion animal owners form other collective
audiences. With each engagement, new meaning can emerge through
connections with another’s experience. It is this potential that creates
possibilities for personal transformation within OI.
How researchers conduct an OI is vital in creating such potential, yet

the ‘how to’ is often elusive because of deeply personal and subjective in-
terpretations of OI by researchers. One size does not fit all and whilst
methods are replicable the exact experience and processes are not.
However, the strength of OI methodology lies in its flexibility for accom-
modating different choices of qualitative methods of analysis. What now
follows are examples from the OI I carried out to investigate twenty one
caregivers’ experiences of animal euthanasia (Dawson, 2007).
My personal experience of the euthanasia of my first rescue dog, Oliver,
was the seed from which the study grew. As an animal welfare profes-
sional working with the RSPCA for over twelve years I felt shocked by the
intensity of emotions I experienced in relation to doubting the timing and
efficacy of my decision to euthanase Oliver. These feelings of doubt were
present despite Oliver being paralysed with a serious neurological condi-
tion. Whilst the decision was a collaborative family decision made by proxy
on behalf of Oliver, I struggled to process my own responsibility for his
death and felt quite isolated in my grief. I was mindful that vulnerability
would be an essential requirement in positioning myself as the first par-
ticipant in the study, but also careful not to allow self-indulgent solipsism.
I focussed on only salient aspects of my attachment to Oliver and my ex-
perience of his euthanasia, and experience of grief. In formulating the
purpose of the investigation I practiced meditation, what Clements (2004:
35) describes as, “focused attention” and contemplation—“attention fo-
cused on a particular text or topic” (Clements, 2004:35). This enabled clar-
ity of purpose to emerge, identified as gaining a deeper understanding of
the human-companion animal bond, caregivers’ euthanasia decisions and
human emotional reactions to terminal prognosis veterinary euthanasia.
As a former veterinary nursing assistant in small animal practice, I was
eager to contribute to understanding of euthanasia related grief to help
inform offers of support and counselling for caregivers.
I employed a Jungian typology of sensing, feeling, intuiting and thinking
as a meta-structure for design. There was no pilot study. OI ‘honours’ the
uniqueness of the individual, and engagement with participants was con-
strued as specific and contextual. To exclude a participant’s contribution
would have gone against OI principles of the sacred. Ongoing evaluation
of the research process was however, integral, naturally accommodating
emergent necessary modifications. In moving beyond the realms of my
own ego I worked in partnership with spirit and was open to liminal expe-
riencing “- the subconscious mind, and its language... of visual symbols and
other meta-verbal communication such as emotional responses and bodi-

ly sensations,” (Curry& Wells, 2003: 102). This was enabled by:
–– The integrated practice of meditation/focused attention (Clements,
2004: 35) prior to research conversations, transcriptions and analysis
of participant narratives. During the first transcriptions, I lit scented
candles with different scents for each companion animal to represent
their individuality. During transcription of resonance conversations
I burned a joss stick, and then collected and contained the ashes.
When the study closed these blended ashes were returned to the
earth of Oliver’s grave, to symbolise ritual closure, returning to the
seed from which the study grew and uniting the different companion
animals whose lives were honoured, remembered and intercon-
nected within the study.
–– Dream journaling—this was a continuous process throughout the
study and was also integrated within expressive art work and reflex-
ive writing.
–– Stream of consciousness writing—this involved writing down any
impressions that came to mind, recording bodily and emotional re-
sponses and paying attention to somato-sensory responses and
other bodily sensations. This was usually done prior to engagement
with participants in research conversations.
–– Automatic writing—I did this using the opposite hand to the one I
usually write with, in a similar way to stream of consciousness writ-
ing images, thoughts and associations coming into mind were writ-
ten down.
–– Expressive art responses generated in reflexive practice—acknowledg-
ing the potential impact on my own psyche of engaging with caregiv-
ers deeply distressed by the euthanasia of their companion animal,
I participated in art therapy sessions once every two weeks through-
out the data collection phase; this facilitated bringing into conscious-
ness my subconscious reactions to engagement with participants,
and provided an additional layer of protection for participants. Ex-
pressive art was generated in response to engaging with participant
narratives/data and as a means of connecting with the liminal realm
and visually mapping my subconscious processes throughout the
research journey (adapted from Dawson, 2007: 135).

There were twenty further participants (I was the first participant in the
study), and narrative interviews were conducted as research conversations.
These were intentionally casual to create emotionally warm and genuine

relationships with participants and to “allow participants’ stories to unfold
in a natural way,” (Kvale, 1996; Rubin & Rubin, 1995). As participants self-
selected for this study, I would assume they were willing to engage with,
and talk about, their emotions. To keep research conservations boundaried
means keeping clear timelines and focus areas; in this respect the research
conversations within OI are more like ‘episodic interviews’, (Murray, 2003:
103).
My study integrated ‘resonance’ meetings with participants to enable
checks of my initial analysis of our first research conversations. This pro-
vided an opportunity for participants to acknowledge their own lived ex-
periences and perspectives, enabling personal transformation. Participants
could determine if their own narratives of lived experience still resonated
with them. These meetings further enabled clarification of participant
experiences that resonated or were dissonant with my own experience of
Oliver’s euthanasia. I also shared selected reflexive, expressive artwork
with participants during resonance meetings and gave each participant a
piece of expressive art to keep. This functioned as a different modality for
communicating empathy and sympathetic resonance.
Anderson (1998) introduces the notion of sympathetic resonance with-
in human science research with an analogy. “If someone plucks a string on
a cello on one side of the room, a string of a cello on the opposite side will
begin to vibrate too. Striking a tuning fork will vibrate another some dis-
tance away,” (Anderson, 1998:73). Sympathetic resonance occurs when like
meets like, e.g. two cellos or two tuning forks vibrating the same note, at
the same pitch and frequency. However, human beings are more complex,
and individual people may not be tuned in the same key. A cello would not
necessarily resonate with a flute! Sympathetic resonance between people
requires something more than plucking a string and receiving the vibration.
What needs to be present is some common ground of correspondence for
empathic resonance between people to be achieved (Anderson, 1998; Curry
& Wells, 2003).
Sympathetic resonance is linked to the trustworthiness of the research
(Anderson, 1998). When findings of an OI investigating human- animal
interaction are presented to other people, they have the potential to gener-
ate sympathetic resonance, whether or not people shared that experience.
In essence, the presentation of the research should enable a connection
emotionally, cognitively, intuitively in others. Through similarly discussing
“lived emotional experience, readers are confronted by the things they
have in common with the author and … are less likely to dismiss the situ-
ations of others as freakish and not their concern,” (Ronai, 1997: 43). This
may be particularly true when investigating human-animal attachments
and bereavement—so often marginalised as trivial or dismissed as merely
sentimental.
To allow sympathetic resonance and empathic attunement, OI meth-
odology requires that the researcher’s methods allow participants to ‘tell
their story.’ Heuristic, intuitive, sequential, and narrative analysis, are ex-
amples of methods employed to date by researchers using OI. Within my
study I integrated voice centred relational analysis (Brown et al. 1987; Brown
& Gilligan, 1992; Mauthner & Doucet, 1997; Lawthom, 2004) constructing
a multi-layered approach to analysis of data:
The first layer of analysis began within research conversa-
tions—essentially, research conversations were a collaborative process
between self and participant, determining which elements of the narrative
were expanded and focused upon. This involved repetitions of discrete
narratives contained in the embracing narrative, paraphrasing and the use
of probing questions.
Meditative listening—this part of analysis focused on intuition,
enabled through preparatory meditation. Meditative listening (Ettling,
1994) to the audio-recorded narrative then allowed me to:
–– Listen for my own emotional reaction to the ‘interview’/research
conservation while in a meditative state
–– Generate a form of creative expression—artwork—to integrate and
conclude the experience; after meditative listening to each of the
initial conversations, I generated an expressive art response to this
experience.
–– Listening for emotional tone of interviewees’ voice and words, and
listening for recurring words and themes
Stream of consciousness writing (post conversation)—this de-
tailed my responses to participants’ narratives, but intuitively writing down
whatever came into my mind without the forced filter of cognition.
The second layer of analysis involved ‘altaring the transcripts,’
(Curry and Wells, 2003). Meditative listening was preparatory to ‘altaring
the transcripts,’ (Curry and Wells, 2003) which is similar to indwelling in
heuristic inquiry, (Moustakas, 1990). It thus bridged the gap between initial
and secondary analysis. Within this study this involved:
–– Lighting candles in sacred remembrance of the animal whose life

and death informed the study and in recognition of the human-
companion animal bond represented in the narrative. Scented can-
dles embodied individuality and symbolised continuing bonds
between caregivers and companion animals in the lingering scent
remaining after the candle had burned out.
–– Verbatim transcription of the audio-recorded narratives.
–– Allowing this experience of the narrative space and time to indwell;
this process may have included time away from the transcript walk-
ing with my own dogs or going horse riding, then returning to the
transcript to attain the gestalt of the experience.
–– ‘Sweeping’ the transcript—this involved removing my questions and
reflections, essentially creating a second separate ‘swept narrative.’
–– Development of a stanza narrative (McCleod and Balamoutsou,
2000)— the swept narrative was then separated into a series of se-
quence poems/stanza narratives, each with titles embracing identi-
fied themes.
The Third layer of analysis employed a voice centred relational

method (Brown et al. 1987; Brown & Gilligan, 1992; Mauthner & Doucet,
1997; Lawthom, 2004). This involved using prepared texts of narratives to
enable different reading:
–– Verbatim transcript (full transcript of the initial conversation)—read
ing 1—which integrated the first layer of meditative listening. Here,
I identified aspects of my own experience within the participant’s
narrative. I used post conversation stream of consciousness writing
to locate my emotional responses and identify how this may have
impacted my interpretation. In response I generated an expressive
art work that enabled greater access to my subconscious processes.
I synthesised my personal responses to participant narratives into a
poetic representation for sharing with the participant during the
resonance conversations. I then identified the plot, characters, sub-
plots, themes, patterns and metaphors that constructed the narra
tive.
–– Swept narrative analysis—reading 2—in this reading I located ways
that participants spoke about inter-personal relationships, including
with companion animal/s and plotted these onto the narrative con-
ceptual map, which formed a basis for collaborative work in reso-
nance meetings. I then listened for ‘contrapuntal voices’ (Gilligan,
Spencer, Weinberg & Bertsch, 2003). These voices may have been in
opposition to each other, contradictory or in harmony. The contra-
puntal voices I listened for were identified through plotting inter-
personal relationships. I located up to three voices in each
participant’s narrative. These were identified in the text using dif-
ferent coloured pens to underline text. Because one statement could
contain many different meanings, it could, therefore, have been un-
derlined several times. With each voice thus represented visually,
dissonance and consonance between voices became clear, and rela-
tionality between these voices then noted.
–– Stanza narrative—reading 3—this located the voice of ‘I’ looking for
how this shifted to ‘we’ or ‘you,’ essentially identifying the multi-
layered voices of the participant. Initial drafting of ‘I’ poems from
this (Debold, 1990), illuminated the emergent concept of responsibil-
ity grief (Dawson, 2007)—caregivers experience direct personal re-
sponsibility for the death of our companion animals by veterinary
euthanasia. The ‘I’ poems were modified with participants during
individual resonance meeting using rules outlined by Gilligan et al.
(2003).
–– Stanza narrative—reading 4—this reading located participants’ nar-
ratives, identifying structural, broader political and cultural contexts
of their experience. This was plotted on the conceptual map, locating
prevalent societal meta-narratives about companion animal caregiv-
ing and euthanasia, if these were identified as being present.
This process of analysis, together with meditative listening (Ettling, 1994)
and ‘altaring of the transcripts,’ used in interpreting the initial research
conversations took between seven to ten days per participant.
The purpose of selecting specific cases was not to generalise across
narratives, but to facilitate deeper analysis of the diversity of lived expe
riences. My own story was presented first and positioned separately,
in line with OI requirements. I chose the remaining four case studies
according to a grounded narrative analysis criterion (Ruth & Oberg,
1996). I identified the ‘most startling case’ from my perspective and a con
trast case. A different researcher may, of course, have chosen different
participant narratives for case study and made different interpretations.
I identified two further distinct cases that showed diversity of experiencing,
under similar circumstances.
It’s a great unknown OI findings involve three essential components:

It’s like you couldn’t individual participant stories, the group story and
Ask someone to sit
transformational change (Clements, 2004: 40). I
In and watch somebody
Else’s dog put to sleep. selected five cases studies (including my own) for
inclusion, although the remaining case studies were
It’s very personal. presented on disc in virtual appendices enabling
transparency of the research process and honouring
You can’t go round
individual contributions. Case studies were pre-
Showing a video
About it, nobody sented as a series of sequence poems (see Figure
Seems to talk about 6.2 Linda’s experience of Sasha’s euthanasia: A
It, it’s a taboo really. Great Unknown ii), different text identified the
contrapuntal voices and illustrated relationality.
We were asked if Accompanying expressive artwork visually mapped
We had seen this
Before, I said I hadn’t,
researcher reflexivity.
But wanted to stay.
I’m crying as she

Explained she would
Shave some of her fur Key to text differences identifying contrapuntal voices
It’s an anaesthetic, but and illustrated relationality:
A Stronger dose that’s 1. powerlessness (not knowing) – non bold, non
What they tell you – italicised
I don’t know, it will be 2. knowing (familiar and intuitive) – bold italics
Quite quick and painless 3. protector (maternal) - italicised, non bold
She’ll just go to sleep. 4. persecutor – italics, underlined
5. needing to be heard, – bold, underlined.
I thought thank God
The vet’s not dallying
Because I’d be changing
My mind; she flinched
With the needle she just
Sort of reared up, she
Looked me in the eyes
I don’t know whether
She was thanking me
Or cursing me?
Figure 6.2. A Great Unknown (ii) (Taken from Dawson, 2007: 227).
The group story was based on conceptual mapping and creative syn
theses (Moustakas, 1990). Conceptual mapping of companion animals’
illness trajectories began during initial analysis, but was completed
collaboratively during resonance conversation. These maps employed
the OI growth metaphor of a tree. Participants used post-it notes or
wrote directly onto the tree to identify personally salient aspects of their
relationship with their animal (located at the tree roots) and then outlined
their experiencing of their animals’ illness trajectory, mapped through the
branches (from lower right to left). The final conceptual map forms a basis
for illness trajectory mapping within euthanasia decision making and is
now applied within continuing care clinics (Dawson, 2007) in veterinary
nursing practice. The emergent concept of responsibility grief (Dawson,
2007) identified within the study as a contradictory dialogical process with
self, was presented both as an exploratory model and creative syntheses in
the form of a work of expressive art (Figure 6.3).
Figure 6.3. Responsibility Grief: A Nightmare/A blessing (Dawson, 2007: 427).

Expressive artwork: interpretive summary
This artwork is composed as a mandala consisting of two overlapping ovals, with an al-
mond shaped space where the two ovals connect. The boundaries are fluid, representing
participants’ fast cycling changes in perspective regarding companion animal euthanasia,
as both a blessing and a nightmare. The darkness represented in black, in the circle on
the left, captures the nightmare of euthanasia, generated by the experiencing of doubt
and guilt within processing personal responsibility for the death of a companion animal.
The light colour of the circle on the right represents the warmth of the blessing of eutha-
nasia, as means of preventing and alleviating suffering. The twenty one individual circles
contained within this work represent each participant in the study. The dotted lines joining
these circles embody the inter-connectedness and co-existing, paradoxical separateness
of individual experiencing of companion animal euthanasia making visible the ‘virtual’
community of grievers, constructed through the process and conduct of the study. This
work symbolizes the interaction and interdependence of participants’ personally construed
opposing emotions and cognitions, which construct the dialectics of responsibility grief.
The overlap space is the liminal place in which the personal transformations of grief
occur.
Participants’ personal transformation was mapped during resonance

meetings and included within individual stanza narratives. My own
personal transformation was presented as a reflexive poem, ‘Academic’
and an expressive artwork revealing my journey as a researcher, emergent
academic, animal welfare professional and companion animal owner.
Integral to this was presenting the study’s findings at professional and
academic conferences and in a wide range of publications. Expressive
artwork and stanza narratives were interwoven within presentation of
findings to increase potential for multi-modal connections personally
and intellectually for different individuals; this can effect transformative
change in others—what Clements (2004:43) terms ‘transformative valid
ity,’ which is personal and not necessarily generalizable or easily repli
cated.
Applications of OI
Within anthrozoology, OI naturally lends itself more to qualitative rather

than quantitative methods because of requirements for researchers to
connect with the sacred and utilise feelings and intuition—although it
could also be used in mixed-method studies with larger samples. OI, how-
ever, seeks to illuminate the personal and identify the relevance in what
may appear initially to be tangential data; thus difference and uniqueness
are of equal importance as shared patterns and seeking to generalise.
OI methodology is best suited to investigating human-animal interac-
tions and relationships where intersubjectivity is central. Used in studies
of therapeutic relationships within animal assisted interventions, it could
yield rich, textured data providing understanding of the processes related
to therapeutic outcomes, e.g. equine assisted psychotherapy, interactions
within assistance animal relationships. OI also has salience in more emo-
tionally sensitive studies such as investigations of human grief reactions
to companion animal bereavement, or relationships between scientists
and animals used within experimentation, zoo keepers and the animals
they care for. OI is not without its limitations though.
Limitations of OI
OI methodology is firmly rooted in established and accepted epistemolo-

gies and methodologies within qualitative research. But as the name of this
methodology itself implies, OI is developing and constantly emergent and
makes demands of researchers including requirements for self-awareness,

spirituality and vulnerability, without solipsism. In seeing all things as
intricately connected and interconnected, a researcher investigating hu-
man-companion animal relationships may run the risk of becoming weight-
ed down and seeing everything as relevant. As Curry and Wells (2003)
emphasise, it is essential that the researcher employs subjectivity as a tool
of knowing,
Knowing can be achieved not only by the mind through analysis and reason-
ing, it can also be gained through intuition, somatic sensation, emotion, and
the elusive function we might call meaningful energetic resonance, (ibid:113).
OI demands that researchers utilise all of their senses and abilities in data
analysis, relying on intangibles such as intuition to guide them to what is
relevant. Data considered to be tangential should still be honoured within
the research process itself, which is construed as a sacred endeavour.
Honouring what may be perceived as tangential data could involve using
participant verbatim words in presenting findings or ensuring access to
original transcriptions, contained in virtual appendices. With this greater
adherence to authenticity there may also come increased exposure of
participants, increasing vulnerability. As data gathering and analysis is
conceptualised as a sacred endeavour, the practice of ritual is integrated
at different stages e.g. in preparation for data gathering, during transcrip-
tion and analysis, as a sacred embodiment. For some researchers not used
to employing the practice of sacred ritual the concept of ‘living the meth-
odology’ and thus of ‘living the sacred’ could pose a major stumbling block,
particularly if issues of spirituality are not integrated into the practice of
their daily living. Indeed this may even exclude a researcher from employ-
ing OI methodology.
One limitation of OI is reliability, precisely because it requires connec-
tion with the sacred and subjective engagement with the data. Clements
(2004) points out that at present Western notions and understandings of
spirituality have been imported into OI, although a researcher should ide-
ally be able to bring their own spiritual paradigm and practice, whatever
that might be. Member-checks are central within OI methodology which
places a premium on equality within research relationships, thus strength-
ening reliability. Similarly, researcher reflexivity further increases trust-
worthiness and transparency within the research process.
Becoming familiar and comfortable with the practice of projective ex-
pression to enable the subconscious mind to connect with archetypal and
meaningful symbols through entering an altered state of consciousness,
e.g. using meditative practice or engaging in automatic writing may be too

great a challenge for researchers unfamiliar with these practices. “The idea
of the sacred is very subjective and contextual, all depending on who is
making the judgement of when something is or is not, or about what may
or may not be sacred,” (Curry & Wells, 2003:110). The nebulous, elusive and
subjective nature of defining the sacred may lead more sceptical individu-
als to question if it exists at all. But perhaps for anthrozoologists concerned
with investigating human-animal relationships, there already exists an
innate understanding of and connection with the larger reality of which
we are all part.
References
Anderson, R. (1998). Intuitive Inquiry. A Transpersonal Approach. In W. Braud & R.

Anderson (Eds.) Transpersonal Research Methods for The Social Sciences: Honouring
Human Experience (pp. 73). London: Sage
Birke, L. (1995). Exploring the boundaries: Feminism, Animals and Science. In C.J. Adams
& J. Donovan (Eds.) Animals and Women Feminist Theoretical Explorations (pp. 43).
Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press.
Braud, W. & Anderson, R. (1998). Transpersonal Research Methods for the Social Sciences:
Honouring Human Experience. London: Sage.
Brown, L.M. & Gilligan, C. (1992). Meeting at the Crossroads: Women’s psychology and girls’
development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Brown, L.M., Tappan, M.B., Gilligan, C., Miller, B.A. & Argyris, D.E. (1987). Reading for Self
and Moral Voice: A Method for Interpreting Narratives of Real-Life Moral Conflict and
Choice. In M. Packer & R. Addison (Eds.), Interpretive Investigations; Contributions to
Psychological Research. Binghamton, NY: SUNY Press
Carmack, B.J. (2003). Grieving the Death of a Pet. Augsburg Fortress: Minneapolis.
Christ, C.P. (1997). Rebirth of the Goddess: Finding Meaning in Feminist Spirituality. New
York: Routledge.
Clements, J. (2004). Organic Inquiry: Toward Research in Partnership with Spirit. The Jour-
nal of Transpersonal Psychology. 36(1), 26–49.
Clements, J. (2001). Organic Inquiry: Researching in Partnership with Spirit. Unpublished
Manuscript.
Clements, J. (2000). Organic Inquiry: Theory. Unpublished Manuscript.
Clements, J., Ettling, D., Jennet, D., & Shields, L. (1999). If Research were scacred. Draft
Manuscript.
Clements, J., Ettling, D., Jenett, D., & Shields, L. (1998). Organic Inquiry. In W. Braud &
R. Anderson (Eds.) Transpersonal Research Methods for the Social Sciences: Honouring
Human Experience.London: Sage.
Cohen, S.P. (2002). Can pets function as family members? Western Journal of Nursing Re-
search, 26(6), 621–638.
Curry, D. & Wells, S.J. (2003). An Organic Inquiry Primer for the Novice Researcher. Seattle:
Liminal Realities.
Curry, D. & Wells, S. (2005). Healing Presence: Bodily Felt Experiencing of Transpersonal
Connection in Naturopathic and Non-Clinical Settings. Seattle: Liminal Realities.
Dawson, S.E. (2007). Companion Animal Euthanasia: the lived paradox of the human-com-
panion animal bond. Doctoral Thesis. Manchester Metropolitan University, School of
Psychology, Health and Social Care: Manchester.
Debold, E. (1990). Learning in the First Person: A Passion Know. Paper presented at the
Laurel-Harvard conference on the psychology of women and the development of girls,
Cleveland, OH.
Etherington, K. (2004). Becoming a Reflexive Researcher—Using Ourselves in Research.
London: Jessica Kingsley.
Ettling, D. (1994). A Phenomenological Study of the Creative Arts as a Pathway to Embodiment
in the Personal Transformation Process of Nine Women. Unpublished doctoral disserta-
tion, Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, Palo Alto, CA.
Gendlin, E.T. (1997). Experiencing the creation of meaning: A philosophical and Psychological
Approach to the Subjective. Evanston, IL. Northwestern University Press.
Gilligan, C, Spencer, R., Weinberg, M.K. & Bertsch, T.(2003). On the Listening Guide: A Voice
Centred Relational Method. In P.M. Camic, J.E. Rhodes & L. Yardley (Eds.) Qualitative
Research in Psychology: Expanding Perspectives in Methodology and Design. Washington
DC: American Psychological Association.
Grey, R. (2006). Coping with Pet Loss. London: Sheldon Press.
Harris, J.M. (1984). Understanding animal grief and euthanasia.’ In R.K. Anderson, B.L. Hart
& L.A. Hart (Eds.) The Pet Connection: It’s Influence on Our Health and Quality of Life
(pp. 283–290). Proceedings of the Minnesota-California Conferences on the Human
Animal Bond. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota.
Hubbard, R. (1990). The Politics of Women’s Biology. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers Univer-
sity Press.
Katcher, A.H., & Rosenberg, M.A. (1979). Euthanasia and the management of the client’s
grief. Compendium on Continuing Education, 1, 887–890.
Keller, E.F. (1992). Secrets of Life, Secrets of Death: Essays on Language, Gender, and Science.
New York: Routledge.
Keller, E.F. (1985). Reflections on Gender and Science. New Haven, CN: Yale University
Press.
Kvale, S. (1996). Interviews: An Introduction to Qualitative Research Interviewing. London:
Sage Publications.
Lagoni, L., Morehead, D., Brannan, J., and Butler, C. (2001). Guidelines for Bond Centred
Practice. Fort Collins, Colorado: Argus Institute, Colorado State University.
Lagoni, L., Butler, C. & Hetts, S. (1994). The Human –Animal Bond and Grief, Philadelphia:
WB Saunders Company.
Langer, C.L. & Furman, R. (2004). Exploring Identity and Assimilation: Research and Inter-
pretive Poems. Forum Qualitative Social Research. 5 (2), article 5. May, 2004. Retrieved
20th January 2010, from http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/2-04/2-04/langer-
furman-e.htm
Lawthom, R. (2004). In. Goodley, D., Lawthom, R., Clough, P. and Moore, M. Researching
Life Stories: Method, Theory and Analysis in a Biographical Age. London: Routledge-
Falmer.
McLeod, J. & Balamoutsou, S. (2000). A Method for Qualitative Narrative Analysis of Psy-
chotherapy Transcripts. In J. Frommer & D.L. Rennie (Eds.). Qualitative Psychotherapy
Research, Methods and Methodology. Berlin: Pabst.
Mauthner, N. & Doucet, A. (1998). Reflections on a Voice Centred Relational Method. In.
J. Ribbens & R. Edwards (Eds. Feminist Dilemmas in Qualitative Research: Public Knowl-
edge and Private Lives (pp. 119–146). Newbury Park, CA: Sage.
Moustakas, C. (1990). Heuristic Research, Design, Methodology and Applications. London:
Sage.
Murray, M. (2003). Narrative Psychology and Narrative Analysis. In. P.M. Camic, J.E. Rhodes
& L. Yardley (Eds.) Qualitative Research in Psychology: Expanding Perspectives in Meth-
odology and Design (pp. 103). American Psychological Association.
Naess, A. (1973). The Shallow and the Deep, Long Range Ecology Movement. A Summary
Inquiry, 16: 95–100.
Namenwirth, M. (1989). Science Seen Through a Feminist Prism. In. R. Bleier (Ed.) Feminist
Approaches to Science (pp. 29). New York: Pergamon Press.
Neilsen, J.M. (1990). Feminist Research Methods. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Plaskow, J. & Christ, C.P. (1989). Weaving the Visions: New Patters in Feminist Spirituality.
San Francisco: Harper Collins.
Richardson, L. (1994). Writing a Method of Inquiry. In. N., Denzin & Y. Lincoln, (Eds.).
Handbook of Qualitative Research (pp. 516–552). London: Sage.
Ronai, C.R. (1997). On Loving and Hating my Mentally Retarded Mother. Mental Retardation.
35(6), 43.
Rubin, H., & Rubin, I. (1995). Qualitative interviewing: The art of hearing data. Thousand
Oaks, CA: Sage.
Ruth, J.E. & Oberg, P. (1996). Ways of Life: Old age in a life history perspective. In J.E. Birren,
G.M. Kenyon, J.E. Ruth, J.J.F. Schroots, & T. Svensson, (Eds.), Aging and Biography: Ex-
plorations in Adult Development (pp. 167–186). New York: Springer.
Serpel, J. (1986). In the Company of Animals: A Study of Human-Animal Relationships.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Stanislav, G. (1985). Beyond the Brain. Albany; State University of New York.
Tarnas, R., Laszlo, E., Gablik, S. & Perez-Christi, A. (2001). The Cosmic World: How We
Participate in Thee, Thou and Us. ReVision: a Journal of Consciousness and Transforma-
tion, 23(3), 42–48.
Walsh, R. (1990). The Spirit of Shamanism. New York: Jeremy Tarcher/Putnam.
Willis, P., Smith, R. & Collins, E. (2000). Being, Seeking, Telling: Expressive Approaches to
Qualitative Adult Education Research. Flaxton, Queensland: Post Pressed.
Human-enculturated apes 139
CHAPTER SEVEN
Human-enculturated apes:
towards a new synthesis of philosophy and
comparative psychology
Pär Segerdahl1
Introduction
This chapter is a philosophical discussion about the unexpected psycho-

logical developments that occur in apes when they grow up with meaning-
ful others, who happen to be humans. Comparative psychology makes
cross-species comparisons; yet if ape minds are not constant but change
significantly in ape-human relationships, then the dynamics of the cross-
species relationship ought to be studied closely in order not to make psy-
chological comparisons artificially static. The apes in such rearing studies
are raised basically as young human test subjects: they have their own
everyday lives ‘at home,’ apart from the controlled experimental conditions
of lab work. The psychological changes these apes undergo occur primar-
ily in their home, in vivo, not in the lab. Understanding the significance of
creating not only a lab for the apes, but also a home where ape-human
relationships flourish, requires a novel methodology that combines non-
traditional philosophical reflection with a practical approach where re-
searchers function not only as experimenters, but also, and more
primarily, as parents and friends of apes whose participation in studies is
politely negotiated. Comparative psychology needs to reconsider its phil-
osophical inheritance: it needs a new philosophical psychology that locates
mind in the midst of the circumstances of life; circumstances that often
involve cross-species relationships.
Doing science on an ancient philosophical problem
Comparative psychology has taken over an age-old philosophical concern:

defining what distinguishes humans from nonhuman animals. The modern,
1 Centre for Gender Research, Uppsala University.

140 Pär Segerdahl
scientific approach differs from the ancient philosophical one in that it

uses experimental techniques and a perspective from evolutionary biol-
ogy. Yet, there is an important similarity. Comparative psychologists follow
traditional philosophers such as Aristotle and Descartes in taking for grant-
ed that there must be a unique distinguishing trait of all humans having to
do with our intellect. This human essence, for example, rationality, is as-
sumed to function as mental cause of distinctively human ways of being:
as the spark of our humanity. Descartes observed that animals and ma-
chines are predisposed to function only in unique conditions, while humans
continually find new activities in ‘all the occurrences of life.’ There must,
he reasoned, be a cause of our human ability to creatively expand our pres-
ence in the world. For Descartes, this cause was human mind and the
faculty of reason.
In a similar vein, comparative psychologists, such as Michael Tomasello
and Daniel Povinelli, start their inquiries noting striking differences be-
tween human and nonhuman animals.2 Here is how a recent contribution
to the field is introduced:
Human animals—and no other—build fires and wheels, diagnose each
other’s illnesses, communicate using symbols, navigate with maps, risk their
lives for ideals, collaborate with each other, explain the world in terms of
hypothetical causes, punish strangers for breaking rules, imagine impossible
scenarios, and teach each other how to do all the above. (Penn, Holyoak &
Povinelli 2008: 109)
The next step is to suggest that these notable differences have some hidden
mental cause, as yet unidentified. All we can state with certainty is: “human
minds are qualitatively different from those of every other animal on the
planet” (Penn et al. 2008: 109). The aim of designing laboratory tests with
chimpanzees and human children is to tease out this invisible mental dif-
ference that explains observed differences. In the article just quoted, the
hidden difference is suggested to consist in “our species’ unique ability to
approximate the higher-order relational capacities of a physical symbol
system” (Penn et al. 2008: 111). The spirit has become more technical and
impersonal than in philosophy: where philosophers traditionally saw grand
2 For a straightforward example, see Tomasello (1999: 1–12). In Tomasello (2006),

pointing is used as a uniquely human communicative ability that more easily than language
guides researchers towards the distinctive features of the human mind. Povinelli (e.g., 2000)
often introduces his publications with popular images of apes as being “almost human.”
He thereafter contrasts these images with his own more disappointing experiences of apes
in psychological laboratories. These experiences then set the tone of the investigations.
ideals like reason as a trait of the human mind, comparative psychologists

associate human mind with semi-technical constructions. Moreover, the
demand has been added that the discussion must proceed on the basis of
empirical evidence from the laboratory. Still, the overall intellectual frame-
work is the same as in the philosophical tradition: find the underlying
mental difference between humans and nonhumans that explains unique-
ly human ways of being.
“Philosophical” and “scientific” evidence
An obvious implication of presupposing that observable traits in human

and nonhuman conduct must have mental causes is that how creatures
broadly live—their ‘forms of life,’ to speak with Wittgenstein (1953)—is
secondary, since these patterns of life are produced by the architecture of
their qualitatively different minds. Other causes are assumed to contribute
too, of course, such as how skeleton and muscles are constructed, but that
does not alter the overall picture. Ways of life are caused; mental architecture
is what causes (in conjunction with more palpable mechanisms).
What comparative psychology adds to the age-old discussion, it would
seem, is a distinction between two types of evidence. Let us call these
‘philosophical’ versus ‘scientific’ evidence. Philosophical evidence is how
living creatures more or less casually can be observed to live: their ways of
life. These observations, which call for explanations in terms of mental
causes, are thought to provide circumstantial evidence. It is evidence of
this type that philosophers always used as a basis for their speculations
(recall Descartes’ observations about animals, machines and humans). To
find hard scientific evidence that finally will allow us to discard or vindicate
detailed explanatory hypotheses about mental architecture we need to
design laboratory tests that tease out the hidden mechanisms of human
and nonhuman minds. Science would thus take over the baton from phi-
losophy and run with it over the finishing line.
This notion of philosophical and scientific evidence, however, overlooks
one of the most relevant animals to consider in comparative psychology:
human-enculturated apes. These apes change psychologically in significant
ways by being raised with humans. In the most interesting cases, they learn
things that nonhumans are supposed not to be able to do, such as com-
municating in language, pointing declaratively, manufacturing and using
their own stone tools, understanding what another believes is the case,
142 Pär Segerdahl
etc.3 After 2.500 years of speculation, they transform the philosophical

evidence and challenge philosophy and comparative psychology in the
same breath. They urge us to pause and consider the philosophical evidence
more closely:
The aspects of things that are most important for us are hidden because of
their simplicity and familiarity. (One is unable to notice something—because
it is always before one’s eyes). (Wittgenstein 1953: 129)
I am quoting Wittgenstein because he helps me identify how enculturated
apes challenge ‘the evidence.’ Since these apes are psychologically trans-
formed by their everyday relations with humans, it appears that ways of
living and forming relationships with each other have psychological sig-
nificance and consequences, and should not be treated merely as circum-
stantial evidence of hidden mental architecture.
Comparative psychology may have taken over the baton from tradi-
tional philosophy, but as the quote from Wittgenstein shows: philosophy
is no longer necessarily ‘traditional.’ At least one significant philosopher
has questioned the notion of more basic ‘mental causes’ behind the forms
of everyday life. Comparative psychology may run with a philosophically
outdated baton!
How does an ape become human-enculturated?
What does it mean to enculturate an ape, for instance, in ape language

research? There is an almost ineradicable prejudice that enculturating an
ape means training, compelling apes to learn from humans; as if young apes
could not respond spontaneously to human contacts in ways comparable
to children’s responses to their immediate (and not always purely human)
environment.4 Perhaps it is because we almost instinctively view what is
human as alien to what is animal: there is nothing in apes, we think, that
can support a spontaneous development of language. Thus, if apes are to
3 For data on language comprehension, see Savage-Rumbaugh et al. (1993); for data on
apes’ ability to participate in conversational exchanges, see Pedersen & Fields (2009); for
data on pointing, see Pedersen, Segerdahl & Fields (2011); for data on stone tool manufacture,
see Tooth et al. (1993) and Toth, Schick & Semaw (2003). Apes’ understanding of other’s
mental states is discussed later in this chapter, with regard to an experiment featured in
the documentary, Kanzi II.
4 The scientists Winthrop N. Kellogg & Luella A. Kellogg co-reared a chimpanzee, Gua,
with their own son, Donald (Kellogg & Kellogg 1933). Not only the ape was affected by this
unique rearing, however, so was the human child. When Donald began to make chimpanzee
vocalizations, the Kelloggs ended the experiment.
learn human language, this alien trait must be imposed from the outside
through a kind of colonizing technique; special training. Thinking along
these lines, the human-enculturated apes might seem imprisoned not only
in their cages, but also in our language. Ape language research would pro-
duce a kind of ‘double captivity’, both physical and mental.
These attitudes to what is human and what is animal are so tenacious
that most ape language researchers actually did train the apes they worked
with!5 They did not trust that the apes eventually would start talking with
them of their own accord, so they designed demanding training procedures.
A famous example is the experimental psychologist, Herb Terrace, who
tried to teach a young chimpanzee, Nim Chimpsky, American Sign Language
(Terrace 1979). Although Terrace noted the spontaneous bodily commu-
nication between the young chimpanzee and the humans engaged in the
project, he did not trust that this ape/human interface could change over
time and gradually incorporate words. He did not trust that Nim could
acquire forms of human language in his capacity as chimpanzee:
Indeed, given the mutual sensitivities of humans and chimpanzees and the
many similar ways in which they express themselves, it often seems surpris-
ing that special training is needed to teach a chimpanzee to communicate
via a natural language. (Terrace 1979: 85)
Terrace’s surprise that special training is needed might have been more
feigned than real, because he never trusted Nim to learn in any other way,
as demonstrated by the fact that he did not try any other approach. Early
on in the project, he decided to use a bare and small classroom where 60
teachers alternated trying to make Nim form linguistic signs with his hands.
Nim, of course, became one of the human-enculturated apes. However,
although he was psychologically affected by his contacts with humans, he
is also a product of our prejudices about what is human and what is animal,
since he was trained. He is not one of the apes I primarily had in mind chal-
lenging the philosophical evidence. So, what do I mean by human-encul-
turated apes who are not shaped by our prejudices about them?
In the early 1980s another ape language researcher, Sue Savage-
Rumbaugh, was training a wild-caught adult bonobo, Matata, to use
so-called lexigrams: abstract word symbols on a keyboard, enabling
5 Some landmarks in ape language research are Hayes and Hayes (1951); Gardner and
Gardner (1969); Premack (1971); Rumbaugh (1977); Terrace (1979); Savage-Rumbaugh (1986);
Savage-Rumbaugh et al. (1993). I argue in this chapter that Savage-Rumbaugh’s work departs
from most ape language research in that it more and more consistently avoids the temptation
to train the apes.
144 Pär Segerdahl
computer registration of the symbols the ape pointed to.6 While Sue, un-
successfully, was training her, Matata’s adopted son, Kanzi, was playing
around them. No attempts were made to teach Kanzi lexigrams. He was
considered too young to sit still and participate in a training program, and
sure enough, he constantly interfered with Matata’s training. However, one
day when Matata temporarily was taken away for breeding purposes, to
everyone’s surprise, young Kanzi approached the keyboard and, on his own
initiative, produced 120 utterances using twelve different symbols (banana,
juice, raisin, peanuts, chase, bite, tickle, orange, outdoors, swing, cherry,
sweet potato, and ball). It was not evident what was happening—was he
really talking?—but when Kanzi pointed CHASE and ran away with a
tantalizing look on his face, it changed Sue’s stance towards him, and to
the enculturation of apes.
Kanzi’s look when he pointed CHASE was the look of a playful child.
Without being specially trained, he seemed to have become someone who
could face another and say: chase me. Sue responded as one does to a young
talking being: by talking with Kanzi while doing what they were talking
about. Rather than interfering with the enculturation process, Kanzi’s
playfulness became a component of an always activated ape/human inter-
face, allowing his enculturation to occur as human children are encultur-
ated: boundlessly, day and night, and not only during specific training
sessions.
Instead of using monotonous techniques motivated by behaviourist
ideas about learning, or by linguistic theories of language, Sue became
personally present in Kanzi’s life. A relationship developed where she
exposed him to what being a speaking creature is about. Simultaneously,
she adapted to Kanzi, not least by beginning to use the 55-acre forest sur-
rounding the laboratory. A number of shelters were built where they could
stop, eat and play. Each place was given an English name, such as “Lookout
Point,” and a corresponding lexigram on a portable keyboard. Different
kinds of food were dispersed at the prepared sites and days were spent
travelling in the forest, talking about where to go, what to eat, or, perhaps,
the snakes or dogs that surprised them among the trees. In forest surround-
ings, the ape/human interface was not rigid but changed over the years,
and word usages emerged among the trees.
6 For more detailed accounts and discussions of this event in ape language research,
see Savage-Rumbaugh et al. (1993); Savage-Rumbaugh & Lewin (1994); Savage-Rumbaugh,
Shanker & Taylor (1998); Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-Rumbaugh (2005).
For Matata or Nim, an excursion into a forest would have been a tem-
porary relaxation from the scheduled ‘enculturation’ process (as when a
student is allowed to take a break). For Kanzi, going to Lookout Point was
how he was enculturated to learn the name of this place. Kanzi developed
language in the same manner as a child who is in the process of becoming
a speaker for the first time (rather than learning another language to speak).
If the process of becoming a speaker for the first time is interwoven with
the forms of life in which language has its diversified uses, then a young ape
cannot become a speaking being through specific symbol training in class-
room confinement. The ape must be initiated into an entire way of living
where one can ask, casually, ‘Do you want to go to Lookout Point today?’,
and answer, ‘eee’; a high-pitched sound that Kanzi uses as an affirmation.7
First-language acquisition is enculturation (Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-
Rumbaugh 2005).
By a human-enculturated ape, then, I do not primarily mean an ape who
was trained by psychologists. I mean an ape who changed spontaneously,
relating to a human who functioned meaningfully as the ape’s ‘parent’ (or
primary caregiver).8 When Sue trained Matata, she acted as professional
experimentalist. When young Kanzi pointed CHASE and looked at her with
the expression of someone who speaks, he teased out the human behind
her professional function as experimenter. Kanzi thus contributed signifi-
cantly to Savage-Rumbaugh’s approach to the enculturation of apes, since
his way of addressing her called her back to the real-life dramas of language
and culture, from a temporary excursion to experimental psychology and
linguistic theory. As a result of this Kanzi-initiated approach, he developed
comprehension of spoken English corresponding to that of a 2½-year old
child (see Savage-Rumbaugh et al. 1993). In practice, this means that if you
are with Kanzi in the kitchen, you can collaborate with him as you would
with a human child: ‘Could you wash the potato ... with the water, you need
to wash it in the water ... that’s very good’; ‘Put some water in the pan for
our noodles ... more water’; ‘Stir it up, please’; ‘Kanzi, could you turn the
water off, please.’9
What traditionally would have been treated as ‘evidence’—Sue’s human
forms of life—was in practice no mere evidence. Kanzi related to Sue’s
human ways as to what life basically is about. Just as children develop by
7 For data on Kanzi’s use of his voice in communication with humans, see Taglialatela,
Savage-Rumbaugh, & Baker (2003).
8 See Fields, Segerdahl & Savage-Rumbaugh (2007: 166).
9 These examples are from the documentary Kanzi I.
146 Pär Segerdahl
relating to ‘the evidence’ of their cultural environment, Kanzi’s relationship

with Sue put him on a humanlike developmental track. Since what is self-
evident in human children becomes more noticeable when it surprises us
in hairy bonobos, these culturally bi-species apes help us see ‘the aspects
of things that are most important for us’; those aspects of life that
Wittgenstein said normally ‘are hidden because of their simplicity and
familiarity.’ They help us notice significant connections in the forms of
daily life that are out of focus when we look for big hidden causes behind
what our intellectual lens system represents as foggy circumstantial evi-
dence. It is thus that human-enculturated apes, such as Kanzi, challenge
traditional philosophy and its scientific continuation in comparative psy-
chology. They urge us to take a closer look at ‘the philosophical evidence’
and they help us to see how mind is interwoven with the circumstances of
daily life.
Let us return to the ‘double captivity’ that may appear to be a product
of ape language research. Nim shows how the power relation between
researcher and laboratory animal easily makes these animals susceptible
to our preconceptions about them, and about us. In the tiny classroom,
Nim was imprisoned in our ideas about language. But this imprisonment
prevented him from learning to speak. It prevented him from being exposed
to what genuinely is language. Young Kanzi had to surprise Sue in order
not to become another product of human presumptions. Although Savage-
Rumbaugh worked to teach apes language, she had not expected that an
ape of his own accord would begin to talk to her. Ever since the day Kanzi
looked at her and asked to be chased, she cultivates this personal ape/hu-
man relation, in a continual fight against the fact that Kanzi also is captive.
Captivity is an obstacle to language acquisition. To succeed in ape lan-
guage research, you must negotiate the fact that the apes are captive, and
that negotiation involves bracketing your professional function as a re-
searcher. Savage-Rumbaugh turned the lab, as much as possible, into a
meaningful home. Instead of making Kanzi ‘doubly captive’ in cage and
language, she created ‘Home/Lab duality’ for Kanzi and for herself.10
Home/Lab duality
Jerome Bruner once remarked that “you could only study language acqui-
sition at home, in vivo, not in the lab, in vitro” (Bruner 1983: 9). What he
10 Their current home is the Great Ape Trust of Iowa in Des Moines. See
www.greatapetrust.org.
meant, I take it, is that you may enrol children as test subjects in the labo-
ratory and study their developing language skills from various perspectives,
but the lab is not, and cannot be, the place where they originally acquire
the tested skills. Language acquisition must occur at home, where ‘home’
is not the private sphere of an idealized family, but the place where the
child meaningfully is exposed to human ways of life. We might call this
home, ‘human culture.’11 It is as doubtful if Nim acquired language as it is
questionable if his life as a test subject displays what I call ‘Home/Lab
duality’ (see Fields 2007). In the classroom, Nim was gratified for repeating
the signs his teacher already used. When later tested, in essentially the
same situation sitting opposite his teacher, he continued to repeat the signs
the teacher used, and consequently failed to pass the test, since echoing
what another says hardly is talking (Terrace et al. 1979).
Kanzi and his younger half-sister, Panbanisha, have been thoroughly
tested over the years, but in their case, how they developed language is
distinct from how they are tested in the lab (Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-
Rumbaugh 2005). These bonobos developed language in the kitchen, in
the forest, in the car, in Sue’s home: in everyday activities going on all the
time in their cross-species relations with humans.12 This means that when
Kanzi and Panbanisha enter the laboratory as test subjects, the experi-
menter can talk with them as familiarly as with a young human test subject.
Experiments are preceded by negotiations where Kanzi and Panbanisha
politely are asked if they want to work, and usually there are long discus-
sions about what they shall eat while at work. During the tests they are
repeatedly reminded of rules that must be obeyed. In the TV-documentary
Kanzi I, for example, Kanzi participates in a word comprehension task. He
sits on a chair before a table on which several photos are placed. Sue stands
11 Human culture, of course, exists in a variety of forms. Although these forms differ,
they are not unrelated but can be seen as variations of broader cultural themes: apparently
trivial aspects of human life that we might not notice until they surprise us in nonhumans
(see Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-Rumbaugh 2005: 195).
12 William Fields and Sue Savage-Rumbaugh suggest that we need to think about human-
enculturated apes in terms of a bi-species culture, a Pan/Homo culture (Savage-Rumbaugh,
Fields & Taglialatela 2000; 2001). The idea of such culture resembles Donna Haraway’s (1991;
2008) notion of naturecultures in that it transcends nature/culture dichotomies. But the
notion of a Pan/Homo culture not only amalgamates nature and culture, animal and human.
It also amalgamates two kinds of culture: bonobo rainforest culture (through wild-caught
Matata) and modern human culture. It epitomizes how animals are shaped by cultural
forces that sometimes act between species (Fields et al. 2007; Savage-Rumbaugh et al. 2005).
For more vivid presentations of “the Pan/Homo culture,” see the documentaries Kanzi I,
Kanzi II, and Bonobo People.
148 Pär Segerdahl
behind Kanzi, invisible to him, and asks him to see if he can find ‘the picture
of mushrooms,’ or ‘the picture of Panbanisha,’ or ‘the picture of keys’ etc.
In one instance, when Kanzi turns round to give Sue a photo, he remains
in a position where she is visible to him and might unintentionally cue
him. She therefore says, ‘Can you turn back around’: Kanzi immediately
turns towards the table and awaits next task. It happens so naturally that
one scarcely notices it.
This incidence allows us to glimpse Kanzi’s and Sue’s more familiar
relation ‘at home.’ Kanzi is not a laboratory animal specifically trained by
an experimenter to hand over photos in response to hearing ‘keys’,
‘Panbanisha,’ or ‘mushrooms.’ The skills he draws on when he takes the
test developed outside the test activity, in forms of life where Sue func-
tioned more like a parent than like an experimenter, and where Kanzi
could beg, KEY, KEY, in order to be let out of a locked room.13 When Sue
says, ‘Can you turn back around,’ as an adult can instruct a child when they
visit the doctor, her speech and Kanzi’s response are not properly part of
the formal test. These conversations belong to the informal home frame-
work in which Kanzi is brought into the test situation and functions there.
Linguistic tests such as this are attempts to produce scientific evidence,
for instance, that the apes understand abstract linguistic symbols, or com-
prehend novel sentences exhibiting recursivity.14 At the same time, the
ape/human conversations that go on in parallel seem strikingly more lin-
guistic than the test tasks! Do the tests really ‘tease out’ the underlying
mental characteristics of Kanzi’s language comprehension (i.e., abstract-
ness, recursivity), or is Kanzi’s language more evident in his ongoing con-
versations with Sue—in other words, in what traditionally was treated as
philosophical evidence? I suggest that comparative psychology often runs
too quickly from what is treated as circumstantial philosophical evidence
to the alleged hard scientific evidence; too quickly from what we recognize
as language to a technical definition.15
13 See the documentary, Kanzi I; see also Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-Rumbaugh (2005:
59) for a description of the filmed event that I have in mind.
14 Recursivity is often viewed as the most distinctive feature of language, within reach
only of the human mind (see, e.g., Hauser, Chomsky & Fitch 2002). What many ape language
sceptics want to see clearly demonstrated in the lab, therefore, is recursivity. For an attempt
to produce such evidence with Kanzi, see Savage-Rumbaugh et al. (1993), and the video
documentary Bonobo People.
15 In the book, Kanzi’s Primal Language (Palgrave, 2005), this point is argued and
exemplified in detail.
Doing psychological research with human-enculturated apes implies

that Home/Lab duality characterizes also the human. A significant feature
of Sue Savage-Rumbaugh’s work is how she balances sharing her life with
apes against acting as an experimenter who conducts controlled experi-
ments where her ape-family members function as test subjects. This once
again relates to the power relation typically existing between researcher
and laboratory animal. Researchers habitually relate to lab animals main-
ly in their professional functions (personal responses to the animals tend to
be sentimental and without significant consequences). When Kanzi broke
into Sue’s life as a fellow-creature, he made her bracket this power relation
with its professional/sentimental stance to the animal. It was thus that
Kanzi became meaningfully exposed to the patterns of human life and
transformed in response to them.
I mentioned that Kanzi and Panbanisha often are tested according to
formal laboratory procedures, meant to produce scientific evidence. In
contrast to their rearing at home, these procedures are planned in great
detail, on the basis of theoretically elaborated notions of language, mind
and behaviour, in order to convince science that the bonobos have language
and other capacities ‘in the proper sense.’ Such experimental procedures
are thus susceptible to human prejudices as much as was poor Nim! Let us
look at such a test, and how the ape’s remarkable behaviour in it simulta-
neously casts doubt on the theoretical framework of the test.
Theory of mind
When the Japanese TV-company NHK was making their second documen-
tary about Savage-Rumbaugh’s work with enculturated bonobos, they
wanted to film a test of what is called ‘theory of mind’ (abbreviated, ToM).
The concept was defined by psychologists Premack and Woodruff (1978)
as a cognitive ability to interpret behaviour in terms of invisible mental
states. The concept thus presupposes the notion of mind as hidden mental
cause that in various forms runs through much philosophy and is taken
over by comparative psychology. The question that Premack and Woodruff
asked, from this dualistic perspective, was if apes can reason about invis-
ible mental states, or just about observable behaviour. The test with
Panbanisha has been broadcast in several countries, in the documentary
Kanzi II. This is roughly what the viewer can see. The test engages three
participants:
150 Pär Segerdahl
Sue: Experimenter
Liz: Co-experimenter
Panbanisha: Test subject
At first all three sit together on the floor. Sue picks up a bag of M&Ms and
handles it for a while so that everyone sees it. Then all three collaborate
putting the bag in a red plastic box and then sealing the lid. When this has
been accomplished, Liz leaves the room. While she is gone, Sue whispers
to Panbanisha that they are going to trick Liz by putting pine needles in
the box instead. She asks Panbanisha to get her the pine needles, which
Panbanisha does (they are on a table behind Panbanisha). They then ex-
change the M&Ms against the pine needles and reseal the box. After a
while, Liz returns and starts opening the box. While she is struggling with
the lid, Sue asks Panbanisha: ‘What does Liz want?’ Panbanisha answers
by pointing, ‘M&M,’ on the portable keyboard. That is roughly the ToM-test.
What does Panbanisha’s answer reveal about her understanding of Liz’s
mental state? Panbanisha helped exchanging the content of the red box
and knows that it contains pine needles. Why does she answer the question
what Liz wants by pointing to the M&M lexigram? A reasonable answer is
that Panbanisha understands that Liz erroneously believes that the box
contains M&Ms. But although it is reasonable that Panbanisha thus pass-
es the ToM-test, there are alternative interpretations. She may have point-
ed M&M simply because she felt like having sweets herself. Or perhaps
Panbanisha believes that Liz wants M&Ms—who does not?—but finds it
strange that Liz takes such interest in a box of pine needles (which would,
however, be reasoning about Liz’s mental states). Can we exclude these
interpretations?
We now turn to the truly interesting aspect of the test: its roots in the
ape/human culture from which Panbanisha enters the test and acts in it.
The test is performed in what is not only a lab, but also a culture full of life:
in a home. A component of Panbanisha’s coexistence with humans is joint
walks in the forest between shelters. Often, these shelters are prepared
with food, but just as often one packs a cool bag and carries it out into the
forest. A way of stimulating the apes’ language is discussing with them what
they want to pack for the excursion. The apes, of course, choose their
favourites—M&Ms, for example—and keep track of what is in the bag.16
16 In the documentary, Kanzi I, Kanzi is having a telephone conversation with a

caregiver. She tells him that she is coming to see him later during the day, and asks what
he wants her to bring in her backpack. Kanzi answers by pointing to a computerized
If someone pinches a favourite so that it is missing when the bag is opened,

this is a noticeable event and the perpetrator risks being punished. The
filmed ToM-test is thus, for Panbanisha, a variation on a well-known cul-
tural theme: the joint activity of packing and unpacking favourite foodstuffs.
The filmed test has further cultural dimensions. The co-experimenter
who is being tricked is not anonymous for Panbanisha. Liz helped raising
Panbanisha and is her closest human friend. The two of them have often
sat in the forest sharing food they packed together. When Liz enters the
room and starts opening the box, which contains pine needles, Panbanisha
does something I have not yet mentioned. She throws herself backwards
on the floor and pulls a blanket over herself, as if she found the situation
unbearably embarrassing. When Sue asks Panbanisha to come forth from
the blanket, she starts studying Liz’s attempts to open to box with clearly
troubled expression. She seems more distressed about the situation than
hungry for candy. It is at this exact moment, when Panbanisha distress-
fully watches Liz’s attempts to open the box with pine needles, that Sue
asks what Liz wants, and Panbanisha answers, M&Ms.
On the basis of my first, culturally lean description of the test one might
get the opinion that Panbanisha probably understands in what mental state
Liz is opening the box. But if you know their background and relationship
‘at home,’ you cannot but laugh compassionately when you see Panbanisha
pull the blanket over herself, and feel sorry for her having to fool her friend
Liz. To the initiated observer, Panbanisha strikingly passes the test—but
she passes it within shared forms of life that question the schematic mind/
behaviour dualism that originally motivated the test.
A new synthesis of philosophy and experimental work
Although the judgement that Panbanisha passes the ToM-test is striking,

it is not infallible. When we now approach the concluding discussion, I
want to free myself of any dependence on the truth of this particular judge-
ment. So let us assume that all attempts to repeat the experiment with
Panbanisha fails. She never again seems to hide from an embarrassing
situation, or looks distressful, or answers, M&M. We conclude that we
over-interpreted the test. Panbanisha pulled the blanket over herself,
keyboard that gives voice to the lexigrams he points to. When the caregiver comes to see
Kanzi, she asks him if he remembers what she promised to bring. Kanzi points to the three
items he asked for and the caregiver hands them over to him (a food surprise, M&Ms, and
a ball).
152 Pär Segerdahl
looked distressed, and pointed M&M, for other reasons than those we as-
sumed. Perhaps a series of lucky coincidences produced a situation that
appeared like a case of psychological understanding.
Yet, even in this reasoning to free ourselves of the judgement that
Panbanisha passes the test, we reaffirm what the experiment with
Panbanisha first brought to our attention. Psychological judgements are
not abstract hypotheses about a separate hidden mental realm. They draw
on responses (such as our own laughter) to subtle and often unpredictable
features of expressive behaviour (such as hiding under a blanket), and they
presuppose cultural dimensions of everyday life (such as friendship and
walks in the forest with jointly packed cool bags). When we disassociate
ourselves from the claim that Panbanisha passes the test, we do it by shat-
tering the subtle connections that her acting helped us notice: we suggest
that these connections appeared coincidentally and thus do not have their
normal psychological significance in this particular case.
Psychological concepts are intertwined with what traditionally was
treated as ‘philosophical evidence,’ with the patterns of human and nonhu-
man lives. This is overlooked when mind is postulated as removed mental
cause of (largely out of focus) evidence. Alluding to Home/Lab duality, we
might say that mind finds itself ‘at home’ in what traditionally was treated
as philosophical evidence. Hastening into the lab to tease out the secrets
of mind by means of ‘scientific evidence’ is, in actual fact, very often a flight
from mind:
The confusion and barrenness of psychology is not to be explained by call-
ing it a ‘young science’; its state is not comparable with that of physics, for
instance, in its beginnings. … For in psychology there are experimental
methods and conceptual confusion. (Wittgenstein 1953: 232)
What should be done about this situation? Should comparative psycholo-
gists avoid experimentation and production of so-called scientific evidence,
and instead philosophize towards greater clarity about what I have called
philosophical evidence? I think we need a new understanding of what it
means to enter the psychology lab; a new synthesis of philosophy and
experimental work, and I believe that the research with enculturated apes
shows the way. After all, this is a gigantic psychological experiment that
turns out to require extensive philosophical reflection to become compre-
hensible.17 The research fits neither into the American behaviourist (and
17 See Savage-Rumbaugh, Shanker & Taylor (1998) and Segerdahl, Fields & Savage-
Rumbaugh (2005) for two book-length attempts to philosophically understand Savage-
Rumbaugh’s work.
subsequent cognitivist) experimental tradition nor into the European

ethologist tradition of studying animals in their natural habitats. It is
something novel.
I invoked the chimpanzee, Nim Chimpsky, to illustrate how power rela-
tions between psychologist and ape easily makes these apes susceptible to
our prejudices about what is human and what is animal. But their suscep-
tibility to our presumptions is also our own susceptibility to the same
presumptions and locking relationships. When Kanzi surprised Sue with
his spontaneous face-to-face communications, he freed her from many
prejudices and helped her towards the dual home/lab approach in psychol-
ogy that I describe here. All subjects of the new approach have a home
where they develop the psychological traits that later are studied in the
lab.18
It hardly is scientifically sound, in my view, to compare human test
subjects, who have such psychologically meaningful home circumstances,
with captive chimpanzees who are not given the opportunity to develop
relevant chimpanzee forms of life, that is to say, homes for chimpanzee
minds and for the skills that are being tested.19 As Kanzi and Panbanisha
demonstrate, such homes, and such minds, can be culturally novel. They
can even be culturally cross-species and flourish elsewhere than in bonobos’
natural habitats. So, rather than the abstract dualisms of ‘causative mind’
versus ‘caused behaviour,’ what we need methodologically when we study
cross-species relationships experimentally is a practical duality of home
and lab, turning comparative psychology into a systematic comparison of
rearing studies in various species.20
Home is the place where living beings become what they are. Thereby,
it is also the home of these beings’ acquired ways of life, such as language.
What we view as significant (language, psychological understanding etc.)
cannot be isolated from its daily circumstances, as if there were a more
essential sphere of ‘primary causes’ (‘in the mind’ etc.). Important causal
18 As I mentioned in an earlier note, this home is baptized “the Pan/Homo culture.”
19 Why conduct experiments to see if chimpanzees who have not been enculturated to
understand communicative pointing understand communicative pointing? They are not
relevantly reared test subjects (Pedersen, Segerdahl & Fields 2011; for an argument that
overlooks this fact, see Tomasello 2006).
20 I do not want to prohibit all talk about mind as causative. Kanzi has many abilities
that bonobos in the rainforest lack (and vice versa), and one may want to say that these
abilities are due to his (or their) unique mind. I only oppose generalizing such situated
explanatory talk about mind into a universal explanatory scheme; into a dichotomy with
primacy over the forms of life that, in actual fact, sustain talk about “mind.”
154 Pär Segerdahl
connections are discovered through lab work, of course, but real causes
are different from the imaginary ones that we have seen are designed pri-
marily to satisfy traditional philosophical aspirations to find ‘underlying
essences.’ This is the big challenge: to liberate lab work from traditional
philosophical aspirations and approach the lab in a new philosophical
spirit.
As a final example to develop my meaning and generalize some of my
points beyond ape language research and comparative psychology, I invoke
Françoise Wemelsfelder’s work in animal welfare research, which strikes
me as related to this discussion. She explores our human judgements of
the behavioural expressions of animals; for example, their curiosity, bold-
ness, frustration or shyness. According to the traditional dualism of mind
versus behaviour, these spontaneous assessments of animals’ expressive
demeanour ought to be highly uncertain guesswork. Responding to this
widespread scepticism, Wemelsfelder (1997) developed persuasive philo-
sophical criticism of the mechanistic notion of animal behaviour presup-
posed in much animal science. She reminded the reader of neglected
aspects of what we commonly mean by ‘behaviour,’ for instance, that be-
haviour does not consist merely of mechanical movements of the animal’s
limbs and joints, but presupposes a ‘behaver’: an agent who behaves. It is
not the legs that walk, Wemelsfelder remarked; it is the cow who walks,
with her legs. Moreover, when whole animals thus are taken into consid-
eration, interacting with their environments, behaviour is not performed
simply as an expressionless series of physical movements. The behaviour
is performed in psychologically characteristic manners: a cow may walk in
relaxed, curious or agitated ways. If one were to separate these expressive
behavioural features out of their circumstances—out of the whole animal’s
interaction with its environment—and treat the features as evidence of
hidden mental states, they would lose their immediate psychological ex-
pressiveness and it would indeed be easy to make anthropomorphic mis-
takes (Wemelsfelder 2007). If thus the scepticism mentioned above feeds
on its own mechanistic notion of behaviour, a qualitative whole-animal
approach might sustain more trustworthy assessments.
These and other eye-opening philosophical reflections motivated nov-
el experimental work by Wemelsfelder and colleagues to demonstrate that
what she calls a ‘whole animal’ perspective can stand up to conventional
scrutiny, if the appropriate philosophical and methodological framework
is used (Wemelsfelder et al. 2000; 2001; Wemelsfelder this volume). In one
of these experiments, pigs were video-filmed individually, in interaction
with a caretaker. Human test subjects watched the video clips and were
asked to deliver their own spontaneously chosen words to describe how
they thought the individual pigs behaved. Psychological words such as
‘interested,’ ‘calm,’ ‘confident,’ ‘curious,’ ‘tense’ and ‘shy’ emerged as descrip-
tions of the pigs. Thereafter, the test subjects watched the video clips again
and were asked to use their previously chosen words to quantitatively score
the intensity of the expressions they perceived (e.g., how shy they found a
pig to be). The generated scores were finally analysed statistically with
methods to calculate agreement between test subjects and identification
of common dimensions of expressiveness behind individual assessments
(Wemelsfelder et al. 2001). In all the studies, performed during more than
a decade, significant agreement between observers was found. Their spon-
taneous judgements did not behave as guesswork in the dark, but as sensi-
tive responses to individual pigs’ expressive behaviour, therefore
potentially useful in qualitative approaches to animal welfare assessment
(Wemelsfelder 2007).21
Does this animal welfare research exhibit what I have called Home/Lab
duality? I think it does. First, the philosophical considerations that motivate
the work have their roots in our daily experience of seeing curiosity, sad-
ness, boredom and pain in animal behaviour (just as I saw distress in
Panbanisha when she tricked Liz). Second, Wemelsfelder filmed the whole
animals interacting with their environment during longer periods of time.
The videos thus gave glimpses of animal forms of life; of animal minds at
home in the circumstances of their lives. Third, she had not decided in
advance which terms the test subjects should choose between, but allowed
them to chose their own words, as they responded to the individual pigs’
ways of being in the situation.
The controlled experimental setup thus cleverly engages various ‘homes,’
such as the pigs’ interactions with their environment and the human sub-
jects’ own language. The scientific evidence produced in the lab does not
take us beyond the ‘philosophical evidence’ of the forms of life, as if mind
was their distant cause. The experimental procedures rather empower
these forms of life to decide well-defined questions, enlightened by a new
way of philosophizing.
21 When groups of animal welfare inspectors discuss how to apply this approach to
their farm work, and when they for educational purposes are invited to try it together, they
are surprised to find that they deliver such uniform assessments, simply by engaging their
own ordinary language (Wemelsfelder 2007, and personal communication). In fact, a
qualitative welfare indicator based on work by Wemelsfelder and colleagues has been
adopted as part of a European Union welfare monitoring system.
156 Pär Segerdahl
I conclude that rather than take over the baton from traditional phi-
losophy and continue its speculative endeavours in the lab, work with
enculturated apes—as well as with farm animals—accentuates how the
laboratory needs to be approached in a new philosophical spirit that ac-
knowledges the significance of the forms of life and strives to achieve
Home/Lab duality. The temptation to treat the patterns of life as evidence
of hidden mental causes is strong. If traditional philosophy gave in to this
temptation, the new task is to overcome it.
Concluding methodological remarks
I have been discussing comparative psychology from philosophical points

of view. In what sense does this discussion illuminate a ‘methodology’
characteristic of human-animal studies (HAS)?
In my view, the notion of a specific HAS methodology is somewhat
suspect, since human-animal studies is not a discipline of its own, but
emerged more or less simultaneously within many disciplines, such as
sociology, geography, biology, art history, education research, philosophy,
anthropology, film studies, political studies, and gender research. I want
to suggest that we should not think of HAS as a self-contained form of re-
search with its own methodology, but rather as standing for a characteris-
tic transformation of already existing methodologies. This transformation
is achieved by consistently looking at things through the lens of the human/
animal relationship, and doing it within disciplines where anthropocentric
outlooks previously dominated. What keeps the field together, I think, is
the productive ‘disturbance’ that it creates in discipline after discipline
where HAS proved capable of challenging human-centred modes of work.
What enables HAS practitioners in a variety of disciplines to communicate
as if they were engaged in a similar research activity, then, is their ‘joint
intervention’ in anthropocentrism on a wide academic front. But this
should not fool us into thinking in terms of a specific HAS methodology.
Rather, we should think of a characteristic HAS transformation of existing
methodologies.
What this chapter attempts to illuminate, then, is not a specific method
ology, but rather what it could mean for comparative psychology (and
philosophy) to undergo the characteristic ‘HAS transformation.’ What could
it mean to compare cognition in chimpanzees and children, if you never
lose sight of the human/animal relationships that underpin the laboratory
work? How would the methodology of the comparison be transformed, if

intimate relationships are no longer treated as friction to be disregarded,
but are brought to the fore and seen as primary? My notion of such a HAS-
transformed comparison is that of research work exhibiting and drawing
on Home/Lab duality. By invoking the relationships that develop when
apes are enculturated with humans as an example so unexpected that it
can upset millennia of bad intellectual habits, I argued that the lab should
become a place of secondary importance. The psychological laboratory is
a place of measurements of realities developed elsewhere, in more pri-
mary contact zones (to borrow an expression from Haraway). ‘Home,’ with
all its intimate bonds, has priority over ‘Lab.’
I hope these remarks made it obvious that I am not proposing ‘Home/
Lab duality’ as a component of a specific HAS methodology. This feature
can only characterize research involving laboratory work, which most
HAS-transformed methodologies do not involve. This feature is meant to
illuminate only what a HAS-transformed methodology could mean in the
case of comparative psychology. However, the notion of ‘Home’ as a place
where human/animal relationships develop and change the participants
can be discerned in many forms of HAS-transformed research (e.g., in
cultural geography). Cross-species relationships thrive in so many locations,
creating new animals and new humans, shaped not only by their novel
genomes, but also by their unpredictable bonds in new circumstances. The
cows on the farm, for example, so quickly learn to recognize the sound of
the tractor that brings them silage that moving to the foddering place upon
hearing this familiar sound could be described as these cows’ natural be-
haviour in their farm home. From a HAS-transformed perspective, several
disciplines can study farms as ‘multi-species cultures’ (Segerdahl 2007).
If there is such a thing as a ‘general feature’ of HAS, then I would suggest
that this feature is not so much a common methodology as it is a similar
perspective; an outlook with the power to transform methodologies that
hitherto were imbued with anthropocentrism. What may appear as a weak-
ness of HAS, its lack of a common methodology, is in my view its nature
and strength: its ability to change existing methodologies by bringing hu-
man/animal relationships to the fore.
If there is a need to further develop this broad intervention in anthro-
pocentrism, then I would claim that it concerns a lingering tendency in
some quarters to view human/animal relationships with almost method-
ological suspiciousness, as if animals ideally should be as isolated from
humans as comparative psychologists construe them. The political aims
158 Pär Segerdahl
of HAS are important, but if we do not proceed with caution they may
backfire intellectually and reinforce forms of anthropocentric idealization.22
References
Bruner, J. (1983). Child’s Talk. Learning to Use Language. New York & London: W.W. Norton
& Company.
Descartes, R. (1912). A Discourse on Method, Meditations, and Principles. Veitch, J. (Trans.).
Everyman.
Fields, W.M. (2007). Ethnographic Kanzi versus Empirical Kanzi: on the Distinction Between
‘Home’ and’ Laboratory’ in the Lives of Enculturated Apes. Revista di Analisi del Testo
Filosofico, Letterario e Figurativeo 8.
Fields, W., Segerdahl, P, & Savage-Rumbaugh, S. (2007). The Material Practices of Ape
Language Reseach. In: J. Valsiner & A. Rosa (Eds.) Cambridge Handbook of Socio-Cultur-
al Psychology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Gardner, R.A. & Gardner, B.T. (1969). Teaching Sign Language to a Chimpanzee. Science
165, 664–672.
Haraway, D. (1991). Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: the Reinvention of Nature. New York:
Routledge.
Haraway. D. (2008). When Species Meet. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota
Press.
Hauser, M.D., Chomsky, N., & Fitch, W.T. (2002). The Faculty of Language: What Is It, Who
Has It, and How Did It Evolve? Science 298, 1569–1579.
Hayes, K.J. & Hayes, C.H. (1951). The Intellectual Development of a Home-Raised Chimpan-
zee. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 95, 105–109.
Kellog, W.N. & Kellogg, L.A. (1933). The Ape and the Child: A Comparative Study of the Envi-
ronmental Influence upon Early Behavior. New York and London: Hafner Publishing Co.
Pedersen, J. & Fields, W. (2009). Aspects of Repetition in Bonobo-Human Conversation:
Creating Cohesion in a Conversation Between Species. Integrative Psychological and
Behavioral Science 43, 22–41.
Pedersen, J., Segerdahl, P., & Fields, W.M. (2011). Why Apes Point: Indexical Pointing in
Spontaneous Conversation of Language-Competent Pan/Homo Bonobos. In E. Potocki
& J. Krasiñski (Eds.) Primatology: Theories, Methods and Research. New York: Nova
Science Publishers.
Penn, D.C., Holyoak, K.J., & Povinelli, D.J. (2008). Darwin’s Mistake: Explaining the Discon-
tinuity between Human and Nonhuman Minds. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 31, 109–178.
Povinelli, D.J. (2000). Folk Physics for Apes: The Chimpanzee’s Theory of How the World Works.
Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press.
Premack, D. (1971). Language in Chimpanzee? Science 172, 808–822.
Premack, D. & Woodruff, G. (1978). Does the Chimpanzee have a Theory of Mind? Behav-
ioral and Brain Sciences 1, 515–526.
Rumbaugh, D.M. (1977). Language Learning by a Chimpanzee: the LANA Project. New York:
Academic Press.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S. (1986). Ape Language. New York: Columbia University Press.
22 I wish to thank Björn Merker and Françoise Wemelsfelder for very helpful comments
on a draft of this chapter.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Fields, W.M., Segerdahl, P. & Rumbaugh, D. (2005). Culture Prefig-

ures Cognition in Pan/Homo Bonobos. Theoria, An International Journal for Theory,
History and Foundations of Science 54, 311–328.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Fields, W.M., & Taglialatela, J. (2000). Ape Consciousness-Human
Consciousness: A Perspective Informed by Language and Culture. American Zoologist
40, 910–921.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Fields, W.M., & Taglialatela, J. (2001). Language, Speech, Tools and
Writing. A Cultural Imperative. Journal of Consciousness Studies 8, 273–292.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S. & Lewin, R. (1994). Kanzi, the Ape at the Brink of the Human Mind.
New York: John Wiley and Sons.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Murphy, J., Sevcic, R.A., Brakke, K.E., Williams, S.L., & Rumbaugh,
D.M. (1993). Language Comprehension in Ape and Child. Monographs of the Society for
Research in Child Development, serial no. 233, Vol. 58, Nos. 3–4.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Shanker, S.G., & Taylor, T.J. (1998). Apes, Language and the Human
Mind. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
Segerdahl, P. (2007). Can Natural Behaviour be Cultivated? The Farm as Local Human/
Animal Culture. Journal of Agricultural and Environmental Ethics 20, 167–193.
Segerdahl, P., Fields, M., & Savage-Rumbaugh, S. (2005). Kanzi’s Primal Language: the Cul-
tural Initiation of Primates into Language. Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Taglialatela, J.P., Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., & Baker, L.A. (2003). Vocal Production by a Lan
guage-Competent Pan paniscus. International Journal of Primatology 24, 1–17.
Terrace, H.S. (1979). Nim. New York: Knopf.
Terrace, H.S., Petitto, L.A., Sanders, R.J., & Bever, T.G. (1979). Can an Ape Create a Sentence?
Science 206, 891–902.
Tomasello, M. (1999). The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition. Cambridge, MA, and London,
England: Harvard University Press.
Tomasello, M. (2006). Why Don’t Apes Point?” In N.J. Enfield & C.S. Levinson (Eds.) Roots
of Human Sociality: Culture, Cognition and Interaction. Oxford & New York: The Wenner
gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, Inc.
Toth, N., Schick, K., Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S., Sevcik, R., & Rumbaugh, D. (1993). Pan the
Tool-Maker: Investigations into Stone Tool-Making and Tool-Using Capabilities of a
Bonobo (Pan paniscus). Journal of Archeological Science 20, 81–91.
Toth, N., Schick, K., & Semaw, S. (2003). A Comparative Study of the Stone Tool-Making
Skills of Pan, Australopithecus, and Homo sapiens. In: N. Toth, & K. Schick (Eds.) The
Oldowan: Case Studies into the Earliest Stone Age. Bloomington, Indiana: CRAFT Press.
Wemelsfelder, F. (1997). The Scientific Validity of Subjective Concepts in Models of Animal
Welfare. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 53, 75–88.
Wemelsfelder, F. (2007). How Animals Communicate Quality of Life: the Qualitative As-
sessment of Behaviour. Animal Welfare 16(S), 25–31.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, T.E. A. Mendl M.T. & Lawrence, A.B. (2000). The Spontaneous
Qualitative Assessment of Behavioural Expressions in Pigs: First Explorations of a Nov-
el Methodology for Integrative Animal Welfare Measurement. Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 67, 193–215.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, E.A., Mendl, M.T. & Lawrence, A.B. (2001). Assessing the ‘Whole
Animal’: a Free Choice Profiling Approach. Animal Behaviour 62, 209–220.
Wittgenstein, L. 1(953). Philosophical Investigations. Anscombe, G.E. M. (Transl.). Oxford:
Basil Blackwell.
160 Pär Segerdahl
Video Documentaries
Niio, G. (Director). (1993). Kanzi I (Kanzi, an Ape of Genius). [Videotape, 54 minutes.] Tokyo:
NHK of Japan.
Niio, G. (Director). (2000). Kanzi II. [Videotape, 52 minutes.] Tokyo: NHK of Japan.
Savage-Rumbaugh, E.S. (1994). Bonobo People. The story of research into language and cog-
nition of a family of bonobos at the Language Research Center. [Video footage by NHK of
Japan, Produced by Public Sphere.] Atlanta: The Language Research Center.
Lessons we should learn from our relationship with dogs 161
PART THREE
ANIMAL EXPERIENCING
162 József Topál and Márta Gácsi
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lessons we should learn from our unique relationship

with dogs:
An ethological approach
József Topál1 and Márta Gácsi2
Now as these two were conversing thus with each other,

a dog who was lying there raised his head and ears.
This was Argos, patient-hearted Odysseus’ dog,
whom he himself raised, but got no joy of him,
since before that he went to sacred Ilium.
In the days before, the young men had taken him out
to follow goats of the wild, and deer, and rabbits;
but now he had been put aside, with his master absent,
and lay on the deep pile of dung, from the mules and oxen,
which lay abundant before the gates, so that the servants of Odysseus
could take it to his great estate, for manuring.
There the dog Argos lay in the dung, all covered with dog ticks.
Now, as he perceived that Odysseus had come close to him,
he wagged his tail, and laid both ears back;
only he now no longer had the strength to move any closer to his
master,
who, watching him from a distance, without Eumaios noticing,
secretly wiped a tear away …
… But the doom of dark death now closed over the dog,
Argos, when, after nineteen years had gone by, he had seen Odysseus.
(Homer: Odysseus)
Prologue
Dogs are, inevitably, one of the most successful species worldwide. They
are found wherever people live, from cities to small farms as companions
or fellow workers; from metropolis underground passageways, to rural
areas as stray dogs trying to survive. Some live in very loose contact with
1 Institute of Cognitive Neuroscience and Psychology, Hungarian Academy of S ciences.

2 Department of Ethology, Eötvös Loránd Universiy.
humans whilst others spend their life as ‘pets’; some help humans in vari-
ous tasks and others live ferally, having lost most of their direct contact
with humans over generations. However, both humans and dogs have in
common an interspecific social environment. In other words, it is natural
for them to share their lives with members of the other species: people
with dogs and dogs with people. Anyway, the most striking feature of the
social life of dogs is that they seem to prefer joining human groups and this
makes this animal—on an intuitive level—so special for us.
‘Almost human?’ Dog-lovers versus skeptics
Over the past few decades dogs in modern society have been increasingly
involved with different fields of human social activity. There are many dogs
specifically trained for improving our quality of life (therapy dogs, assis-
tance dogs for people with disabilities etc.), for helping the authorities
(drug-sniffing dogs etc.) or for health care including diagnostic purposes
(e.g. cancer detection dogs). Many of these novel functions of the dog have
important social-emotional dimensions and, among others, this is why the
different aspects of dog-human bond has attracted increased attention
since the 1960s (Levinson, 1969).
When trying to define our relationships with our dogs the phrases that
probably come first in many people’s minds might include ‘the dog is my
friend’, ‘my partner’, ‘my defender’ etc., and vice versa; ‘I am his life’, ‘his
love and his leader’, ‘he will be mine, faithful and true, to the last beat of
his heart.’ ‘Dog-lovers’ often support their beliefs with anecdotal stories
from around the world of dogs bonding with people. Sheldrake’s remark-
able book (1999), for example, is a rich collection of dog tales. One of such
‘tales’ is the story of Jaytee, a mixed-breed terrier living in Northern England,
who correctly anticipated the return of his caregiver, and there are many
other ‘dog stories’ illuminating the bond and the wide diversity of animals’
special capabilities.
In the scientific literature, however, this anthropomorphic approach is
heavily criticized by sceptics, who reject what they see as non-scientific
over-interpretations of dog behaviour. Experts in ‘kynology’ (a special
branch of zoology), often argue that dogs are just domesticated carnivores,
originally selected for hunting, herding or guarding tasks. On this argument,
humans removed dogs’ ancestors from their natural environment many
thousand years ago, thus ‘freeing’ them from the selective pressure of
natural selection (and adaptation demands). This process produced an
animal possessing artificially confused behaviour organization. They claim,

therefore, that dogs cannot be seen as almost human, they are a purpose-
bred ‘soft version’ of a potentially dangerous predator and any other im-
pression of the human caregivers regarding the uniqueness of their pets is
just imaginary.
In the last few decades, however, ethology, a branch of behaviour sci-
ences concerned with the function, mechanisms, development and evolu-
tion of animal behaviour (especially as it occurs in a natural environment),
has provided a somewhat different view of dogs and our relationships with
them. A growing body of empirical research supports the notion that for
dogs, human social environments provide a natural niche: dogs’ social
competence was selected and formed by humans, through developing
cooperative relationships. Dog-human relationships have a long history,
based partly on dogs’ evolutionary heritage, being the descendants of
wolves, and partly on changes during their adaptation to living with hu-
mans. Thus dogs can be viewed as not just a tamed social carnivore around
us; rather, multifunctional psychological relationships may exist between
people and dogs. More importantly, although ethology is often regarded
as the science of non-human animals’ behaviour, it also played a significant
role in the development of the modern views of human attachment (see
the comprehensive theory of the nature of early attachments by Bowlby,
1958, 1969–section 3.).
In this chapter we propose that this combination of psychology and
ethology can contribute to our understanding of dog-human attachment
and opens the door to create testable hypotheses and predictions regard-
ing dogs’ propensity to make strong ‘affectional bonds’ with us.
Attachment bonds through the eyes of behaviour sciences
‘Attachment’ is a broad term, initially defined by psychologists as lasting

psychological connectedness between two individuals, typically between the
mother and her infant (Bowlby, 1969). Admittedly, this may sound elusive
and applicable only to human social relationships. This is not so, however.
Animal behaviourists, including traditional European ethologists like
Lorenz (see e.g. his studies of imprinting in baby geese—Lorenz, 1952) saw
attachment as a behavioural phenomenon, defined on the basis of objec-
tively measurable criteria (Rajecki et al. 1978). In brief, in ethological ac-
counts, attachment is an organizational construct belonging to a behavioural
system (Sroufe & Waters, 1977), manifesting itself as long-lasting attraction
to a particular set of stimuli, through particular behaviours directed towards

these stimuli, or ‘objects of attachments’ (Wickler, 1976). Moreover, attach-
ment behaviour is always a product of maturational processes that denotes
one-to-one relationship with a particular other, manifesting itself in dif-
ferent species-specific behaviours (Sears et al., 1953). Attachment is shown
if the behaviour of the subject fulfils the following behavioural criteria
(Rajecki et al., 1978):
First, during exploration and when experiencing danger, subjects should
display specific proximity- and contact seeking behaviours towards a par-
ticular individual (object of attachment), which is at least quantitatively
different from similar actions performed towards any other individuals.
Second, in the absence of the object of attachment the organism should
show separation anxiety in response to environmental stresses. Third, the
subject should show specific behavioural changes upon encountering the
object of attachment after stressful separation (‘greeting’ and ‘behavioural
relaxation’). That is, attachment can be viewed as a behaviour-controlling
structure which evokes specific actions in stress situations (e.g. separation
from the object of attachment—Bowlby, 1969). This operational descrip-
tion constitutes common ground for both ethologists and psychologists in
studying parent-offspring relationships or companionships of different
species, including humans (e.g. Ainsworth, 1969), chimpanzees (e.g. Bard,
1991) and other mammals (e.g. Cairns, 1966). This provides not only a com-
parative basis for our understanding of attachment in different species but,
more importantly, provides some insight into how human-animal relation-
ships work.
Affectional ties (or affiliative behaviour) manifest in specific behaviours;
subjects tend to remain close to the attachment figure, feel sadness or
distress at involuntary separation from his/her partner and seek security
and comfort in the relationship. Thus, attachment cannot be simplified to
‘general preference’ for a companion or less fear from the familiar indi-
vidual. Attachment figures have four specific features (Ainsworth, 1991):
These include being physically near and accessible (proximity mainte-
nance), being missed when absent (separation distress), being a dependable
source of comfort (secure base), and being sought for contact and assurance
in times of emotional distress (safe haven). It is important to note that this
implies we can make a clear distinction between so called ‘caregiving bonds’
and ‘attachment bonds.’ In a caregiving relationship (providing sensitive
and responsive care for offspring by parents) the primary features are
proximity maintenance and separation distress. In contrast, turning to the
attachment figure in times of emotional distress (safe haven) and using

the attachment figure as a secure base are distinctive features of an attach-
ment bond (Simpson & Rholes, 2000).
The concept of attachment bond can be used to study different types of
human relationships (parent-infant and adult relationships—Tancredy &
Fraley, 2006) and, as we will outline below, this is also a plausible theo-
retical ground of developing ways to assess attachment in dog-human
relationships (Topál et al., 1998), which might be used for studying some
other species (Edwards et al., 2007).
Dogs’ Preparedness to Form Attachment Bonds with Humans

Central to ideas of human attachment is a theory based on a young child’s
need to develop a relationship with at least one primary caregiver for his/
her normal social and emotional development. It is an important question
whether this model can be extended to human-animal interspecies rela-
tionships (Brown, 2004), and more specifically, to the relationships of dogs
and their human caregivers. While there are many possible mechanisms
to achieve mutual attraction within a species, the situation is more complex
if such attraction develops between dogs (or other animals) and people.
Obviously, for attachment to occur between members of different species
there must be some similar behavioural structures in both species, sharing
a common function.
Domestic dogs are promising candidates for forming attachment rela-
tionships with humans. During their domestication, specific changes ac-
cumulated in the social-affiliative behaviour system of dogs (Miklósi, 2007)
and these unique changes may serve as the basis of the developmental
emergence of dog-human attachment. These changes are clearly shown
by comparative studies of dogs and their wild ancestors. Dogs, unlike
wolves, can develop specific preferences towards human subjects and
overall dogs show stronger attraction toward humans than wolves (Zimen,
1987; Frank & Frank, 1982). Although some individual and breed differ-
ences may exist in the precise timing and quality of socialization, the pri-
mary socialization period for dog puppies, during which they can establish
stable affiliative relationships with humans is relatively long (between 3–12
weeks after birth—Freedman et al, 1961; Scott & Fuller 1965). Once this
system of preferences and attachments has been formed these serve as a
basis for later social competence.
In contrast, wolf cubs need an early, intensive and individual socializa-
tion by human caregivers, a procedure substantially different from that of
the usual upbringing of dog puppies in human families. An important as-

pect of wolf-dog differences is that in order to achieve proper socialization,
exclusive access to the desired bonding partner (human) is not necessary
for dog puppies. In wolves, by contrast, exposure to conspecifics before the
age of 8–10 weeks leads to a persistent fear from humans (Klinghammer &
Goodman, 1987, Frank et al., 1989). That is, dogs but not wolves (Niebuhr
et al., 1980, Woolpy & Ginsberg, 1967) can develop relationships with hu-
mans even if they have regular contact with conspecifics including moth-
er and littermates.
Three Ways of Looking upon a Dog: Anthropomorphic, Babymorphic

and Lupomorphic
Human-animal relationships, including those with dogs, can be inter-
preted in terms of different social frameworks entailing different research
approaches. That is, depending on our attitude towards the species we
bring to research, both the conceptual framework and the adopted meth-
ods will differ.
In line with the notion that domestication of dogs caused a unique
change in social-affiliative behaviour and its organization (e.g. Topál et al.,
2009) many sociologists and psychologists have adopted an anthropomor-
phic approach and attributed human-type roles for the dog (Hart, 1995).
On the basis of this approach, the human-dog relationship is more like a
friendship. Friendship is clearly more than an affiliative contact between
dogs and human partners, and can be characterized as a form of alliance,
permitting mutual trade and sharing and possibilities of social support and
cooperative actions (Silk, 2002). This does not exclude asymmetry (domi-
nant—subordinant or caregiver—receiver) in the relationship, but it in-
cludes the possibility for being a collaborative partner.
Accepting that the majority of dogs live in a social world broadly com-
parable to that of a 1–2 year old human toddler, may imply a ‘babymorphic
stance.’ Many people seem to view their pets as children (Berrymen et al.,
1985) and their attitude towards their pets becomes parental (Askew, 1996).
Many assume, therefore, that people react toward their dogs as they would
react towards a child in similar situations (O’Farrel, 1997) and the social
behaviour of dogs should be understood in terms of human parent-child
attachment relationships. This approach gained some support in the last
decade by both questionnaire studies (e.g. Serpell, 1996) and behaviour
observations (e.g. Topál et al., 1998).
As a third possible approach, there is also a tendency for ‘lupomorphis-

ing’ in the literature (Serpell & Jagoe, 1995). That is, dog-human relation-
ships should be based on the rules stemming from the social world of
wolves; dog-human ‘mixed species packs’ should be strongly hierarchical
in which humans must act as an ‘alpha wolf’ using the same behaviour
signals on which wolf society is based.
Although each of these views depict dog-human relationships very dif-
ferently, however, all can contribute something to our understanding of
dog-human relationships.
The Reciprocal nature of dog-human attachment
Human attachment is necessarily a reciprocal relationship. It could be

either balanced (e.g. adult-adult friendship) or asymmetrical (e.g. mother-
infant relationship), in both cases however, the feelings of any member of
the dyad for the other counts as attachment (Berman & Sperling, 1994).
This could be also true for dog-human relationships (Archer, 1996).
Although our investigations should be able to grasp the reciprocal nature
of dog-human attachment, in the current literature there is a method-
ological dichotomy regarding the two different aspects of these interspecies
relationships. As we shall see below, ethological studies primarily focus on
the attachment behaviour of dogs and some other species (cats, chimpan-
zees) to their human caregivers whilst human psychology studies of com-
panion animals mainly focus on humans’ affiliations to their pets. These
different approaches imply very different methodological tools.
Attachment to Dogs: The Humans’ View

In mainstream companion animal literature, psychological scales or ques-
tionnaires are often used to evaluate human-dog attachment; examples
include the Companion Animal Bonding scale (Zasloff, 1996), or the
Lexington Attachment to Pets Scale (Johnson et al. 1992). However, comple-
mentary use of both behavioural and questionnaire measures to collect
data from both humans and dogs seldom occurs. This is a weak point of
these studies, because it is widely accepted that the reliability of question-
naire tools is generally restricted (Triebenbacher, 1999).3 Although most
3 In fact, most of these studies have only evaluated the feelings of humans, the term
attachment is used vaguely and is often confused with loosely-related positive emotions
such as love. Psychometrical measures are “self-report measures” which is uncontrollably
studies of humans’ attachment to their dogs have used structured ratings,

some used open-ended methods in which participants freely nominated
and prioritized people or pets who met criteria for specific attachment
features (Kurdek, 2008, 2009 a,b). This method (free rating and ranking)
enables study of the ways participants themselves structure their close
relationships and whether dogs form attachment figures for humans or
not.
Recent evidence provides support for the notion that people’s attach-
ment to dogs has two strikingly different dimensions. On one hand, people
sometimes view dogs as child surrogates, eliciting care and affection, while
forming caregiving bonds (Askew 1996, Overall, 1997). On the other hand,
dogs could also provide attachment security for humans (secure base—
Beck & Madresh, 2008), or even show the feature of safe haven (Kurdek
2009 a,b). Although the strength of attachment depends on characteristics
of both person and dog, and though ‘safe haven’ is arguably the least salient
feature for pet dogs, caregivers often turn to their animals for support to
alleviate emotional distress. In his open-ended questionnaire studies
Kurdek (2008, 2009 a,b) found that participants were less likely to use dogs
for emotional support than mothers or romantic partners, but they were
more likely to turn to dogs in times of distress than to fathers or brothers.
Interestingly, pet dogs serve as attachment figures especially for those who
regarded their dogs as strongly meeting needs for relatedness. Other com-
panion animals, such as cats, are also often regarded as being social partners
by humans (Turner, 2000) and they may also provide social support for
their human guardians (Podberscek et al., 1995). Importantly, however, it
is unclear whether any companion animals other than dogs could provide
attachment security for their human caregivers because detailed investiga-
tions are scarce.
One may assume that animals supply social support and/or as attach-
ment figures because their human caregivers tend to anthropomorphise
(attribute human feelings and thoughts to the pet—Archer, 1996). Dogs in
particular possess many human-like behaviours and emotional reactions
which enable people to interact with them as human-equivalent social
partners (family members). Humans’ preparedness to form close social
confounded by the biasing effect of human subjects’ subjective perceptions and

interpretations. Moreover respondents are recruited on a voluntary basis and therefore the
experimental subjects may be not representative as regards the population of dog caregivers
(i.e. such a subsample may be skewed towards caregivers with positive evaluations of their
pet dogs).
relationships with conspecifics could permit emotional responses and at-

tachment to dogs.
Attachment to humans: the dogs’ view
Clearly, pet dogs’ attachment to their guardians cannot be assessed with

questionnaire studies. Nor can we unfold the biological/evolutionary roots
of dog-human relationships by only filling in questionnaires about dog-
human bonds. Importantly, attachment is a behaviour organizing mecha-
nism that can be measured by observing behaviour patterns.
Until recently, experimental investigation of dog-human attachment
has been lacking. Most of the early studies described attachment as the
result of imprinting-like processes during a sensitive period. However, ap-
plying more complex operational criteria of attachment made it possible
to use standard laboratory procedures to investigate attachment behaviour
patterns even with adults.
Experiments on Dog-Human Attachment:

Borrowing a Method from Human Psychology
We have adapted Ainsworth’s Strange Situation Test (SST)—originally
designed to investigate and evaluate human infant-mother attachment
(Ainsworth & Wittig, 1969)—and extended it to study adult dogs’ attach-
ment behaviour towards people (Topál et al., 1998). This experimental
procedure proved to be able to provide deeper insight into the origins,
development and controlling mechanisms of the dog-human bond.
The test consists of seven episodes, each lasting 2–3 minutes, when the
dog is either with the primary caregiver (owner), with a stranger or alone
in an unfamiliar place. Human participants follow detailed instructions
that determine their behaviour during the test. The essential element is
that separation from the attachment figure in unfamiliar environments
evokes moderate stress and anxiety, shown behaviourally in proximity
seeking (e.g. standing by the door), while the reunion with the caregiver
evokes contact-seeking behaviours (e.g. approach, physical contact). The
whole test session is videotaped and analysed later, focusing on relevant
behaviours such as exploration, play, greeting, physical contact, follow,
stand by the door, etc. The evaluation is based on the dog’s differential
reaction to the owner and the stranger.

Episode 1—dog is with owner Episode 2—stranger enters,
in unfamiliar room, owner dog is with owner and stranger,
initiates play/physical contact stranger initiates play/physical
(8.1 a). contact (8.1 b).

Episode 3—owner leaves, then dog is in separation (with
stranger), stranger initiates play/physical contact (8.1 c & d)

Episode 4—owner returns, stranger leaves, then owner initiates
play/physical contact (8.1 e & f).

Episode 5—owner Episode 6—stranger Episode 7—owner returns,
leaves, dog is in returns and initiates play/ stranger leaves, then owner
separation (8.1 g). physical contact with dog initiates play/physical contact
(dog is in separation with with dog (8.1 i).
stranger) (8.1 h).
Figure 8.1. The short draft of the SST procedure adapted for dogs (as used by Topál et al.,
1998, Gácsi et al., 2001, 2003 and Topál et al., 2005).
In Topál et al (1998) study we found that dog-owner relationships were

analogous to child-parent attachment behaviour because observed behav-
iours were similar to those described in mother-infant interactions. The
secure-base effect was revealed by the dogs’ increased exploration and
increased play in the presence of the owner in the unfamiliar place. When
separated from the owner, dogs stood most of the time at the door even
though the stranger was present, which suggests dogs’ strong preference
for their primary caregivers in stress situations. Moreover, dogs showed
characteristic proximity and contact seeking behaviour towards the return-
ing owner, which were different from the greeting behaviour directed at
the stranger. The revealed human analogue attachment behaviour was
explained by the specific effects of dog domestication.
Multivariate analysis of the data (factor and cluster analyses, N=51)
separated three key aspects of dogs’ behavioural structure. These major
factors revealed that dogs’ behaviour during the test was affected by: i)
their sensitivity to the separation from the owner (Attachment), ii) the
degree of stress the unfamiliar environment evoked from them (Anxiety),
and iii) their responsiveness to the stranger (Acceptance). Dogs’ individu-
al behaviour patterns could be explained by the different combinations of
these determining factors.
These results were highly relevant for our understanding of dogs’ per-
formance in socio-cognitive tasks. For example, showing that dogs’ success
in problem solving tasks is strongly influenced by their relationship with
the owner (Topál et al. 1997) provided alternative interpretations for their
weaker performance in studies comparing dogs and wolves. This had pre-
viously been explained as dogs having less developed cognitive skills (see
e.g. Frank & Frank, 1982).
To assess consistency and reliability of the SST procedure, observations
were repeated on a large independent sample of pet dogs (N=84). This
experiment (Gácsi, 2003) supported all main results of the first study, in-
cluding both dogs’ specific differentiation between owner and stranger,
and the factors having major influence on dogs’ behaviour in the test (stress
evoked by situation, attachment to owner, and willingness for interaction
with stranger). When the same test (in a different place and with different
stranger) was repeated within 5–30 days on 30 dogs from this sample, there
was no significant difference, suggesting dogs neither habituated nor be-
came more reactive in the test. Follow-up work on 20 dog-owner pairs
(repeated SST in 17–20 months) provided evidence that the individual
patterns of dogs’ attachments are similar over at least 1.5 years. This finding
supports the notion that, unless drastic changes in their social relationships
happen, adult dogs’ attachments towards their owners tend to be stable
(Gácsi, 2003). Another test with naive subjects confirmed that the location
of the SST procedure had no effect. None of the measured behaviours dif-
fered in dogs tested in an unfamiliar room versus an outdoor kennel (N=40).
Thus the most important feature of the test location seems to be its unfa-
miliarity for the dogs (to activate the attachment behaviour), and other
characteristics of the test premises do not significantly affect their reactions.
We also addressed some other concerns. One prominent feature of the
protocol proved to be problematic as well. Namely, the SST was structured
in a way that, the subject (human infant or dog) is exposed to increasing
stress in the episode sequence (strange place with owner, encountering
stranger, separated with stranger, left alone etc.). This creates an unbal-
anced situation between the two human participants. Because we were
comparing responses towards owner and to stranger, the protocol’s order
effect makes the interpretation of results ambiguous. For example, studies
of shelter dogs in a control group (N=20), tested with two unfamiliar hu-
mans (instead of handler vs. stranger), showed that the asymmetry had an
effect, because the dogs behaved differently with the two persons even
though their roles were balanced (Gácsi et al. 2001).
The same procedure repeated with pet dogs (N=20) also revealed sig-
nificant differences in dogs’ behaviour towards unfamiliar humans depend-
ing on the role each person played (Gácsi 2003). Although Prato-Previde
et al. (2003) also found dogs’ (N=38) behaviour in the SST to be very similar
to that reported in human infants, they argued that these order effects
meant that the data were inconclusive. To counteract order effects in the
SST, Palmer and Custance (2008) included a second test condition in which
the order of owner and stranger presence was counterbalanced (N=38).
Their study showed that dogs explored, played with the stranger, and en-
gaged in individual play more in the presence of their owner than with the
stranger or alone, and so they concluded that, in spite of its asymmetry,
the SST procedure is a valid method for assessing dogs’ attachment behav-
iour. Nevertheless, the asymmetry might be responsible for some behav-
ioural difference, so that interpretation of such results needs reasonable
caution. Presently the different variations of this test are widely used to
study different aspects of dog-human relationship.
How Sensitive are Those Periods?

While more and more studies examined the attachment behaviour of adult
dogs, still little was known about the development of this social bond dur-
ing ontogeny. Earlier findings showed that dog puppies are socially at-
tracted towards humans after only relatively little handling (Gácsi et al.
2005), but it was still questionable whether puppies show similar specific
attachment behaviours towards their owners to that shown by adult dogs.
Another important question is whether novel attachment relationships
towards new caregivers can develop in adult dogs.4
We have recently addressed the first question in two studies. In one, we
tested two groups of 16-week-old puppies in the SST (Topál et al. 2005).
Even this early, dogs show patterns of attachment towards their owners.
Extensive socialization of hand raised puppies had only a minor effect on
the results, as the behaviours of pet dogs and hand-raised dogs were basi-
cally similar. The other study (Gácsi, 2003) compared the behaviour of 3–6
month-old puppies and adults (N=50) in the SST procedure. Although there
were some differences between the age groups (puppies showed a weaker
tendency to follow the leaving owner, had less physical contact with the
owner during the episodes, and more physical contact with the stranger
during greetings), most behaviours did not differ between the two groups.
Puppies demonstrated attachment behaviour through their characteristic
responses during separations (standing by the door, stopping play with the
stranger) and greetings (more contact seeking towards the entering own-
er). In sum, we can conclude that attachment bond towards a human in-
dividual can develop early in ontogeny and shows very similar behavioural
patterns to those described in adult dogs.
However, these findings explain little about conditions affecting devel-
opment of novel attachment relationships in adult dogs. Although ability
to form attachment is usually associated with an early sensitive period, we
all know of pet dogs living with a second caregiver, shelter dogs adopted
in adulthood, or assistant dogs that have been raised by a puppy walker
prior to being placed with a disabled or blind person. Expert trainers claim
that such dogs can establish attachment relationships similarly to those
that are adopted in puppyhood, but until recently no data have supported
this assumption. A study that incorporated the SST situation to compare
the attachment behaviour of adult pet dogs living with their first vs. second
4 Of course, it would be theoretically interesting to study the impact of early socialisation
(with humans) or its lack on the success of later attachment relationships, but this
investigation would raise remarkable ethical issues.
caregivers (Gácsi 2003) revealed no differences between the two groups.

The behaviour of dogs, who had to build a second attachment relationship
out of the ‘sensitive’ period, was similar in the SST situation to that of
subjects tested with their first caregiver.
In an additional study (Gácsi et al., 2001), we have investigated whether
shelter dogs (N=40) living without individualised social contact with hu-
mans for an extended period would show attachment behaviour toward
an unfamiliar handler. Shelter dogs were exposed to three short interactions
with a stranger (playing the owner’s role) and the dogs’ behavioural attach-
ment was assessed later in the SST. Dog handling consisted of petting and
walking, talking, doing simple exercises like sit (without using any food
reward), and playing and fetching. In the SST, the handled dogs showed
characteristic features of attachment behaviour towards the handler. The
results supported the hypothesis that dogs’ demand for social contact with
humans increases in shelter conditions, so that even short periods of han-
dling can evoke attachment. Marston et al. (2005) also investigated factors
affecting formation of attachment bonds in shelter dogs. Five groups of
dogs (N=75) were exposed to different types of handling: no-contact, pos-
itive-contact, obedience training, habituation or non-contingent reinforce-
ment. When tested in the SST, only positive-contact fostered the
development of attachment towards the handler (increase in handler
preference and reduction in agitated behaviour when alone), and the
other treatments had no significant effect on attachment behaviour. These
findings may have important implications for the success of rehoming dogs
(Marston & Bennett, 2003) and for the treatment of separation-related
behaviours.
Other studies provide insight into the development of this individualised
bond. Fallani et al. (2006) showed that despite separation from previous
attachment figures (puppy walker), guide dogs establish attachment with
their visually impaired owner. Removing the dog from the puppy walker,
thereby disrupting this early attachment, did not negatively affect later
attachment relationships between guide dogs and their new handlers. In
a recent longitudinal study, Valsecchi et al. (2010) repeatedly tested the
attachment behaviour of dogs (N=17) participating in the guide dog train-
ing program: 1) at the age of 11–15 months (before the training program)
with the puppy walker, 2) 4 months later (during the program) with the
trainer, and 3) after more than 1 year of service with the visually impaired
new owner. Probably due to the special sample (breed and temperament),
results showed that young dogs exhibited limited discrimination of the
attachment figure, as also strangers could offer them comfort during sepa-
rations. However, the same dogs tested when adult were specifically inter-
ested in regaining contact with their visually impaired new guardian despite
the presence of another friendly human (the stranger) available for support.
This indicates that repeatedly breaking bonds is not detrimental to dogs’
ability to form attachment relationships later in life.
These results reveal an important analogy to the human mother-infant
bond. The propensity of adult individuals to develop novel attachment
relationships has, as of present, only been described in humans and dogs.
The welfare aspects of these findings are of vital importance. Based on
earlier observations (Scott & Fuller, 1965), it is widely accepted that future
owners should obtain and socialize their puppies by the age of 3 months
otherwise no attachment bond can be developed. Not denying that gen-
eral human socialization is crucial, we now know that individualised bonds
can develop throughout the life of a dog, and puppies do not need to be
acquired prior to 3 months of age for an attachment bond to develop.
Unfortunately, the belief about early attachment bonds is pervasive and
often deters people from adopting dogs from shelters. This study provided
evidence that dogs of low or restricted contact with humans may retain
their ability to form new attachment relationships with humans. Of course,
shelter dogs’ early socialization with humans can influence their ability to
form new attachment relationship later in life and early human socialisa-
tion could be a major factor in the high individual variability within shelter
subjects.
The Caregiver’s Security Providing Role

The secure-base and safe-haven effects are central features of the human
attachment model, so we need to address the question whether people
provide security for their dogs. Although all studies on dog-owner behav-
iour in the SST provided evidence for attachment, Prato-Previde et al. (2003)
claimed that the secure base effect was only indirectly supported, due to
the inherent order effect of the SST procedure.
To collect more direct evidence for the security providing role, in a
simplified test dogs were exposed not to a friendly but a threatening human
in order to intensify their stress reactions (Gácsi et al 2008). We measured
both behavioural and heart rate responses while the dogs were being ap-
proached by the stranger (N=30). The social stimulus evoked less response
in dogs’ heart rate level when they were threatened in the presence of their
owner than when facing the same situation during separation. Changes in

Figure 8.2. Both human children and dogs tend to use the caregiver (parent/owner) as
secure base for exploration of unfamiliar environment and as safe haven when facing with
threatening or ambiguous stimuli.
dogs’ heart rate were paralleled by relevant differences in their behavioural

responses (growl, bark). This confirms that the owner provides social sup-
port for their dog during stressful situations and can provide a buffer against
social stress. A more recent study provides further support; by assaying
heart rate variability Nagasawa et al., (2009) reported that dogs show spe-
cific emotional responses when reunited with their owners. Similarly,
behavioural and physiological responses of guide dogs during the SST
(Fallani et al. 2007) showed increased cardiac activity during separations
(in the presence of the stranger). This increase was, however, more con-
spicuous in guide dogs than in custody and apprentice dogs, although when
guide dogs were separated from their visually impaired owners this stron-
ger cardiac activation was tempered by controlled behavioural reactions.
Another important applied aspect of attachment was addressed by
Parthasarathy and Crowell-Davis (2006) who investigated whether the
degree of dogs’ attachment affects the incidence of separation anxiety. This
in turn is related to the question, whether separation anxiety relates to
‘hyperattachment’ in pet dogs. In a modified version of the SST, which
minimised the interaction between the human participants and the dogs
(N=75), they found no direct relationship between attachment and separa-
tion anxiety.
Most recent approaches combine the advantages of several methods to

assess both dogs’ attachment behaviour and caregivers’ affectional bond
or attachment towards their pets. Marinelli et al. (2007), applying a mul-
tiple approach of questionnaires and behavioural tests, studied a large
sample of dog-human pairs (N=104) to examine the influence of human
and pet dogs’ characteristics on the animals’ quality of life. They claim that
attachment was stronger in dogs having a long relationship with the care-
giver and those living with people with previous pet experience.
Possibilities of extending the SST paradigm to different species
From a Darwinian perspective, interspecific attachment is a puzzling form

of behaviour as it entails providing care to a member of another species
and receiving no apparent benefits. The aforementioned experimental
findings raise the intriguing question of whether or not dog-human attach-
ment is representative of human-companion animal relationships in gen-
eral. If yes, the dog can be viewed as ‘just’ one companion animal species
and we can extend our approach for assessing attachment in the field of
wider human-animal relationships. Alternatively, our insights on dog-
human bond may have only limited relevance for attachments to human
in other animal species because the social-affiliative behaviour of the do-
mestic dog is a special ‘by-product’ of artificial selection. The idea, that the
domestic dog shows evolutionary preparedness to form attachment with
humans can be studied using two main approaches.
First, to support or reject a hypothesis based on the effects of domestica-
tion one should run comparative studies on the domestic species and the
wild counterpart. To address this question, a group of dogs and wolves were
identically hand raised and intensively socialized and then their behaviours
were compared in different studies (Miklósi et al. 2003, Gácsi et al. 2005,
2009, Virányi et al. 2008), including attachment to human (Topál et al.
2005). Four month old wolf pups and dog puppies living as pets in the same
family environment showed specific differences in the SST. Young dogs
were selectively responsive to the hand-raising caregiver, however, while
wolf pups did not differentiate between the caregiver and the stranger.
Even extensive socialization to the human social environment could not
provide sufficient conditions for wolf pups to develop human-analogue
attachment behaviour to the human caregiver. These findings lend support
for the domestication hypothesis which claims that in dogs, due to selec-
tion for dependency and attachment to humans, specific genetic changes
in attachment behaviour organization have emerged. This system in dogs

Figure 3a
could serve as the basis from which many complex social interactions
between dogs and humans can develop (Gácsi et al. 2009).
2,5
Score (mean + SE)
1,5
0,5
0
Wolf-adult Wolf-pup Dog puppy Shelter-handled Dog-adult
Gácsi 2003 Topál et al. 2005 Topál et al. 2005 Gácsi et al. 2001 Gácsi 2003
Figure 3b
Figure 8.3a. Behaviour measures of dogs’ and wolves’ attachment toward humans: follow-
ing the stranger. The scores show the subjects’ tendency to follow the leaving stranger
rather than staying with the owner in the unfamiliar place in the Strange Situation Test.
1,5
Difference in the scores (mean)
1,0
0,5
0,0
Wolf-adult Dog puppy Shelter-handled Dog-adult
Gácsi 2003 Topál et al. 2005 Gácsi et al. 2001 Gácsi 2003
-0,5
Wolf-pup
-1,0 Topál et al. 2005
Figure 8.3b. Behaviour measures of dogs’ and wolves’ attachment toward humans: contact
seeking. The score for contact seeking with the entering stranger was subtracted from the
score of contact seeking with the returning owner to illustrate the specific differentiation
only dogs show during the greeting phases in the Strange Situation Test.
Second, one should consider whether other domesticated species, main-

ly those kept as pets, show ‘dog-like’ attachment behaviour patterns in the
test procedure. The most obvious choice was the second most popular
companion animal, the cat. Edwards et al. (2007) claimed that similarly to
dogs adult cats show attachment behaviours toward their caregivers in the
Strange Situation Test (N=28). Indeed, significant differences were found
in the cats’ behaviours in the presence of their caregiver and a stranger.
Cats spent more time in contact with their caregiver and spent more time
near the door in the presence of the stranger. They were also more active/
explorative in the presence of their caregiver, although this could be sim-
ply due to the order effect present in the procedure. More importantly, cats
showed characteristically different social-affiliative behaviours toward
human participants in comparison with dogs (and wolves). Cats did not
play at all with the stranger, their physical contact was also extremely rare
with the stranger and the behavioural manifestations of separation anxiety
in cats were not easy to observe (if any). In general it seems that cats were
either stressed much more because of the unfamiliar environment or ac-
cepted the stranger less during the procedure which could significantly
modify the test results. This raises the possibility that the differential re-
sponsiveness of cats was simply due to the different familiarity of the hu-
man participants and not because of a specific behaviour organising
mechanism of attachment.
These findings suggest the view that SST is not a ‘universal’ method for
assessing human-animal attachment: it could be a valid method only for
those species whose social-affiliative behaviour organising mechanisms fit
somehow to the human social world. This notion was further supported
by the attachment studies on a non-domesticated species, chimpanzees.
Evidently, great apes and humans are closely related and therefore they
share many of their behaviour traits. Young chimpanzees’ attachment to
their caregivers can be successfully evaluated by the Strange Situation Test:
their responses were pretty similar to those of human children and not
only conspecifics but also humans could serve as attachment figures for
them (Miller et al., 1990; Bard, 1991).
Summary and future prospects
Above we provided a review of recent evidence demonstrating that the

study of dogs living in close association with humans presents a valid ap-
proach to understand evolutionary adaptations, and these mixed-species
groups should be regarded as natural entities. Attachment between dogs
and their caregivers is an indispensable characteristic of this social system
that has a bi-directional nature: Dogs show behavioural and emotional
signs of attachment toward humans, who in turn also tend to perceive this
interspecies relationship as attachment bonds, which is experienced as
psychological connectedness. Dogs’ attachment to humans can be success-

fully evaluated by a standard laboratory procedure (SST), originally devel-
oped to study the factors regulating attachment behaviour in human
infants. The observed ‘infant-like’ dynamics of the dogs’ behaviour in the
SST uniquely corresponds to the operational criteria of attachment. From
these results, we proposed that this domestic species possesses a specific
behaviour organising mechanism, a ‘software’, which is seemingly lacking
in most of other animals including the dogs’ non-domesticated ancestor
(wolves) and those less sociable domestic species like cats.
These studies strongly support the widely-held but poorly documented
belief that dogs represent the prototype of companion animals, and reveal
that the parallel application of questionnaires (such as the Companion
Animal Bonding scale) and behavioural observations (e.g. Strange Situation
Test) complemented with physiological measures can lead us to a deeper
understanding of the hidden aspects of dog-human relationships. These
findings open the door to the understanding of physiological, emotional
and behavioural aspects of social affinity between individuals of such
evolutionarily distant species like humans and dogs.
More importantly, the widespread adoption of an integrated approach
is also of great importance to the study of human-animal interactions (HAI)
in general. There is a compelling need to collect behavioural and physio-
logical data from both animal and human subjects while interacting in
controlled experimental (laboratory) conditions, as well as in natural set-
tings. This requires the development of standardized test batteries and
more information than is currently available in the literature because ex-
perimental observations on human-animal interactions are largely missing
in most species other than dogs.
In addition to questionnaire studies, the expected methodological ad-
vancement in HAI research will hold out the promise of gaining better
insight of cross-species affiliative relationships as well as unfolding the
reciprocal nature of human-animal interactions and those innate and
acquired factors that makes an animal species suitable to be a social part-
ner providing emotional support and/or a source of attachment.
Acknowledgements
This work has received research funding from the Hungarian Science
Foundation (grant K76043) and from the Hungarian National Development
Agency (grant TAMOP-4.2.2-08/1/KMR-2008-0007) within the framework
of Social Renewal Operative Programme supported by EU and co-financed

by the European Social Fund.
References
Ainsworth, M.D.S. (1969). Object relations, dependency and attachment: A theoretical re-
view of the infant-mother relationship. Child Development 40, 969–1025.
Ainsworth, M.D.S. (1991). Attachment across the lifecycle. In: C.M. Parkes, J. Stevenson-Hinde
& P. Marris (Eds.) Attachments and other affectional bonds across the life cycle (pp. 33–51).
New York: Routledge,
Ainsworth, M.D.S. & Wittig, B.A. (1969). Attachment and exploratory behavior of one-year
olds in a strange situation. In: B.M. Foss (Ed.) Determinants of Infant Behavior IV (pp. 111–
136). London: Methuen.
Archer, J. (1996). Why do people love their pets? Evolution and Human Behavior 18, 237–259.
Askew, H.R. (1996). Treatment of behaviour problems in dogs and cats. A guide for the small
animal veterinarian. Oxford: Blackwell Science.
Bard, K.A. (1991). Distribution of attachment classifications in nursery chimpanzees. Amer-
ican Journal of Primatology 24, 88.
Beck, L. & Madresh, E.A. (2008). Romantic partners and four-legged friends: An extension
of attachment theory to relationships with pets. Anthrozoös 21, 43–56.
Berman, W.H. & Sperling, M.B. (1994). The structure and function of adult attachment. In
M.B. Sperling & W.H. Berman (Eds.) Attachment in adults: Clinical and developmental
perspectives (pp. 3–28). New York: Guilford Press.
Berrymen, J.C. Howells, K. & Lloyd-Evans, M. (1985). Pet-owner attitudes to pets and people:
A psychological study. The Veterinary Record 117, 659–661.
Bowlby, J. (1958). The nature of the child’s tie to his mother. International Journal of Psycho-
analysis 39, 350–373.
Bowlby, J. (1969). Attachment and Loss: Vol 1. Attachment. New York: Basic Books
Brown, S. (2004). The human-animal bond and self psychology: Toward a new understand-
ing. Society & Animals 12, 67–86.
Cairns, R.B. (1966). Attachment behavior of mammals. Psychological Review 73, 409–426.
Edwards C., Heiblum M, Tejeda A & Galindo F. (2007). Experimental evaluation of attach-
ment behaviors in owned cats. Journal of Veterinary Behavior 2, 119–125.
Fallani, G., Prato Previde, E. & Valsecchi, P. (2006). Do disrupted early attachments affect
the relationship between guide dogs and blind owners? Applied Animal Behaviour Sci-
ence 100, 241–257.
Fallani, G., Prato-Previde, E. & Valsecchi, P. (2007). Behavioral and physiological responses
of guide dogs to a situation of emotional distress. Physiology and Behavior 90, 648–655.
Frank, H. &Frank, M.G. (1982). On the effects of domestication on canine social develop-
ment and behaviour. Applied Animal Ethology 8, 507–525.
Frank, H. Frank, M.G. Hasselbach, L.M. & Littleton, D.M. (1989). Motivation and insight in
wolf (Canis lupus) and Alaskan malamute (Canis familiaris): Visual discrimination learn-
ing. Bull. Psychonom. Soc. 27, 455–458.
Freedman, D.G., King, J.A. & Elliot, O. (1961). Critical periods in the social development of
dogs. Science 133, 1016–1017.
Gácsi, M., Topál, J., Miklósi, Á., Dóka, A. & Csányi, V. (2001). Attachment behaviour of adult
dogs (Canis familiaris) living at rescue centres: Forming new bonds. Journal of Com-
parative Psychology 115, 423–431.
Gácsi, M. (2003). Dog-human attachment. Doctoral dissertation, Department of Ethology,
Eötvös University (in Hungarian).
Gácsi, M., Győri, B., Miklósi, Á., Virányi, Z., Kubinyi, E., Topál, J. & Csányi, V. (2005). Species-
specific differences and similarities in the behavior of hand raised dog and wolf puppies
in social situations with humans. Developmental Psychobiology 47, 111–222.
Gácsi, M., Maros, K., Sernkvist, S. & Miklósi Á. (2008). Does the owner provide a secure
base? Behavioral and heart rate response to a threatening stranger and to separation in
dogs. Journal of Veterinary Behavior 4, 90–91.
Gácsi, M., Győri, B., Virányi, Z., Kubinyi, E., Kubinyi, E., Range, F., Belényi, B. & Miklósi, Á.
(2009). Explaining dog wolf differences in utilizing human pointing gestures: selection
for synergistic shifts in the development of some social skills. Plos ONE 4(8), e6584.
Hart, L.A. (1995). Dogs and companions: Review of the relationship. In J. Serpell (Ed). The
domestic dog (pp. 162–178). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Johnson, T. Garrity, T. & Stallones, L. (1992). Psychometric evaluation of the Lexington at-
tachment to pets scale (LAPS). Anthrozoös 5, 160–175.
Klinghammer, E. & Goodmann, P.A. (1987). Socialization and management of wolves in
captivity. In H. Frank (Ed.) Man and wolf: Advances, issues and problems in captive wolf
research (pp. 31–61). Dordrecht: W. Junk.
Kurdek, L.A. (2008). Pet dogs as attachment figures. Journal of Social and Personal Relation-
ships 25, 247–266.
Kurdek, L.A. (2009a). Pet dogs as attachment figures for adult owners. Journal of Family
Psychology 23, 439–446.
Kurdek, L.A. (2009b). Young adult’s attachment of pet dogs: Findings from open-ended
methods. Anthrozoös 22, 359–369.
Levinson, B.M. (1969). Pet oriented child psychotherapy. IL: C.C Thomas Sprongfield.
Lorenz, K.Z. (1952). King Solomon’s ring. New York: Crowell.
Marinelli, L., Adamelli, S., Normando, S. & Bono, G. (2007). Quality of life of the pet dog:
influence of owner and dog’s characteristics. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 108,
143–156.
Marston, L.C. & Bennett, P.C. (2003). Reforming the bond—towards successful canine
adoption. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 83, 227–245.
Marston, L.C., Bennett, P.C. & G.J. Coleman. (2005). Factors affecting the formation of a
canine-human bond (pp. 132–138). IWDBA Conference Proceedings.
Miklósi, Á. (2007). Dog Behaviour, Evolution, and Cognition. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Miklósi, Á, Kubinyi, E, Topál, J, Gácsi, M, Virányi, Zs, Csányi, V (2003). A simple reason for
a big difference: wolves do not look back at humans but dogs do. Current Biology, 13,
763–766.
Miller, L.C., Bard, K.A., Juno, C.J. & R.D. Nadler (1990). Behavioral responsiveness to strang-
ers in young chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes). Folia Primatologica 55, 142–155.
Nagasawa, M., Mogi, K. & T. Kikusui (2009). Attachment between humans and dogs. Japa-
nese Psychological Research 51, 209–221.
Niebuhr, B.R., Levinson, M., Nobbe, D.E. & J.E. Tiller (1980). Treatment of an incompletely
socialized dog. In B.L. Hart (Ed.) Canine Behaviour (pp. 83–85). Santa Barbara: Veterinary
Practice Publishing Co.
O’Farrel, V. (1997). Owner attitudes and dog behaviour problems. Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 52, 205–213.
Overall, K.L. (1997). Clinical behavioral medicine for small animals (pp. 9–45). St. Louis: Mosy
Palmer, R. & D. Custance (2008). A counterbalanced version of Ainsworth’s Strange Situa-
tion Procedure reveals secure-base effects in dog-human relationships. Applied Animal
Behaviour Science 109, 306–319.
Parthasarathy, V. & S.L. Crowell-Davis (2006). Relationship between attachment to owners
and separation anxiety in pet dogs (Canis lupus familiaris) Journal of Veterinary Behav-
ior 1, 109–120.
Podberscek, A.L., Paul, E.S. & J.A. Serpell (1995). Companion animals and us. Exploring the
relationships between people and pets. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Prato-Previde, E., Custance, D.M., Spiezio, C. & F. Sabatini (2003). Is the dog-human rela-
tionship an attachment bond? An observational study using Ainsworth’s strange situ-
ation. Behaviour 140, 225–254.
Rajecki, D.W., Lamb, M.E. & P. Obmascher (1978). Toward a general theory of infantile at-
tachment: a comparative review of aspects of the social bond. The Behavioral and Brain
Sciences 3, 417–464.
Scott, J.P. & J.L. Fuller (1965). Genetics and the social behaviour of the dog. Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Sears, R.R., Whiting, J.W.M., Novlis, V. & P.S. Sears (1953). Some child rearing antecedents
of aggression and dependency in young children. Genetic Psychology Monographs 47,
135–247.
Serpell, J. & J.A. Jagoe (1995). Early experience and development of behaviour. In J. Serpell
(Ed.) The domestic dog: Its Evolution, Behaviour and Interactions with People (pp.79–103).
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Serpell, J. (1996). Evidence for an association between pet behaviour and owner attachment
levels. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 47, 49–60.
Sheldrake, R. (1999). Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home: And Other
Unexplained Powers of Animals (pp. 353). New York: Three Rivers Press.
Silk, J.B. (2002). Kin selection in primate groups. International Journal of Primatology 23,
849–875.
Simpson, J.J. & W.S. Rholes (2000). Caregiving, attachment theory, and the connection
theoretical orientation. Psychological Inquiry 11, 114–117.
Sroufe L.A. & E. Waters (1977). Attachment as an Organizational Construct. Child Develop-
ment 48, 1184–1199.
Tancredy, C.M. & R.C. Fraley (2006). The nature of adult twin relationships: An attachment-
theoretical perspective. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 90, 78–93.
Topál, J., Miklósi, Á. & V. Csányi (1997). Dog-human relationship affects problem solving
behaviour in the dog. Anthrozoös 10, 214–224.
Topál, J., Miklósi, Á., Csányi, V. & A. Dóka (1998). Attachment behavior in dogs (Canis
familiaris): a new application of Ainsworth`s (1969) strange situation test. Journal of
Comparative Psychology 112, 219–229.
Topál, J., Gácsi, M., Miklósi, Á., Virányi, Zs., Kubinyi, E. & V. Csányi (2005). The effect of
domestication and socialization on attachment to human: a comparative study on hand
reared wolves and differently socialized dog puppies. Animal Behaviour 70, 1367–1375.
Topál, J., Miklósi, Á., Gácsi, M., Dóka, A., Pongrácz, P., Kubinyi, E., Virányi, Zs. & V. Csányi
(2009). Dog as a complementary model for understanding human social behavior. Ad-
vances in the Study of Behavior 39, 71–116.
Triebenbacher, S. (1999). Re-evaluation of the companion animal bonding scale. Anthrozoös
12, 169–173.
Turner, D.C. (2000). The human-cat relationship In: D.C. Turner & P. Bateson (Eds.) The
domestic cat: the biology of its behaviour (pp. 194–206). Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Valsecchi, P., Prato-Previde E., Accorsi P.A. & G. Fallani (2010). Development of the attach-
ment bond in guide dogs Applied Animal Behaviour Science 123 43–50
Virányi, Z., Gácsi, M., Kubinyi, E., Topál, J., Belényi, B., Ujfalussy, D. & Á. Miklósi (2008).
Comprehension of human pointing gestures in young human-reared wolves and dogs.
Animal Cognition 11, 373–387.
Wickler, W. (1976). The ethological analysis of attachment. Sociometric, motivational and
sociophysiological aspects. Zeitschrift für Tierpsychologie 42, 12–28.
Woolpy, J.H. & B.E. Ginsburg (1967). Wolf socialization: A study of temperament in a wild
social species. American Zoologist 7, 357–363.
Zasloff, R.L. (1996). Measuring attachment to companion animals: A dog is not a cat is not
a bird. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 47, 43–48.
Zimen, E. (1987). Ontogeny of approach and flight behavior towards humans in wolves,
poodles and wolf-poodle hybrids. In H. Frank (Ed.) Man and wolf (pp. 275–292). Dor-
drecht: W.J. Publishers.
How can human companionship inform social robotics 187
CHAPTER NINE
How can the ethological study of dog-human

companionship inform social robotics?
Gabriella Lakatos and Ádam Miklósi1
On the ethological concept of companionship
The qualitative categorisation of social relationships is problematic both

in the ethological and in the psychological literature. There are qualitative
and quantitative differences among different types of social relationships
ranging from incidental social interaction (even if it is regular), through
some sort of companionship to a friendship. For the present discussion we
refer to companionship as a type of repeated social interaction between
biologically unrelated partners (1) who provide mutual social support
(‘help’), (2) whose interactions stretch over long time, (3) who do not expect
any investment to be returned immediately, (4) who acquire, maintain and
actively update knowledge about each other, and (5) who show an increas-
ingly complex inter-subjectivity as their relationship progresses (see also
Silk 2002). Depending on other inner or external factors companionship
may develop into friendship or is terminated.
Naturally, such complex social inter-dependency can only be maintained
by an array of behaviourally controlled social interactions. Thus a compan-
ion should be able to exhibit skills for communication, including expression
of inner (‘emotional’) states, should have behavioural variability and ser-
vitude to subordinate his behaviour to the goals of the partner. It has to be
able to show synchronicity both at the level of emotions and behaviour.
All these mechanism together ensure that companions are able to engage
in beneficial (immediate gain) and meaningful (social gain) actions. Note
that humans evolved to act collaboratively which is supported by the so-
cially (psychologically) perceived reward of the social interaction (Csányi,
2000; Tomasello, 2009).
1 Department of Ethology, Eötvös Loránd University.

188 Gabriella Lakatos and Ádam Miklósi
Companionships do not emerge rapidly (‘out of nowhere’) and depend

crucially on the long-term interaction of the partners. They are very sensi-
tive to both the practical social skills of the partners as well as the gains
(either material or psychological) that emerge as a result. In human societ-
ies the nature and function of social relationships are continuously chal-
lenged and redefined. This may apply not only to human-human but also
to human-animal relationships. In this chapter we will utilise the human-
dog relationship as an example of the possible ways to examine human-
animal relationships in general and as a model of a possible future
human-robot relationship, assuming some functional convergence be-
tween social robots and dogs in relation to humans. The behavioural in-
teraction between humans and dogs may provide important insights for
ethological research on heterospecific social behaviour.
Dogs as companions
The social status of dogs in the human society has long been debated among
anthropologists, zoologists, ethologists and other experts. Many portrayed
the dog as a sort of a servant helping with workmanship, others argued for
some spiritual role, and opinions on dogs being a sort of ‘social parasites’
were also expressed. Elsewhere one of us (Miklósi, 2007) has argued to go
back to the folk wisdom and consider dogs as companions or friends of
humans. Indeed dogs fulfil the behavioural conditions put forward for
companionship above. This view is also in line with theories of dog evolu-
tion suggesting a selection of some specific social behaviour traits in the
anthropogenic environment (Hare & Tomasello, 2005; Topál et al., 2009).
In the industrialized countries dogs are present in 15–40% of the house-
holds, so on average 1 in 3-5 families share their resources with at least one
dog. Pet ownership is highest among households with children but attach-
ment to pets is highest among people living alone and among couples who
do not have children living at home.
Perhaps it is not surprising that according to questionnaire studies
companionship is the principal reason for having a dog (Endenburg et al.,
1994). Ninety five percent of pet owners regard their pets as friends and
there are many studies reporting pets, especially dogs, as being family
members (e.g. Albert and Bulcroft, 1987; 1988).
Why are dogs special?
It is always difficult to make comparisons among different species that

serve as companion animals, but research has often indicated that dogs
are in many ways exceptional. In general, they seem to be more adept in
playing affectionate and emotionally supportive roles than members of
any other animal species.
Dog owners spend more time actively interacting with their pets than
cat owners do and they are also more willing to spend any amount on
veterinary treatment. Overall the studies on dog-human relationships sug-
gest that dogs are better at adjusting their interactions to the owners’ de-
mands than other companion animals (Hart, 1995), and on the basis of
questionnaire studies, dogs interact with their owners in ways, which result
in higher levels of attachment (Hart, 1995).
Many dog behaviour patterns seem to be especially designed to elicit
affection (Hart, 1995; King et al., 2009). They seek out their owners for
mutual contact, and provide affection that is often not contingent upon
owner’s appearance, social or material achievements in the human society.
Questionnaire studies show that expressiveness, loyalty/affection, enjoy-
ment of walks, greeting behaviour and attentiveness are highly valued traits
by the owners (Hart, 1995). Thus dogs provide their owners with feeling of
unconditional acceptance and, at the same time, enhance the person’s
attachment to the dog. Physical contact is also very important in human-
dog relationship. Touching is the most frequent behaviour shown in the
presence of a dog (Hart, 1995). Petting dogs has also physiological and
psychological benefits, and these effects do not seem to be limited to any
specific age group but instead depend on the individual relationship be-
tween owner and pet (Jenkins, 1986; Wells et al., 2007).
Pros and cons of owning a dog
There are both physical and psychological benefits of canine companion-

ship, thus it is not surprising that dogs play an important role in specific
therapeutic interventions (e.g. animal assistant therapy). Many recent
investigations have shown that dogs may be able to prevent owners from
becoming ill, facilitate their recovery from ill-health and predict certain
types of underlying ailment. Anderson et al. (1992) reported that in a large
clinical sample people visiting a screening clinic for coronary heart disease
in Melbourne the risk factors were significantly lower for dog (and other
pet) owners in comparison to those who did not own a companion animal.
It has been demonstrated that petting a dog may reduce blood pressure
for normotensitive and hypertensitive persons (Baun et al., 1984; Patronek
& Glickman, 1992).
Dogs may not only be able to improve health by changing physiological
status in humans, they may also contribute towards the psychological
well-being of people. Many of these psychological benefits may arise di-
rectly from the companionship that dogs offer people (Hart, 1995, Wells et
al., 2007).
However, dog companionship has its down side as well, which extends
over the problem of transmission of diseases (zoonoses). Many owners are
unprepared for the investment of time and money that dog ownership
requires. Some dogs develop behavioural alternations many of which can
be annoying for the owner, like disobedience, aggression, separation anx-
iety. Most of these problems emerge because there is a lack of proper social
interaction between the dog and owner, and inexperienced people do not
have the insight how to manage their social relationship with the dog.
Malformation of behaviour is often noticed too late, and behavioural and
mental recovery takes a lot of time and effort.
Behavioural aspects of the human-dog companionship
Ethological investigations have recently put the human-dog relationship

into a different perspective although this has rarely been emphasised in
publications. Until the middle of the 1990’s studies mostly provided the
human perspective, data were collected by the means of questionnaires,
and behavioural observations were rare (but see for example Millot et al.,
1987). The change occurred when an ethological stance was taken, that is,
researchers realized that dogs and human form a natural group, and social
interactions within these groups can be observed by the ethological “tool
kit” (Lehner, 1996). The home of the owner, dog training schools or public
parks, and more controlled experimental work in laboratories offer a wide
range of scenes where dog-human behaviour can be observed and ma-
nipulated for collecting valuable data.
Our strategy has been to look at different abilities of dogs that play the
role of functional behavioural analogues of human behaviour (Csányi,
2000), facilitate and support complex social interaction between humans
and dogs. Such functional traits include complementer cooperation (Naderi
et al., 2001), the ability of rule-following (Watson et al., 2001), the ability of
interspecific social learning (Pongrácz et al., 2001) or the attachment be-

haviour toward humans (Topál et al., 1998; Gácsi et al., 2001, Topál & Gácsi
this volume). Here we concentrate on the aspect of human-dog interaction
that includes communication, play and teaching. We aim to show how the
ethological approach can be used to study human-dog relationships from
a comparative point of view, and how this may lead to designing social
behaviour for robots.
Dog-Human Communication from a Comparative Point of View

If one accepts that humans and dogs form natural groups, inter-specific
communication seems to be an inevitable factor. This notion is also un-
derlined by the fact that dogs had some work-related role even in ancient
human societies. Functionally such communicative interactions should be
beneficial for both sides. Accommodating by the means of communication
dogs increase their chance to survive in the human society. In parallel, it
is equally important for humans to exert some control over these four
legged companions. Inter-specific communicative interactions emerge
automatically as a consequence of sharing group life. Dogs and humans
share a good deal of homologue communicative skills available to all mam-
mals, both species possess a complex and flexible communication system,
and mutual adjustment (learning) to each others’ set of signals can ensure
high levels of behavioural synchrony after repeated social interactions over
long durations.
However, in the case of the dog arguments on specific selection for
human-like social skills have been also put forward. This issue was raised
first by Hare et al. in 2002 who showed that pet dogs over-performed cap-
tive apes and wolves in reading simple human gestures. This report has
prompted many experiments looking at the comparative, mechanistic and
developmental aspects of this skill. Most work uses a relatively simple
procedure (reviewed in Miklósi & Soproni 2006), in which the human
experimenter indicates the location of hidden food by a gesture (usually
pointing), and then the subjects is allowed to make a free choice among
2–4 possible locations.
Comparative experiments following the Hare et al. (2002) study have
shown that intensively socialized adult wolves can be trained to rely on
human pointing gestures (Virányi et al., 2008; Udell et al., 2008), and may
even be able to utilise such gestures to localize hidden food without spe-
cific experience (Gácsi et al 2009a). The later work also provided evidence
that the key difference between dogs and wolves may be in the develop-
ment of this skill. While dog puppies at 4 months of age seem to show a
confident performance, wolf cubs of the same age did not follow the gesture
of the human. This suggests that genetic changes during domestication
allowed this skill to emerge earlier in development in the phylogeneti-
cally younger species, which might have contributed to their survival in
the human groups.
Further studies revealed that these communicative skills in dogs have
been also enhanced by specific positive selection. Hunting dogs, which are
involved in tasks that are based on visual communication with humans
(e.g. Hungarian vizsla) are usually better in pointing comprehension than
hunting dogs working away from the human (e.g. beagles). In similar vein,
dog breeds having a wider skull and forward placed eyes are also at advan-
tages to breeds which have a narrower skull shape (Gácsi et al., 2009b).
Since selective environment may have enhanced these skills in dogs a
comparison with humans seemed especially interesting. To some extent
dogs and 1–2 year old children live in a similar social environment in hu-
man families, and are exposed to similar types of gestural communication.
Lakatos et al. (2009) compared the performance of dogs to that of 1.5–2 and
3 year old children. The results showed that using a small array of different
types of gestures dogs were on par with 1.5–2 year old children.
Many studies have investigated the flexibility of dogs in utilizing human
gestural cues to examine the mechanisms behind their comprehension.
We have found that although dogs perform well in the case of many dif-
ferent pointing gestures, they perform poorly in gestures where, from their
point of view, the pointing arm and hand remains within the silhouette of
the body (Soproni et al 2002). This result led us to conclude that, for dogs,
the protrusion of a body part of the body torso provides the key feature of
the signal (Lakatos et al. 2009). Making the gesture visually more con-
spicuous has an enhancing effect even if the gesture does not stick out from
the body torso. Thus it seems that the most informative gesture for the
dogs is not even the line of the pointing arm but a clearly visible patch,
which appears conspicuously and asymmetrically at one side of the body
torso (Lakatos et al. 2007). Any communicative skills of reading flexibly
gestural signals probably rely on some environmental input. Riedel et al.
(2008), however, argued that the early and relatively stable performance
during development suggest a rather spontaneous emergence without
much social experience. Gácsi et al. (2009a) found that the skill of reading
human pointing gestures is quite stable over a period of 2 to over 12 months
of age in dogs. This notion was called into question by Udell et al. (2010)
both on experimental and statistical ground. They reported that adult

shelter dogs are deficient in reading human gestures, and argued for the
importance of social experience in the development of skills for utilizing
human gestural signals. Although the jury is still out on this issue, com-
parative research with wolf puppies showed that the key factor may be
indeed the amount of social experience needed for the development of the
full-blown capacity. Selection might have reduced the amount of environ-
mental input that is necessary in the case of dogs.
Dogs have strong propensity to initialise communicative interactions
with humans by using visual and sometimes acoustic signals functionally
similar to the ones used by humans. In certain contexts dogs prefer to
use gestural cues when communicating with humans. This can be ob-
served in the so called an unsolvable problem situation when dogs often
gaze to draw the attention of the owner or another person. For example,
dogs unable to access food look at the owner, and display gaze alternation
between the location of a target object and the person (Miklósi et al., 2000;
2005). Miklósi et al. (2003) showed that dogs are more inclined to gaze at
a human in an unsolvable problem situation, than intensively socialized
wolves.
In humans, talk is a dominant way of establishing social contact, thus
it is not surprising to find that humans also talk to dogs, and based on the
reactions of their companion many believe that dogs understand what is
told to them (Miklósi, 2007). This may be true in the sense that the dog acts
in line with the context of the social interaction but this does not necessary
mean that the dog actually understands the linguistic content indepen-
dently from the situation (Pongrácz et al 2001). Owners use often a quite
specific form of speech for communication with dogs which constitutes
high pitched, slow, bubbling voice, simplified, well-articulated sentences,
and plural form. This pet-directed speech shares many similarities with
‘motherese’ used to talk to infants (‘doggerel’ see Hirsch-Pasek & Treiman,
1981; Mitchell, 2001).
The utilization of human verbal cues in dogs has also received some
attention recently. Domestication may have improved dogs’ ability to rely
on human speech cues because the use of commanding communicative
signals has been integral to the function of dogs in their relationships with
humans (Mills, 2005). A command is not a simple discriminative acoustic
stimulus, it involves both verbal and non-verbal signals and emphasis may
vary with context (Mills, 2005). In an experimental study Fukuzawa et al.
(2005) looked at the influence of the context when using certain commands.
Non-verbal features seemed to moderate responsiveness to the command,

and this effect may depend partly on the dog’s familiarity with the com-
mand and the perceived proximity of the commander to the dog.
Considering the paralingual aspects of the verbal communication it has
been shown that short rising, higher pitched notes are more effective when
giving commands to dogs (Mills, 2005; see also Mitchell, 2001).
Loud and frequent vocalisation in dogs is one of the characteristics that
set them apart from wolves. Barking occurs frequently in dogs living with
humans but relatively rarely in stray and feral animals. Thus dogs may use
barking as a means for communicating with humans. It seems that dogs
can vary at least the frequency, the tonality (ratio of noise/harmonic aspects
of the sound) and pulsing (inter-bark interval) (Pongrácz et al., 2005).
Humans need relatively little experience for decoding the meaning of
barking. By listening to play back barks children from the age of 6 are able
to report correctly the two basic emotions (aggressive versus fearful) in-
volved in some situations (attacking dog versus dog left alone) (Molnár et
al., unpublished data). In some respects the vocal patterns of barking follow
the motivation-structural rules (Morton 1977). This means that low fre-
quency, harsh and rapidly pulsing sounds express agonistic intent by the
signaller while the opposite vocal features reflect affiliative tendencies. It
is likely that humans utilise the same rules for the mental decoding of
barking vocalisations of dogs.
Inter-Specific Play
Although complex social play is one of the most striking phenomena of
mammalian behavioural development, its adaptive function is still a mys-
tery. For example, according to Coppinger and Smith (1990) play could
have been originated by the need to reorganise the behaviour of the mam-
malian neonate into the adult pattern. Most researchers however maintain
that the costs involved in play indicate some adaptive function, which
could be different according to species and ecology. In social mammals
with complex behavioural patterns, play could facilitate the establishment
of behavioural routines, provide physical and/or mental exercise and
strengthen individual relations (e.g. Bekoff & Byers, 1981).
The specific functional role of play gained some support by finding that
in canids the amount of play correlates with the sociality of the species
(Fox 1975). Jackals and coyotes, which are considered to be less social, play
occurs less frequently in contrast to wolves and dogs. In addition in coyotes,
and to some extent in jackals, hierarchical relationships develop before
the increased playing activity, which suggest that play has little role in the
establishment of social relationships. In dogs and wolves intensive playing
precedes the establishment of social hierarchy, which offers the possibil-
ity for the development of social ties independent from the subsequent
social relationship.
According to questionnaire studies, play also has an important role in
the dog-human relationship (Hart, 1995). The fact that dogs play both with
humans and conspecifics, offers an interesting possibility to investigate
how they decode human behaviour signals. Rooney et al. (2001) system-
atically tested the reaction of dogs to human play signals (e.g. play bow,
lunge, and both actions presented with inviting verbal utterance). Each
signal, which had been derived from a previous study observing large
number of dog-human games, was effective to induce play in the dogs. It
is interesting to see that vocalisation on the part of the human had a fa-
cilitating effect on play just as it does in conspecific dog-interactions. This
study also provided support that dogs have the ability to rely on very diverse
set of play signals. This seems to be a manifestation of ontogenetic rituali-
sation (Tomasello & Call, 1996) when a behavioural action becomes a part
of a communicative signal set through the habitual interactions of two
individuals. The possibility of ontogenetic ritualisation makes it also dif-
ficult to investigate whether visual (bodily) similarity of the play signals in
humans and dogs contributes to its effectiveness.
Mitchell and Thompson (1991) developed a novel behavioural model for
describing the complex activities during play. Accordingly, play partners
usually have two tasks to accomplish during any kind of social play. They
participate in the interaction by utilizing a specific pattern of behaviour
(“project”), but they also aim at contributing to a common goal in order to
maintain play activity. Interacting dogs might have an individual prefer-
ence for engaging in certain play projects, which, might be or might not be
compatible with the actual project played by the partners. Thus the task
of the players is both to indicate preferred projects but also to respect in-
dications by the other for other projects. Play interactions can be extended
if players initiate (‘suggest’) compatible projects (e.g. dog runs, human
chases) but they should also be ready to either give up their own project
or entice the other in order to engage in its project.
Observations of dog-human play revealed that both partners performed
enticements in the form of refusal to continue participation, self-handi-
capping but only humans performed truly manipulative actions. Thus it
seems that both partners recognize not only the common goal of playing
but also that either their own goal should be changed or they have to make
the other to change its goal. Mitchell and Thompson (1991) suggested that
play activities of dogs might be described in terms of intentions, which
include having a goal/intention to engage in a given project and also to
recognize similar goals/intention on the part of the partner. In a similar
vein, others argued that playing offers a natural behavioural system in
which problems regarding intentionality can be investigated.
Dog-Human Interactions in Teaching Situations

Teaching is a special case of social interactions that occurs rarely in non-
human animals. It can be more effective than other forms of social learning
because the ‘teacher’ engages actively in the transmission of the behavioural
skill or knowledge, and controls the cooperative interaction. The learner
(‘student’) should be able recognize the teaching situation, to participate
in this interaction (cooperation) and to accept the knowledge presented
by the teacher as being relevant without re-considering or supervising it
(leadership-acceptance) (Topál et al., 2009).
Recent experimental results have shown that dogs’ are skilful learners
in a ‘teacher-student’ situation because they both cooperate and accept
the human leadership in the interaction. Attachment toward humans may
also support dogs’ ability to participate actively in teaching situations and
accept the human as a teacher. Teaching situations are characterized by a
set of specific communicative cues, like eye-contact or referential signals
(e.g. pointing) which should be recognized by the learner. The sensitivity
to the other’s attentional state, the ability for joint attention and gaze-
following have important roles for learning in teaching situations (Topál
et al., 2009). Recent experimental studies showed that dogs actively utilize
eye-contact and gazing play if they need help from the human in an unsolv-
able situation or when they expect some information from us (Miklósi et
al., 2000; 2003; 2005). Moreover it seems that the presence of the eye-
contact before providing the information in a communicative interaction
is of particular importance for the dogs.
In summary, it seems that dogs are able to actively participate in teach-
ing situations with humans.
The Temporal Aspects of Human-Dog Interactions

Until now only a few studies have focused on the temporal aspects of hu-
man–dog interactions (Millot & Filiatre, 1986; Filiatre et al., 1986; Millot et
al., 1988; Mitchell & Thompson, 1993), although it is clear that actions in
the behavioural sequences occur in response to an action of the partner.
Most former studies have applied methods that detect only some aspects
of the temporal structure in behaviour. Kerepesi et al. (2005, 2006) used a
novel temporal structure model and pattern detection procedure developed
by Magnusson (Magnusson, 1996; 2000) which enabled them to find com-
plex temporal patterns in behaviour. These sequential patterns do not only
involve temporally adjacent actions but also contain actions that occur
within a more distant time frame.
An observational study reported on temporal patterns in the behaviour
of interacting dog–human dyads in a cooperative task (Kerepesi et al, 2005).
They have described and analysed a cooperative situation in which the
owner instructed the dog to help build a tower of small plastic building
bricks. The owner was not allowed to move away from a fixed location and
had to ‘ask’ the dog (without using direct verbal commands) to carry the
plastic bricks to her from a pile of such objects placed at 2–3 m away. In
this task the cooperative interaction developed spontaneously, and the
occurrence of hidden temporal patterns in behaviour was so expected. The
statistical analysis revealed a set of different temporal patterns. There were
more time patterns than expected by chance (in comparison to a random-
ized data set), and the average interactive temporal pattern consisted of 5
actions. More specific results were obtained when the authors investi-
gated specific temporal patterns which contained the “dog picks up the
brick” action. This action is critical in this cooperative game because it
precedes the transportation of the bricks to the owner. Interestingly, this
action was always incorporated into an interactive temporal rime pattern
that was terminated very frequently by the delivery of the brick to the
owner. This suggests that successful collaborative interactions are based
on accurate behavioural timing, that is, performance of the dyad can be
enhanced if actions occur at the right time. Communicative actions emit-
ted at the right time may be prompting actions on the part of the other.
Thus even collaborative interactions between humans and dogs seem to
need a rhythm which is jointly established be the participants. The results
of this study provide support for long-term temporal sequences in dog–hu-
man interaction as they showed that during cooperation the dogs’ and
humans’ behaviour became organised into interactive temporal patterns.
These results point to the fact that training for interactive behaviour, for
example in dog sports, probably improves both the humans’ and the dogs’
skill for rapid and smooth interaction. This is especially the case when the
two partners perform different jobs. In agility competitions the dog has to
overcome obstacles but only the human knows the order of these for the
actual trial. Apart from training the dog to be able to negotiate the obstacles,
the dyad should also learn how to communicate bi-directionally (Helton,
2010).
From dog companions to companion robots
The companionship between dogs and humans seems to have inspired

robot engineers. But they were not the first ones thinking along this idea.
Since the beginning of the toy industry designers were keen on introducing
toys, which exploited human tendencies to interact with anything that had
the characteristics of an animal companion. Similar trends were present
in the cartoons, and more recently in computer games. Toy animals with
‘human-baby-like’ or ‘puppy-like’ features have always been a success.
Lorenz (1943) referred to these set of characteristics as “Kinderschema”,
which are effective sign stimuli to release caring behaviour in humans.
However, until now these creatures remained relatively passive and did
not display any social behaviour toward humans. The advent of robotics
has changed this situation markedly, and in recent years several so called
companion robots have been developed, many of which capitalize on the
human-pet relationship (e.g. dog-like: AIBO®—Sonny; seal-like: PARO
®—AIST; dynosaur-like: PLEO®—UGOBE). These partly or fully autonomous
companion toy robots have been designed to interact with people and to
provide some kind of ‘entertainment’ for humans. They have the charac-
teristics to induce an emotional relationship (Donath, 2004; Kaplan et al.,
2002, Kerepesi et al, 2006). In order to validate the significance of these
companion robots for humans, researchers started to investigate the nature
of human-robot interaction in this specific case. Kahn et al. (2003) sug-
gested that the relationship between people and their AIBO appeared to
be similar to the relationship people have with live dogs. According to some
investigations people attribute animal characteristics to AIBO and view it
as a family member. More behaviour oriented observations with AIBO,
however, suggested that people differentiate AIBO from a living dog (Ribi
et al., 2008).
Two different lines of approach have been used to investigate humans’
interaction with companion toy robots. Some researchers use question-
naires to find out whether humans perceive companion robots as being
similar to a living pet and whether these companion robots evoke emotions
in humans. Others utilise ethological methods to describe interactions

between humans and robots and compare this to interactions with real
pets.
Recently we have conducted different comparative studies investigating
the dog-human and robot-human interactions using AIBO and PLEO as
robotic companions. In one of these studies Kerepesi et al. (2006) investi-
gated children’s and adults’ behaviour during a play session with AIBO and
compared it to playing with a live dog puppy. In this study they analysed
spontaneous play between the human and the dog/robot, and compared
the temporal structure of the interactions in children and adults. Further
insight was gained by questionnaires that measured the adults’ attitude
towards the robotic companion and pet dog.
Considering the behavioural pattern of the humans, the results showed
no differences in the latency of the first tactile contact between humans
and the dog/AIBO, neither in the duration of petting the dog/AIBO, nor in
the verbal communication in the groups. Thus under these particular
conditions the companion robot was as an effective playing partner for
both children and adults as the dog puppy. The analysis of the temporal
patterns of these interactions showed that both the human-robot and the
human-puppy interactions consist of complex temporal patterns. However,
the differences in initialisation and termination of the interactions sug-
gested that in the long term humans ‘get bored’ faster when interacting
with AIBO (or in general with a partner that has a limited capacity to
maintain engagement in temporally structured interactions) (Kerepesi et
al., 2006). In addition, response to the questionnaires indicated that people
preferred to play with the real dog puppy.
Figure 9.1. (a) Adult interacting with a dog (b) with AIBO (c) child interacting with AIBO.
In a more recent study we investigated the social behaviour of humans

who interacted for the first time with the dinosaur-like companion robot,
PLEO (Lakatos et al., unpublished data). The study was aimed to find out
whether this robot is capable of evoking social behaviour and emotions in

our human subjects in comparison to a live pet dog. We also wanted to
know whether these reactions are influenced by the humans’ attitudes
towards robots, and by the humans’ personality. Thus, in addition to the
behavioural interaction, subjects had to fill in a questionnaire on their
demographic status, and a short validated version of the ‘Big Five’ person-
ality assessment (TIPI; Gosling et al., 2003; Muck et al., 2007). They had to
answer questions on their attitudes toward technical equipments and
gadgets and on their feelings towards animals and robots in general.
We have found the similar results to previous studies regarding the
behavioural pattern of the humans during the interaction with dog/PLEO:
neither the latency of the first tactile contact between humans and the
dog/PLEO nor the duration of the different behavioural variables (e.g. be-
ing in tactile contact, standing, moving towards the dog/PLEO etc.) differed
significantly between the dog and PLEO groups. However, in their response
to our post-experimental questions the subjects indicated that in the long
term they would get ‘bored’ or ‘frustrated’ when interacting with PLEO
sooner than with the dog and they would pay less for a PLEO than for a
dog. People who are more open to use technical devices showed greater
interest in PLEO, and those who had a more agreeable and conscientious
personality would have paid less for the robot toy.
The present results show that while humans’

attitude towards the dogs is quite uniform, their
attitude toward PLEO varies. This suggests that in
its present state PLEO has little to offer as a
companion for adult people, and in general
Figure 9.2. Adult interacting people do not see these companion robots as
with PLEO. replacements or substitutes for dogs.
In summary, human interaction styles towards dogs and companion toy

robots may be similar in the short term but our subjects did express unfa-
vourable attitudes toward toy robots which make a possible long-term
relationship with these creatures unlikely. Our results also underlined
findings by Ribi et al. (2008) that people do not consider companion toys
as living dogs.
Ethological perspectives in natural and artificial

companionship with Pets
Arguments on ‘biophilia’ in humans have been prevalent. Wilson (1984)

was the first to suggest that humans show a strong attraction to various
aspects of nature. Independently, whether this hypothesis is true or not,
or whether it is a species-specific character of human nature, the culture
of pet keeping could be one supporting case. There have been arguments
that the urge for interaction with other living creatures could have been
one driving force for the domestication of dogs in hunter-gatherer societ-
ies (Cluttenbrock, 1984). Moreover, our ability and tendency to predict and
conceptualize the behaviour of others could have been important in the
process of domestication (Serpell, 1989), and may drive our everyday in-
teractions with our pets.
Humans are among the few mammals who display strong monogamous
tendencies that include long infant care and allo-parenting. Especially, the
later is important because it involves not only the older generation (grand-
parents) but also sisters and brothers who may care for younger ones. The
synergic effects of all these social skills could have provided the background
for intensive caring behaviour some aspects of which manifest quite early
in human development.
Although there is no clear evidence whether selection for being adequate
subjects of human caring behaviour contributed to the evolution of dogs,
they display several morphological and behavioural features that make
them apt for this role. Many have reflected on the paedomorphic character
of dogs (in relation to their wolf ancestors). Although this hypothesis may
not provide full explanation, many features of the dog fit well with their
social role in the human family as a pet or as a ‘child-substitute.’
Human biophilia has also another psychological attribute which has
often been described as anthropomorphism. The human tendency for
projecting human-like characters to other beings has long been acknowl-
edged. Not only dogs but basically any other living or non-living beings
have the potential to become subjects of anthropomorphism. A recent
study revealed that people have no problem with attributing personality
traits to cars (Windhager et al 2008). Thus it is not surprising to find that
during human history there has been a continuous interest in providing
humans with subjects to be cared for, and this trend has been capitalised
by the toy industry in recent years. With the advance of robotic creatures
the border between a complex toy (for children) and a robot as a techno-
logical achievement is blurred. One of the most recent examples is the

PLEO. Morphologically, and to some extent behaviourally it resembles an
extinct animal species but it is clearly far from being a copy of it, and many
features (e.g. large eyes) actually are reminiscent of similar cartoon char-
acters, and despite its reptile-like look, PLEO has many mammalian-like
behavioural features. It is marketed as a toy for children but also as an
interactive partner for adults. So far most such creatures do not seem to
be able to break out from the category of complex toys and rely more on
humans’ anthropomorphizing tendency than actually displaying those
skills which make dogs and some other pets so appealing for humans.
Human-animal interaction in the age of robots
There is little question that robot technology improves day by day. Robots
will have better behavioural and cognitive capacities in the near future,
and will claim their place in the anthropogenic environment. Some robots
are being developed with the explicit goal of replacing pets. For example,
the seal-like Paro has been design for therapeutic intervention. In detailed
studies it has been shown that interaction with Paro has relaxing effects
in patients and it also improves the socialisation of patients with each
other and with caregivers (e.g. Kidd et al 2006). Application of such robots
raises also ethical issues but one can also argue that they could be advan-
tageous in situations when patients have allergies to animals, or their weak
immune system precludes contact with pets. Furthermore some intensive
therapeutic interventions may be difficult or exhaustive for assistant ani-
mals. There would be no concern of welfare in the case of therapeutic ro-
bots, which could be applied in intensive training programs (e.g. with
autistic children, see Feil-Seifer & Mataric, 2008).
Thus the question emerges how research on human-animal and human-
robot interaction can or should inform each other. First, human-animal
studies are still deficient on reporting the details of behavioural interac-
tions. One may investigate specifically the communicative, synchronising
or socializing aspects with regard to the behaviours expressed during the
interaction. Studies should go beyond simple quantitative investigations
but look at fine details of dynamics, intensity, timing, and rhytmicity. Such
investigation could reveal how participants achieve and maintain mutual
interest, by changing the dynamics of the action-flow based on the behav-
iour of the other. The analysis of time pattern (see above) could prove to
be very fruitful.
Second, human-animal studies should investigate the long-term effects

of animals on humans. Animals clearly have an advantage over robots when
it comes to long-term relationships. Although, many studies point to the
beneficial effects that pets may have on their owners, we know little about
the specific features of these animals which actually maintain this relation-
ship. One may hypothesise that such features include the need to be cared
for, a certain variability of expressive behaviour pattern and some level of
unpredictability in behaviour that challenges the human user.
Third, more insightful research is needed for investigating the role of
individuality in human-animal relationships. This can be investigated to
see how different personalities (both the human and animal, see e.g.
Gosling, 2001) play their role in the relationship, and how they shape each
other mutually. Individual qualities can also play an important role in the
development of long-term attachment, and research should touch upon
the ‘special’ features which characterise anyone’s beloved animal compan-
ion of which he/she is proud.
It seems that there is much more to be learnt from our interaction with
companion animals, which include the richness of interaction and the
variety of functions they may fulfil in the human social groups. Robots for
the time being are trying to enter the niche of our dogs and other pets.
Strengths and limitations: animal-robot parallels in

human society
When laypeople hear about research on robots, they seem either very in-
terested or dismissive. It is especially embarrassing to talk about such issues
with dog owners, or others who have deep feelings for animals. Sometimes
even fellow scientists are very sceptical. But, is there a better way to un-
derstand the mind of others then trying to build minds yourself? This quest
is not about succeeding or failing but more about a new way of scientific
endeavour to understand minds of others, and indirectly to learn about
our own minds. Facing the difficulty of building other minds may also in-
crease the respect of the scientist for existing ones.
Importantly, this research is not about replacing living beings, espe-
cially pets, but instead trying to establish the possibility to broaden the
present minding beings. The ethologists’ role in this research is to establish
those ‘benchmarks’ (targets of performance) that are useful for testing these
new creatures in order to reveal their limitations and achievements. It
seems to be quite unwise to compare present day robots to humans, but
the diversity of animal minds offer a much better ‘play ground.’ Eventually
some of these robots will work in close contact with humans, collaborating
with them in various tasks. Dogs seem of offer a very good reference in this
case. Since our work in this field we have had to face many interesting
problems which would have never emerged had we followed only the
traditional ethological approach.
This area of research is received with scepticism, and researchers seem
unable to find the right way for developing good experimental procedures.
It may be that the ‘classic’ methods of interviewing and relying on subjec-
tive evidence do not provide solid data for research progression.
Alternatively, measuring behaviour of humans, dogs and robots is some-
times very difficult and time consuming. But technology may also help
here, as novel ways of measuring behaviour emerge which in the long term
may make such assessments automatic.
Present limitations of this approach are mainly technical because most
of these robots are not ready for a fair comparison. There is also a lack of
cooperation between scientists building robots and studying ethology or
other aspects of human-animal interaction. It is also somewhat surprising
that the long existence of interdisciplinary scientific fields such as human-
computer interaction and human-robot interaction has not facilitated
closer contacts with scientists working on animals. Indeed, the dominant
belief has been that humans can only interact with humans, neglecting our
long history of interacting with animals. So we are supporting the optimist
view, that is, human-robot and human-animal interaction should eventu-
ally reach a position from which synergic effects emerge that lead to a
better understanding of our specific relationship with animals, especially
those that we created, but at the same time how the human potential to
socially interact with a wide range of creatures may be extended to non-
biological beings.
Acknowledgements
The research was supported by a grant of the European Union (EU FP7
ICT: ICT-2007-LIREC-215554), and by TÁMOP (4.2.2/08/1/KMR).
References
Albert, A. & Bulcroft, K. (1987). Pets and urban life. Anthrozoös 1, 9–23.
Albert, A. & Bulcroft, K. (1988). Pets, Families, and the Life Course. Journal of Marriage and
the Family 50, 543–552.
Anderson, W.P., Reid, C.M., Jennings, G.L. (1992). Pet ownership and risk factors for cardio-
vascular disease. Medical Journal of Australia, 157, 298–301.
Baun, M.M., Bergstrom, N., Langston, N.F., Thoma, L. (1984). Pysiological effects of human/
companion animal bonding. Nursing Research, 33, 126–129.
Bekoff, M., Byers J.A. (1981). A critical reanalysis of the ontogeny of mammalian social
and locomotor play. An ethological hornet’s nest. In: K. Immelman, G.W. Barlow,
L. Petrinovich, M. Main (Eds.) Behavioural development, The Bielefeld Interdisciplinary
Project, pp. 296–337. Cambridge University Press, New York.
Clutton-Brock J. (1984). Dog. In: I.L. Mason (Ed.) Evolution of domesticated animals, pp. 198–
210. Longman, London, New York.
Coppinger, R.P., Smith, K.C. (1990). A model for understanding the evolution of mamma-
lian behaviour. In: H.H. Genoways (Ed.) Current Mammalogy, pp. 335–374. Plenum Press,
New York.
Csányi, V. (2000). The ‘human behaviour complex’ and the compulsion of communication:
Key factors in human evolution. Semiotica, 128, 45–60.
Donath, J. (2004). Artificial pets: Simple behaviors elicit complex attachments. M. Bekoff
(Ed.) The Encyclopedia of Animal Behaviour, Greenwood Press.
Edenburg, N., Hart, H., Bouw, J. (1994). Motives for acquiring companion animals. Journal
of Economic Psychology, 15, 191–206.
Feil-Seifer, D., Mataric, M. (2008). Robot-assisted therapy for children with autism spectrum
disorders. Proceedings of the 7th international conference on Interaction design and chil-
dren. 49–52. ACM Press New York USA. ISBN:978-1-59593-994-4
Filiatre, J.C., Millot, J.L., Montagner, H. (1986). New data on communication behaviour
between the young child and his pet dog. Behavioural Processes, 12, 33–44.
Fox, M.W. (1975). The wild canids: Their systematics, behavioural ecology and evolution. Van
Nostrand Reinhold Co, New York.
Fukuzawa, M., Mills, D.S., Cooper, J.J. (2005). More than just a word: non-semantic command
variables affect obedience in the domestic dog (Canis familiaris). Applied Animal Behav-
iour Science, 91, 129–141.
Gácsi, M., Topál, J., Miklósi, Á., Dóka, A., Csányi, V. (2001). Attachment behaviour of adult
dogs (Canis familiaris) living at rescue centres: Forming new bonds. Journal of Com-
parative Psychology, 115, 423–431.
Gácsi, M, Győri, B., Virányi, Zs., Kubinyi, E., Range, F., Belényi, B., Miklósi, Á. (2009a). Ex-
plaining dog wolf differences in utilizing human pointing gestures: selection for syner-
gistic shifts in the development of some social skills. Plos ONE 4(8).
Gácsi, M., McGreevy, P., Kara, E., Miklósi, Á. (2009b). Effects of selection for cooperation
and attention in dogs. Behavioral and Brain Functions, 5(31).
Gosling, S.D. (2001). From mice to men: What can we learn about personality from animal
research? Psychological Bulletin, 127, 45–86.
Gosling, S.D., Rentfrow, P.J., Swann, W.B. (2003). A very brief measure of the Big-Five per-
sonality domains. Journal of Research in Personality, 37, 504–528.
Hare, B., Brown, M., Williamson, C., Tomasello M. (2002). The Domestication of Social
Cognition in Dogs. Science, 298, 1634–1636.
Hare, B., Tomasello, M. (2005). Human-like social skills in dogs? Trends in Cognitive S ciences,
9, 405–454.
Hart, L.A. (1995). Dogs as human companions: a review of the relationship. In: J. Serpell
(Ed.) The Domestic Dog, pp. 161–178. Cambridge University Press, Great Britain.
Helton, W.S. (2010). Does perceived trainability of dog (Canis lupus familiaris) breeds reflect
differences in learning or differences in physical ability? Behavioural Processes, 83,
315–323.
Hirsch-Pasek, K., Treiman, R. (1981). Doggerel: motherese in a new context. Journal of Child
Langauge, 9, 229–237.
Jenkins, J.L. (1986). Physiological effects of petting a companion animal. Physiological Re-
ports, 58, 21–22.
Kahn, P.H., Jr., Friedman, B., and Hagman, J. (2003). Hardware Companions?—What Online
AIBO Discussion Forums Reveal about the Human-Robotic Relationship. Conference
Proceedings of CHI 2003, New York, NY: ACM, 273–280.
Kaplan, F., Oudeyer, P.Y., Kubinyi, E., Miklósi, Á. (2002). Robotic clicker training. Robotics
and Autonomous Systems, 38, 197–206.
Kerepesi, A., Jonsson, G.K., Miklósi, Á., Topál, J., Csányi, V., Magnusson, M.S. (2005). Detec-
tion of temporal patterns in dog-human interaction. Behavioural Processes, 70, 69–79.
Kerepesi, A., Kubinyi, E., Jonsson, G.K., Magnusson, M.S., Miklósi, Á. (2006). Behavioural
comparison of human-animal (dog) and human-robot (AIBO) interactions. Behavioral
Processes, 73, 92–99.
Kidd, C.D., Taggart, W., Turkle, S. (2006). A sociable robot to encourage social interaction
among elderly. Proceedings of IEEE International Conference on Robotics and Automation.
3972–3976.
King, T., Marston, L.C., Bennett, P.C. (2009). Describing the ideal Australian companion
dog. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 120, 84–93.
Lakatos, G., Dóka, A., Miklósi, Á. (2007). The role of visual cues in the comprehension of
the human pointing signals in dogs. International Journal of Comparative Psychology,
20, 341–350.
Lakatos, G., Soproni, K., Dóka, A., Miklósi, Á. (2009). A comparative approach to dogs’
(Canis familiaris) and huamn infants’ comprehension of various forms of pointing
gestures. Animal Cognition, 12, 621–631.
Lehner, P.N. (1996). Handbook of ethological methods. Cambridge University Press, Cam-
bridge.
Lorenz, K. (1943). Die angeborenen Formen möglicher Erfahrung. Zeitschrift für Tierpsy-
chologie, 5, 233–409.
Magnusson, M.S. (1996). Hidden real-time patterns in intra- and inter-individual behaviour
description and detection. European Journal of Psychological Assessment, 12, 112–123.
Magnusson, M.S. (2000). Discovering hidden time patterns in behaviour: T-patterns and
their detection. Behavior Research Methods, Instruments and Computers, 32, 93–110.
Miklósi, Á., Soproni, K. (2006). A comparative analysis of the animals’ understanding of the
human pointing gesture. Animal Cognition, 9, 81–94.
Miklósi, Á., Polgárdi, R., Topál, J., Csányi, V. (2000). Intentional behaviour in dog-human
communication: An experimental analysis of ‘showing’ behaviour in the dog. Animal
Cognition, 3, 159–166.
Miklósi, Á., Kubinyi, E., Topál, J., Gácsi, M., Virányi, Zs., Csányi, V. (2003). A simple reason
for a big difference: wolves do not look back at humans but dogs do. Current Biology, 13,
763–766.
Miklósi, Á., Pongrácz, P., Lakatos G., Topál, J., Csányi, V. (2005). A comparative study of the
use of visual communicative signals in interactions between dogs (Canis familiaris) and
humans and cats (Felis catus) and humans. Journal of Comparative Psychology, 119,
179–186.
Miklósi, Á. (2007). Dog Behaviour, Evolution and Cognition. Oxford Universtity Press, New
York.
Millot, J.L., Filiatre, J.C. (1986). The behavioural sequences in the communication system
between the child and his pet dog. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 16, 383–390.
Millot, J.L., Filiatre, J.C., Eckerlin, A., Gagnon, A.C., Montagner, H. (1987). Olfactory cues in
the relation between children and their pets. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 17,
189–195.
Millot, J.L., Filiatre, J.C., Gagnon, A.C., Eckerlin, A., Montagner, H. (1988). Children and their
pet dogs: how they communicate. Behavioural Processes, 17, 1–15.
Mills, D.S. (2005). What’s in a word? A review of the attributes of a command affecting the
performance of pet dogs. Anthrozoös, 18, 208–221.
Mitchell, R.W. (2001). Americans’talk to dogs: similarities and differences with talk to infants.
Research on Language and Social Interactions, 34, 183–210.
Mitchell, R.W., Thompson, N.S. (1991). Projects, Routines and Enticements in dod-human
play. In: P.P.G. Bateson & R.H. Klopfer (Eds.) Perspectives in Ethology, Vol 9., pp. 189–216.
Plenum Press, New York.
Mitchell, R.W., Thompson, N.S. (1993). Familiarity and the rarity of deception: two theories
and their relevance to play between dogs (Canis familiaris) and humans (Homo sapiens).
Journal of Comparative Psychology, 107, 291–300.
Morton, E. (1977). On the occurrence and significance of motivation-structural rules in some
bird and mammal sounds. American Naturalist, 111, 855–869.
Muck, P.M., Hell, B. and Gosling, S.D. (2007). Construct Validation of a Short Five-Factor
Model Instrument. European Journal of Psychological Assessment, 23, 166–175.
Naderi, Sz., Csányi, V., Dóka, A., Miklósi, Á. (2001). Cooperative interactions between blind
persons and their dog. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 74, 59–80.
Patronek, G.J. and Glickman, L.T. (1992). Pet ownership against the risks and consequenc-
es of coronary heart disease. Medical Hypotheses, 40, 245–249.
Pongrácz, P., Miklósi, Á., Kubinyi, E., Gurobi, K., Topál, J., Csányi, V. (2001). Social learning
in dogs: The effect of a human demonstrator on the performance of dogs (Canis famil-
iaris) in a detour task. Animal Behaviour, 62, 1109–1117.
Pongrácz, P., Miklósi, Á., Molnár, Cs., Csányi, V. (2005). Human listeners are able to clas-
sify dog barks recorded in different situations. Journal of Comparative Psychology, 119,
136–144.
Ribi, N.F., Yokoyama, A., Turner, D.C. 2008. Comparison of Children’s Behavior toward
Sony’s Robotic Dog AIBO and a Real Dog: A Pilot Study. Anthrozoös, 21, 245–256.
Riedel, J., Schumann, K., Kaminski, J., Call, J. and Tomasello, M. (2008). The early ontogeny
of human–dog communication. Animal Behaviour, 75, 1003–1014.
Rooney, N.J., Bradshaw, J.W.S., Robinson, I.H. (2001). Do dogs respond to play signals given
by humans? Animal Behaviour, 61, 715–722.
Serpell, J.A. (1989). Pet-keeping and animal domestication: A reappraisal. In J. Clutton- Brock
(Ed.) The Walking larder: Patterns of domestication, pastoralism, and predation (pp. 10–
21). London: Unwin Hyman.
Serpell, J. (1996). Evidence for association between pet behaviour and owner attachment
levels. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 47, 49–60.
Silk, J.B. (2002). Using the ‘F’-word in primatology. Behaviour, 139, 421–446.
Soproni, K., Miklósi, Á., Topál, J., Csányi, V. (2002) Dogs’ (Canis familiaris) responsiveness
to human pointing gestures. Journal of Comparative Psychology, 116, 27–34.
Tomasello, M. (2009). Why We Cooperate. MIT Press
Tomasello, M. and Call, J. (1996). Primate cognition.Oxford University Press.
Topál, J., Gergely, Gy., Erdőhegyi, Á., Csibra, G., Miklósi, Á. (2009). Differential sensitivity
to human communication in dogs, wolves, and human infants. Science, 325, 1269–1272.
Topál, J., Miklósi, Á., Csányi, V., Dóka, A. (1998). Attachment behavior in dogs (Canis famil-
iaris): a new application of Ainsworth`s (1969) strange situation test. Journal of Com-
parative Psychology, 112, 219–229.
Udell, M.A.R., Dorey, N.R., Wynne, C.D.L. (2008). Wolves outperform dogs in following hu-
man social cues. Animal Behaviour, 76, 1767–1773.
Udell, M.A.R. & Wynne, C.D.L. (2010). Ontogeny and phylogeny: both are essential to human-
sensitive behaviour in the genus Canis. Animal Behaviour. 79, e9-e14.
Virányi, Zs., Gácsi, M., Kubinyi, E., Topál, J., Belényi, B., Ujfalussy, D., Miklósi, Á. (2008).
Comprehension of human pointing gestures in young human-reared wolves. (Canis
lupus) and dogs (Canis familiaris). Animal Cognition, 11: 373–387.
Watson, J.S., Gergely, G., Topál, J., Gácsi, M., Sárközi, Zs., Csányi, V. (2001). Distinguishing
logic versus association in the solution of an invisible displacement task by children
and dogs: Using negation of disjunction. Journal of Comparative Psychology, 115, 219–226.
Wells, D.L. (2007). Domestic dogs and human health: An overview. British Journal of Health
Psychology, 12, 145–56.
Wilson, E.O. (1984). Biophilia. Cambridge, Harvard University Press
Windhager S., Slice D.E., Schaefer K., Oberzaucher E., Thorstensen T., Grammer K. (2008).
Face to face: The Perception of Automotive Designs. Human Nature, 19, 331–346
The Nature of Relations 209
CHAPTER TEN
The Nature of Relations
Mette Miriam Böll1
Introduction
There seems to be a mismatch between what appears meaningful in nature

and what is meaningful in the agreed practices of natural sciences. We
observers may say, for example, that nature unfolds as an analogue whole—
holistically—yet science typically breaks nature up into digital units, such
as genes (e.g. Bateson, 1972; Bateson, 1979; Böll, 2008; Hoffmeyer, 2008).
Therefore, as an introduction to this chapter I will begin by noting some
preliminary conditions that form the starting point of my work in social
relations and biosemiotics, but that do not necessarily fit into mainstream
theories of science and philosophy.
These are:
i. That nonhuman animals are sentient beings, of which many have
rich emotional and experiential lives (Wemelsfelder, 1990; Goodall,
1991; Brugnar, 2007; Böll, 2008; Bekoff, 2009).
ii. That nature does not operate with dualistic properties but with con-
tinuous wholes. (Bateson, 1979; Hoffmeyer, 1996; Hoffmeyer, 2008).
iii. That human beings are a product of evolution, therefore we must
have a theory of evolution that encompasses this fact, not one where
it is an unexplainable miracle how we arose as mindful beings out of
an ‘un-minded’ nature. (Hoffmeyer, 2008).
Fortunately, many scientists do share such basic assumptions about life
and the properties of living nature. And I will—throughout this chapter—
point to contemporary discussions which illustrate this approach within
biology, ethology, philosophy and biosemiotics (of sign-based interaction
in living organisms). In a book on how to study human—animal relations,
it seems appropriate to scrutinize the concept of relation, which can be
1 Center for Semiotics, Aarhus University.

210 Mette Miriam Böll
understood as a basis for sign—based interactions between animals includ-

ing humans. Addressing questions of what we refer to when describing
such relations, and of how we know when they occur—and of where, ex-
actly, they unfold and take place—will, I believe, help us clarify the steps
we take in investigating relations.
My suggestion is, following a biosemiotic understanding, that social
relations are sign-based carriers of meaning inherent to living processes
and that they may be studied as such. Relations between individuals are
generated from each systemic organism communicating more or less
subtle messages into an encounter, such as wagging one’s tail, laughing or
raising one’s eyebrow. Thus the relation becomes an emergent property
transcending the participants in any given interaction. I shall elaborate
some on this in the following section.
In previous work, I have used a biosemiotic approach to describe canid
play behaviour (Böll, 2008), in which interacting individuals create mean-
ing, and produced networks of signs which relate to each other. When the
signs appear meaningful to us, when they relate to us, we perceive them
and thus, are able to study them (see also Wemelsfelder this volume). In
this chapter, however, I describe a recent research experiment, in which I
used a biosemiotic approach to study the social relations in human—hu-
man interactions, in a set-up based on ‘Industrial Ethology’ (the area of
ethology that studies humans in their work habitats; Böll, forthcoming). I
will outline some of the findings that relate to a biological concept of ‘au-
thenticity’ and propose how these novel insights may be used in more
classical ethological experiments investigating human-animal relations. I
will also draw on the experiences, specifically regarding human-dog inter-
actions, described elsewhere in this book, in order to gain an integrated
perspective on the study of social relations in our nature.
Biosemiotics
‘Biosemiotics’ is a modern turn in Darwinian biology that provides us with

an expansion of traditional contemporary perspectives, thereby giving us
the ability to investigate the realm of the living from a more holistic ap-
proach, without losing the many advantages of natural science. The term
‘biosemiotics’ literally means ‘signs of the living’ (from Greek: bios ‘life’ and
semeion ‘sign’) and biosemiotics is indeed an understanding of life pro-
cesses as sign interactions.
Charles Sanders Peirce is the American philosopher who originated the

specific concept of semiotics on which biosemiotics is based. He states that
the basic sign is a triadic entity which allows mediation or interpretation
of any relation. An example from the online Danish Encyclopedia (www.
denstoredanske.dk) reveals that: “something (e.g. a footprint) that to some-
one (an observer) points to something else (a human being passed along
here)” (my translation). We can model this basic triadic concept of a sign
as seen in Figure 10.1(a). And the “something that to someone points to
something else” is visualized as shown in Figure 10.1(b).

Figure 10.1. (a) The basic triadic sign. Figure 10.1. (b) The something that to someone
stands for something else.

This mediated interpretation is not, however, necessarily a conscious ‘in-
terpretant’, which is the specific term Peirce uses for this particular char-
acteristic of a sign shown in Figure 10.1(b) as ‘an observer.’ The interpretant
may as well be the relation that links two separate occurrences by provid-
ing a context for them to stand for something—and thus become true signs;
in Peirce’s own words:
I define a Sign as anything which is so determined by something else, called
its Object, and so determines an effect upon a person, which effect I call its
Interpretant, that the latter is thereby mediately determined by the former.
My insertion of ‘upon a person’ is a sop to Cerberus, because I despair of
making my own broader conception understood.
(A Letter to Lady Welby, SS 80–81, 1908; quoted from Hoffmeyer, 2008)
And this ‘upon a person’ can also include ‘upon something living’, which
to Peirce may be a ‘quasi-mind’ or what he terms an ‘actual or potential
mind.’
To illustrate how this understanding translates into common life pro-
cesses, Hoffmeyer made a model (Figure 10.2) of the semiotics of a slap on
the face (Hoffmeyer, 2008): thus, the slap in the face becomes a network
of signs and interpretations.
One convenient consequence of this sign-based theory of living systems
is that we gain the option of a common language and a common epistemic
tool to address every hierarchical layer and thus the totality of processes,
of living organisms. Whether in endo-semiotic processes referring to sign-
Sign Object Slap Anger
a b
Interpretant Brain
processes
Pattern of action Experienced Combined

Deformation Disturbance potentials pressure experiences Anger
c d e
Series of Stereognossis Action
action potentials
Figure 10.2. The semiotics of a slap. (a) The general sign triad, depicted as a tripod with the
interpretant designated as its foot. (b) A slap viewed as a triadic sign. (c)–(e) A slap seen
as a chain of sign processes whose interpretant in each articulation emerges as a new sign
in a more integrated semiotic relation.
interactions taking place within the organism or exo-semiotic processes

taking place between organisms, we may understand the basic semiosis2
in its continuum—from the initial sign from outside, or on the surface of
the body (such as the slap on the face), and we can follow the occurrences
of sign-interactions as they affect their way through biological systems.
Even the space between organisms, the relations that are constituted
when they engage in social interaction, may be modeled in a similar man-
ner. In this sense we move from a basic sign to a network, or web, of signs
that then constitute an organism and also constitute the social relations
between the organisms, modeled in the series in the figure below (Figure
10.3).
The social context where behaviour and interaction unfolds, where
individuals stand in relation to each other and where any intention and
communication is transmitted, suddenly appears as something we can
readily take into account in ethological practices. As we may understand
the social encounter as the sum of emergent properties generated from
each participant3 in any given context, the sign-based network becomes
the outer aspect of the systemic semiosis that is constantly occurring in
living organisms. And we can study it as such—as an accessible asset al-
lowing us to know of internal states of other beings.

2 The term semiosis is customarily used for processes of sign action as such, whereas
semiotics denotes the science concerned with semiosis (Deely, 2003).
3 This concept of emergent properties generated in the social context overlaps with
the concept of ‘attunement’ discussed by Diane Dutton this volume.
Figure 10.3. The basic sign fuses into a network of signs that constitute organisms—in this
model a human being. The interactions between the individuals in the social context are
also a sign-based network.
One way to perceive of the behavioral displays that constitute any given
social context is as a direct sign-based transmission of each of the indi-
viduals participating in any given encounter. And as this context is gener-
ated by the participants involved in the interaction, it becomes a social
image of their systemic semiosis—which we can in turn observe.
Umwelts and Social Umwelts
In the early twentieth century, German—Estonian biologist Jakob von

Uexküll published his theory of the ‘Umwelt’ (Uexküll, 1992 (1957)). In brief,
he states that any individual being belonging to the animal kingdom lives
in a subjective interpretation of reality—its Umwelt. This is not a conscious
interpretation, though, but a functional relation between the natural con-
stitution of the animal (what Uexküll terms ‘bauplan’) and its interactions
with the surrounding world (ibid). In Figure 10.4, the Uexküllian ‘func-
tional circle’ summarizes this relation between the animals’ perceptions,
and the actions they engage in as a response to those perceptions. As one
of the great grand fathers of ethology, Uexküll was concerned with ques-
tions of how the world is perceived by the animals that inhabit it—both
the question of how the world appears to different species and the question
of what types of experiences are involved in these particular, species spe-
cific appearances. Literally, ‘Umwelt’ means ‘surrounding world’ but
Uexküll made a strong emphasis in the fact that ‘Umwelt’ is in contrast
with what is termed ‘Umgebung’ which translates into ‘environment.’ This
is the contrast between the world as it appears to the animal and the
natural world in which it is situated (ibid).
Figure 10.4. The functional Circle of Jakob von Uexküll.
Uexküll intended with these concepts to describe the animal’s world

based on observations of behaviour, and on animals’ interactions with their
environments. His most commonly known example is that of the wood
tick which, according to Uexküll, is a highly intelligent species—as is any
species—within its own Umwelt (ibid). By means of the ‘functional circle’,
Uexküll describes how butyric acid is the object that, when it is smelled by
the wood tick, triggers receptor cues and thereby initiates the engagement
that leads to the full functionality of the circle: When the receptor cues are
triggered, the tick lets itself fall down aiming to make contact with which-
ever mammal emitted the scent. If succeeding, the ticks use their very
basic temperature sensors to move to a warmer area of the mammal, where
the skin is thin. Once arrived at this spot, the tick bites and begin the
bloodsucking and fulfill its mission of reproducing through parthenogen-
esis, using the mammal as host for the offspring. This is the essence of
Figure 10.4 (for further details see: Uexküll, 1992 (1957); Stjernfelt, 2007;
Hoffmeyer, 2008). Precisely because the wood tick behaves in such mean-
ingful manner—according to its own Umwelt—it is on its own terms
considered to be highly intelligent.
One problem, however, with Jakob von Uexküll’s theory is an apparent
lack of direct interactions between the Umwelts (Böll, 2008), as it is the
common context where the relations unfold that are of interest to us here
(for a thorough discussion on these matters, see Stjernfelt, 2007). Rather,
it seems that there is a solipsistic fallacy entwined in the original concept
of Umwelt, in the sense that there is an element of closure underlining the

different species-specific perceptual worlds: if the surrounding world is
solely perceivable according to the organic constitution of a given species,
then there is a vacuum-like isolation separating one species from another.
It is, nevertheless, extremely useful to have a vocabulary for the species
specific subjective experiences, of our shared world.
We cannot even begin to imagine what the Umwelt of our companion
dogs smells like, for example, but we can say for sure that their systemic
projections of their immediate surroundings—their Umwelts—are an
altogether different experience from ours, even though we may interact in
present time in a shared ‘Umgebung’ or environment. We humans are,
however, capable of measuring pheromones, ultrasonic sound and many
other occurrences, which we ourselves have no change of perceiving di-
rectly. We must, therefore, accommodate an understanding of Umwelts
that encompasses these overlaps and extensions.
In an attempt to develop a vocabulary for the numerous events of such
‘overlapping’ Umwelts, in which social beings are involved every day,
I propose an expansion of the concept of Umwelt to include a second order
phenomenon: I call this ‘the social Umwelt’ (Böll, 2008). It becomes second
order as it is an emergent property of two or several individual Umwelts.
The figure of an Uexküllian ‘Functional Circle’ of the social Umwelt below
(Figure 10.5) illustrates how the Umwelts of two dogs merge with play bows
as primary signifiers of their common social context of play.
Figure 10.5. The functional circle of the social Umwelt of dogs playing.

Industrial Ethology
‘Industrial Ethology’ is the study of humans in their work habitats. There

are plenty of ‘Industrial Psychologists’ but (up until now) not ‘Industrial
Ethologists’, a field which offers opportunities for a ‘re-biologification’ of
human beings. This reflects our cultural tendency toward dualisms, such
as first person/third person and mind/body gaps, which give rise to a per-
ception that mental states = human being. Industrial ethology attempts to
counterbalance this by addressing the human organism as an undivided
whole, where neither physiological nor mental states are considered to
have a primary status in the process of signifying the given systemic condi-
tion in present time. Thus, a core purpose of this field is to study the biol-
ogy of social relations and I argue that humans in their work habitats form
a natural group and as such may be subjects of ethological investigations.
In the recent initial study in this field of Industrial Ethology, I had a
specific interest in measurements of the transmission of feelings and con-
tagiousness of moods through the social Umwelt that the participants
co-generate while interacting. My hypothesis before the experiments was
that when a human being is confronted with an extremely aggressive at-
titude, she or he will immediately be infected by this aggression because
it is contagious, and thereby will begin systemically to evince, or signify,
this particular mood her- or himself. The same expectations held for posi-
tive confrontations, namely that there would be a direct transmission of
the systemic mood underlying this condition.
In a very general sense, most people are familiar with a sensation of
catching someone else’s emotional state. A classic example is if a person
is suddenly confronted with someone really aggressive, and somehow im-
mediately seems to express the systemic response that corresponds with
the specific signs of aggression: e.g. increase in pulse, shallow breathing
and an experience of the stomach ‘tying itself together.’ Perhaps the con-
fronted person even grows a mental experience of becoming aggressive
herself, or maybe angry, scared or otherwise frustrated or intimidated4.
I set up this experiment observing participant volunteers in a Danish
retail chain; the specific location was a supermarket during opening hours5.
4 I expect responses are according to what we may term ‘psychological bauplan’—the
patterns and strategies we are imprinted with from childhood on, and that to some extent
define behavioral patterns throughout our lives (for further readings on psychological
patterns see: Bennett-Goleman, 2001.)
5 The participants were 27 employees in the supermarket, 10 women and 17 men,
between the age of 20 and 66. They volunteered to participate and came from all levels in
In order to create ‘locally meaningful phenomena’ (Böll, 2008),6 we set up

archetypical/ everyday-like scenarios: customers approaching the person
sitting in the counter, customers standing in line, and customers approach-
ing employees on the floor, in addition to a lunch break scenario. The
participants were randomized with a Latin square test in order to make
sure that no unintended grouping occurred. The experiments were con-
ducted in ten rounds (preceded by a pilot, not included in the results); each
round lasted approximately two hours each.
The participants were instructed to behave according to one of three
moods, highly aggressive/ rude, very kind/ pleasant and neutral. The neu-
tral mood served as control (Böll, forthcoming). Each scenario consisted
of four to five people, one behaving as employee, and the others filling out
the role of customers. During the scenarios all participants were hooked
up to a monitor which measured their ECG. Our focus was pulse and heart
rate variability (HRV), which increases if someone is stressed. In addition,
we filmed each scenario with video cameras from three different angles in
order to record facial expressions and postures of everyone involved (e.g.
employee behind the counter, customer paying, and customers waiting in
line).
Our aim with this setup was to measure several different hierarchical
layers of each person’s organismic structure involved in the scenario: HRV
as a proxy for emotional state, pulse as a proxy for physiological state, and
facial expression and postures as a proxy for behavioral state in each spe-
cific encounter7 We then analyzed HRV, and pulse; facial expressions were
judged by an independent panel trained in facial expression analysis, who
thus judged the expressions and postures of each participant isolated from
the social context—therefore not knowing the emotional setting of the
scenarios in question.
Interestingly, none of my expectations of a linear transmission of feel-
ings and moods—emotional contagion—were met. Even though we were
the organization: top-management, middle management, and regular employees. The entire
experiment was approved of by The Danish National Committee on Biomedical Research
Ethics.
6 A locally meaningful phenomenon simply means anything that makes sense in a given
context. ‘Locally’ refers to a property of something that unfolds in life processes without
intentional directedness from a higher power.
7 Data processing for HRV and pulse was carried out according to the usage of the
Danish National Research Centre for the Working Environment, as described in e.g.
Kristiansen et al. 2009. Data processing for facial expressions and postures was analyzed
by an independent panel of five persons all trained in recognition of facial expressions by
Paul Ekman’s METT (Micro Expression Training Tool—http://face.paulekman.com).
able to measure physiological, emotional and behavioural traits of the

particular mood in question in each person performing the role of the
customer confronting an employee, we were unable to detect direct con-
tagion in the employee him- or herself.
We did, however, uncover a highly interesting relation: when an em-
ployee was confronted by a customer with a positive mood, he or she was
judged by the independent panel as positive, and both HRV and pulse
would support this finding (Böll, forthcoming). But, when an employee
was judged as positive while being confronted by an aggressive costumer—
i.e. performing the expected attitude of ‘the customer is always right’—his
or her HRV would decrease significantly as a sign of severe stress to the
system. In other words, it seems that if ‘the customer is always right’ then
‘the employee is always stressed.’
Thus, my immediate predictions regarding contagion were falsified.
Only in a very particular type of relation—where the receiver of a given
mood would pretend not to be affected by the confrontation—would ‘keep
up appearances’ and remain smiling when confronted with massive ag-
gression—could we detect a significant degree of bio-physical stress.
Feelings can, of course, still be contagious in the more linear sense. My
intuition is that we are as yet—if ever—not able to detect the full sys-
temic response of the transmitted feeling in the person confronted. This
is partly because our instruments and tools of measurements are not suf-
ficiently refined, but it may also be because the actions unfolding in the
social field generate a systemic impulse that makes some sort of sense
within the organism—it is locally meaningful and thus effortless, leaving
traces for us to measure upon.
I suggest that one way to make more sense of these findings is to invoke
a concept of authenticity that is linked to our biology. The term ‘authentic-
ity’ derives from the Greek word authentes which means ‘someone who
acts on his own authority.’ Our primary personal authority is the biological
system that is our constitution, and I therefore take the liberty to argue
that the most basic meaning of authenticity is ‘to be true to one’s nature.’
This in turn suggests a coupling between responding in an authentic man-
ner in social relations—to stay true to one’s nature—and a well-balanced
biophysical system. But if so, then can we find this linkage in other animals;
is it an evolutionary trait in other complex social species? In the following
paragraph, I consider how to test this idea, in a specific type of human-
animal relation—humans with dogs.
What is communicated?
At Elte University in Budapest, the ethology department specializes in

canid behaviour. Many experiments conducted there involve various as-
pects of human-animal relations (see Topál & Gácsi and Lakatos & Miklósi
this volume). Here, I consider a particular study of theirs: “The effect of
development and individual differences in pointing comprehension of
dogs” (Gácsi et al, 2009). The purpose of the study was to investigate in
detail dogs’ ability to understand human pointing gestures. Dogs are sig-
nificantly better than many other species tested in understanding when
and why humans point (ibid.). In this experiment, the researchers inves-
tigated the possible developmental or daily living circumstances that may
lead to a difference in the ability of dogs to understand human pointing
gestures. They looked at whether conditions of maintenance/training, or
differences of age, gender and breed made any difference to the ways some
180 dogs comprehend pointing gestures given by a test person.
In light of the findings from the industrial ethology experiment described
above, it would be interesting to expand on some of these experiments
with dogs in order to test what it actually is that dogs perceive from the
social relation established between the test person and the test dog.
Following the theory presented in this chapter, one possible explanation
points toward the dogs’ understanding a totality of systematic signs deliv-
ered into the relation. It thus becomes a matter of authentic expression in
the test person that leads the dog to comprehend and to respond meaning-
fully to the pointing gesture. That is, it is not only the specific gesture but
the demeanor of the whole person to which the animal understands and
responds.
The experiment in question includes testing of dogs’ comprehension of
pointing gestures with other parts of the human body; other than the index
finger, this could include for example, the elbow, leg, or knee. The dogs’
overall perceptions of these visual cues are not as significant as the finger
pointing, and this may be considered as an indicator that ‘pointing with
other body parts’ is somehow perceived as non-authentic expressions.
These gestures lack the validity needed to function well as signifiers in
systemic social expressions. A way of testing this hypothesis would be to
train a ‘pointing gesture with another body part rather than with the index
finger’ as an authentic systemic expression. If the intention transmitted in
the pointing gesture was enough, dogs would comprehend any pointing
gesture, no matter what body part was used to perform it. If, however, dogs
respond to the totality of signs transmitted into the common social Umwelt
by the test person, then the degree of authenticity in the systemic expres-
sion becomes a major factor8. And an awkward gesture that simulates
pointing may be considered as an example of ‘systemic fraud’ and therefore
would not result in being transmitted with the significance needed for dogs
to comprehend it.
If, on the other hand, a test person is capable of internalizing an ‘awk-
ward’ pointing gesture—if the test person uses the strange limb to point
every time she points, over a given period of time, until it becomes a natu-
ral gestural habit and thus resembles an authentic gesture—the dogs would
probably have a similar type of comprehension of this gesture as they have
of the finger pointing. If one is ‘true to one’s nature’ the message could still
get through, because the responder is capable of responding to the whole
and not only to specific gestures. If one is untrue to one’s nature, one’s
biological system is severely stressed, and the messages transmitted are
blurred.
A comment on methodology
My aim in this chapter was to point to a certain terminology and certain

ways of understanding social interactions in both inter—and intraspe-
cific human-animal relations. Following Segerdahl (this volume), I do not
suggest that we subscribe to one type of methodology, as the diversity of
fields merging into HAS are enormous. Therefore, building a vocabulary—
and a toolbox—that allows for researchers (and people with general inter-
est in HAS) to know what it is that ‘the other researchers’ are actually
talking about, will prove to be most useful. Suggested here are expressions
and epistemology borrowed from biosemiotics, which seem to fit this aim
better that most theoretical frameworks. Biosemiotics is useful, I believe,
because of its focus on signs and signifiers, which thereby shifts the focus
away from individuals and toward the relationship. We may also use ap-
proaches from embodiment theories, from cognitive ethology, from phe-
nomenology and from a variety of sociological theories. What is most
important, however, is the specificity with which we use these terms. When
defining with accuracy, we help both the process of further research and
deeper understanding into this wonderful field of interactions with our
8 This recalls Wemelsfelder’s emphasis on the importance of the whole behaver, rather
than on specific behaviours. See Wemelsfelder this volume.
fellow beings. A second important point is, following Wemelsfelder (this

volume), that we aim to remain the double-sidedness of our investiga-
tions—both subjective (the sign-based human and animal as a carrier of
identity) and the more classical or ‘objective’ approach. We want to gain
information not exclude certain types of information.
Concluding Remarks
In the aim to study nature as meaningful according to nature’s own prem-

ises, an important step is to investigate the concept of social relations
thoroughly because they appear as a key phenomenon in this process;
social relations, not individuals, should be a priority for research. What we
approach by taking such steps is a more whole—or holistic—foundation
for scientific inquiry. By doing so, we can build a stronger foundation for
a broader study of living systems than contemporary scientific research
usually allows. We gain a greater opportunity to study biological subjects
in their social Umwelts and thus acquire the possibility of including a va-
riety of subtle phenomena to which we so far have only a very limited
methodological access. If we make further investigations into these subtle-
ties, we may come to a much deeper and more profound understanding of
life and the living world from which we have evolved9.
Perhaps, too, we may learn that it is time to change some of our inter-
pretations of behaviour that we encounter in our companion species. At
least the view presented here opens up a realm of experiments that can
take into consideration more subtle and complex cues. Perhaps we may
learn something new about ourselves and our fellow inhabitants on Planet
Earth.
References
Bateson, G. (1972). Steps to an Ecology of Mind. New York: Ballantine Books.

Bateson, G. (1979). Mind and Nature. A Necessary Unity. New York: Bantam Books.
Bekoff, M. & Peirce, J. (2009). Wild Justice: The moral lives of animals. Chicago: The Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
9 Steps in this direction are also described in chapter 4, where Marc Higgin explores
the complex relations between blind humans and their guide dogs. It would be interesting
to investigate these relations from the perspective of the biology of authenticity. One might
ask, e.g. whether blind people gain an advantage in authentic systemic expression when
training the ability to cooperate on such a profound level with a companion species.
Bennett-Goleman, T. ( 2001). Emotional Alchemy, How the Mind can Heal the Heart. New
York: Harmony Books.
Böll, M. (forthcoming). An Introduction to Industrial Ethology.
Böll, M. (2008). Social is Emotional. Biosemiotics 1(3), 329–345.
Bugnyar, T., Schwab, C., Schloegl, C., Kotrschal, K. & Heinrich, B. (2007). Ravens Judge
Competitors through Experience with Play Caching. Current Biology 17, 1–5.
Gácsi, M., Kara, E., Belényi, B., Topál, J. & Miklósi, Á. (2009). The effect of development and
individual differences in pointing comprehension of dogs. Animal Cognition 12 (3),
471–479.
Goodall, J. (1991). Through a Window: 30 years of observing the Gombe Chimpanzees. London:
Penguin books.
Higgin, M. (2012). Being guided by dogs. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Bound-
aries (pp. 73–88). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Hoffmeyer, J. (1996). Signs of Meaning in the Universe. Bloomington: Indiana University
Press.
Hoffmeyer, J. (2008). From Thing to Relation. In J. Hoffmeyer (Ed.) A Legacy for Living
Systems: Gregory Bateson as Precursor to Biosemiotics (pp. 27–44). Dordrecht: Springer.
Kristiansen, J. (2009). Reproducibility and seasonal variation of ambulatory short-term
heart rate variability in healthy subjects during a self-selected rest period and during
sleep. Scandinavian Journal of Clinical & Laboratory Investigation 69(6), 651–61.
Peirce, C.S. (1998). The Essential Peirce: Selected Philosophical Writings. Volume 2 (1893–1913).
Peirce Edition Project (Ed.). Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
Stjernfelt, F. (2007). Diagrammatology: An Investigation on the Borderlines of Phenomenol-
ogy, Ontology and Semiotics. Heidelberg: Springer.
von Uexküll, J. (1992 [1957]). ‘A stroll through the worlds of animals and men: a picturebook
of invisible worlds.’ Semiotica 89 (4), 319–391.
Wemelsfelder, F. (1990). Boredom and laboratory animal welfare. In B.E. Rollin (Ed.) The
experimental animal in biomedical research. Boca Raton: CSR-Press.
ies (pp. 225–251). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
A science of friendly pigs 223
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A science of friendly pigs …

Carving out a conceptual space for addressing animals
as sentient beings
Françoise Wemelsfelder1
Introduction
Recent years have seen an explosion of scientific interest in the animal’s

point of view—how animals perceive the world, their intelligence, capac-
ity for emotion, communicative skills—in brief, an interest in questions of
animal sentience. No doubt a primary motivation for this is an open-
minded wish to learn more about animals’ experience of life, and get a
glimpse of their world. With modern television and film-making, we can
follow closely in the footsteps of even reclusive animals—say a lynx, sun-
bear, or Tasmanian devil, and wonder what they see, feel or think. Structured
scientific observation and analysis can bring us closer to addressing such
questions, and numerous field and laboratory studies have now brought
to light a wealth of fascinating detail about how animals interact and com-
municate with their world.
Such studies are crucial if we are to properly appreciate and protect
animals, care for their well-being, and build effective relationships with
them (Acampora, 2006; Dawkins, 2006; Duncan, 2006). Our relationships
with animals clearly matter in human households where we live in close
proximity with them. But they are also increasingly important in other
situations, such as farming, where a farmer’s style of stockmanship can
directly affect animals’ welfare (Hemsworth and Coleman, 1998), and con-
servation, where wild animals can threaten humans and co-existence de-
pends on effective intervention and mutual respect (Littin, 2010). In such
situations, learning to relate well to animals could open doors to a more
successful and enriching sharing of worlds (Midgley, 1983; Bavidge &
Ground, 1994).
1 Scottish Agricultural College, Edinburgh.

224 Françoise Wemelsfelder
Indeed, many people manage very well to create shared worlds with
animals without scientific support, and write fascinating accounts of their
experiences (e.g. Young, 2003; Woolfson, 2008; Anthony & Spence, 2010).
Such books tell of years of intensive engagement with one or several indi-
vidual animals, and of developing a rapport that cannot easily be recre-
ated scientifically. Yet it’s that rapport that brings these stories to life,
showing us how animals express themselves with unexpected creativity in
unexpected moments, giving us a sense of who they are as individual be-
ings. Scientists used to be wary of such narratives, dismissing them as
anecdotal; however, this attitude is increasingly seen as outdated, and there
is growing effort to include insights from personal engagement with animals
into scientific understanding of their perspectives (Segerdahl et al., 2005;
Bekoff, 2008). Of course, popular perceptions of animals are not necessar-
ily correct, and like everything else can be subject to misinterpretation and
projection of human sentiments. Balanced, open-minded scientific in-
quiry can thus play a constructive role in progressing our relationship with
animals in different domains.
However, scientific study of animal experience is by no means straight-
forward. Investigation of the perspectives of other living beings raises
fundamental methodological questions and problems, particularly in the
natural sciences. Here, the emphasis on objectivity does not sit easily with
aims to study inter-individual communicative relationships. Objectivity is
generally conceived, in philosopher Thomas Nagel’s words (1986), as a ‘view
from nowhere’ that relies on no-one’s particular vantage point and is as
impersonal as it is possible to be. The desired epistemology (i.e. way of
knowing the world) for animal scientists is thus basically one of distancing
away from engagement, to gain what is assumed to be an impartial, ‘per-
spective-less’ view. This may work well when investigating (apparently)
non-sentient phenomena, but when the intention is to address perspectives
of sentient others, a ‘perspective-less’ stance is problematic. Leading animal
welfare scientists such as Marian Dawkins (2008) have made constructive
efforts to address animal perspectives by, for example, developing methods
for asking ‘what animals want.’ However, the objectivist stance of these
scientists makes them uncertain whether “emotional states may or may
not be accompanied by subjective feelings” (Dawkins, 2008: 937). Thus a
‘perspective-less’ approach to animal sentience research is bound to gener-
ate logical tension, and limit or distort our understanding in unhelpful
ways.
As a biologist, and more specifically as an animal behaviour and welfare

scientist, I am acutely aware of such tensions. The aim of my research over
the years has been to develop a practical methodology for welfare assess-
ment that would enable scientists to work directly with animals as sentient
beings. For this it was necessary to ‘carve out’ conceptual space from
within the current scientific paradigm to accommodate engagement with
animals’ perspectives. And how we address animals’ perspectives shapes
our relationship with them, and the study of that relationship. With the
help of colleagues and students, I spent several years designing and testing
a qualitative, sentience-based research approach to farm animal welfare.
During this work there was much debate about its scientific merit and
credibility, and I experienced how difficult it is to develop a ‘perspective-
based’ epistemology in the face of the all-pervasive influence of the pre-
dominant ‘perspective-less’ paradigm. A dominant paradigm is likely to
concede its limitations only reluctantly, seeking to re-formulate and ap-
propriate novel outcomes in its own terms. Animal sentience research is
thus under constant pressure to justify itself against incommensurable
standards and so-called ‘alternative’ explanations. In this chapter, I reflect
on these themes, and on the thinking that led me to find an epistemic niche
for the research I wanted to do.
Mechanistic causation: externalizing scientific understanding
Within biology, the primary way of pursuing objective evidence is the

adoption of a mechanistic stance. This regards automated, rule-based
causation between physical elements as the main organizing principle
through which living beings emerge as functional biological systems. It is
assumed that animals can evolve to high levels of complexity without
needing subjective perspective or experience, unless evidence is found to
the contrary. Scientists tend to see this as pleasingly neutral, a good place
to start their investigations. But this, as many scholars have argued through-
out the centuries, is too complacent—mechanistic discourse, like any
other discourse, channels and sensitizes our thoughts in particular ways
(Merchant, 1980; Midgley, 1983; Plumwood, 1993; Crist, 1999).
Assuming mechanistic causation imposes on discussions of sentience
an abstract, technical mechanical language and rationality that by its very
nature removes us from experiential aspects of understanding. This is not
a neutral playing field—what takes place is a process of externalization or
reification that transforms experience into a ‘thing’, an object for study.
Scientists routinely speak of the heart, the immune-system, the brain, and
equally of the mind, the pain and the fear, thus conceiving of feelings and
thoughts as parts of the larger physical system—as mental ‘states’ or ‘pro-
cesses’ that we address from the outside. Thus we can investigate the
causal efficacy of emotions in the animal’s system, but at the same time
we lose touch with how animals actually feel; using mechanistic language
removes us from the experiential, subjective nature of animals’ perspec-
tives, suggesting that these lie beyond our reach. Just as scientists rou-
tinely speak of ‘the mind’, they equally routinely assume that an
individual’s actual experience is inaccessible to others—these are two sides
of the same coin. Neuroscientist Antonio Damasio (1994, 2010), for example,
frames his search for the subjective in highly mechanistic terms:
The minimal neural device capable of producing subjectivity requires early
sensory cortices (including the somatosensory), sensory and motor cortical
association regions, and subcortical nuclei (especially thalamus and basal
ganglia) with convergence properties capable of acting as third-part en-
sembles (1994: 242–243)
while also asserting that “no one sees the minds of others” (2010: 5).
Similarly, in animal welfare research, scientists have argued that their
discussion of emotional components of behavioural organization should
not be taken to imply that animals consciously experience those emotions
(e.g. Dawkins, 2006; Mendl et al., 2010; Edgar et al., 2011).
Externalizing knowledge construction in such ways means that the
perspective of the executive scientist is isolated outside that construction,
as the single authoritative (but implicit) reference point for interpreting
acquired information. Thus, inevitably, human experience provides the
prime normative vantage point from which animals’ hypothesized states
are judged. There is really no other viewpoint—the animal’s own point of
view has, as outlined above, been banished. The implication, perhaps bi-
zarrely, is that a mechanistic, impersonal understanding of animal sen-
tience is bound to be anthropocentric, and vulnerable to anthropomorphic
bias. This might explain why scientists can feel so threatened by potential
anthropomorphic distortion of their knowledge. They readily assume a
uniquely privileged human vantage-point as the norm for interpretation,
but then are immediately suspicious of seeing that vantage-point pro-
jected on to the animal kingdom. An extreme example is the anthropolo-
gist Guthrie (1993), who argues that all talk of non-human sentience is
anthropomorphic, and a distraction from the inanimate, mechanistic
nature of life’s processes.
But this is paradoxical. Asserting the human perspective while disputing

the existence of perspectives generally is incoherent, putting scientists at
risk of pursuing ever-elusive goal-posts. To deal with risks of anthropomor-
phic distortion, scientists like to conduct highly controlled experiments
designed to establish whether or not animals, removed from their social
and physical environment, can pass sophisticated tests for abstract, ‘theo-
ry-like’ reasoning (e.g. Penn et al., 2008). Typically such tests ask whether
animals can infer and manipulate unobservable cause-effect relation-
ships—for example whether they can use unfamiliar tools in novel ways
to solve variable problems (Visalberghi & Limongelli, 1994; Seed et al., 2006).
Animals often fail such tests, but given favourable testing conditions, some
appear to pass. Vigorous debate then ensues of whether the animal’s
achievement truly demonstrates human-like awareness, or whether an
alternative mechanistic account can be found (e.g. Hurley & Nudds, 2006;
Penn & Povinelli, 2007). Invariably critical scientists manage to find one,
and urge their colleagues to design even more complex and sophisticated
tests. And so the goal-posts for granting sentience to animals evade our
grasp—in Dawkins’ (2006) words: “we do not know what it is, where it
comes from, what it does or where to find it in other species” (p.9).
There is thus a risk that scientific models continue to vacillate between
mechanistic and anthropomorphic interpretations, portraying animals
either as mindless machines, or as rational, objectifying, human-like crea-
tures. However, neither of these views does justice to animals’ actual
perspectives. Different species will likely evaluate their world along differ-
ent sensory and cognitive dimensions, and it takes patience and creativity
to address these on their own ground. Generally what seems lacking is an
understanding of how to incorporate the idea of other perspectives into
biological knowledge—how we might design an epistemology that genu-
inely accommodates ‘perspective.’ We don’t seem to know how to account
for the fact that a fish is truly a fish, a lion a lion, a seagull a seagull—and
if we cannot tackle this, then the study of human-animal relationships is
bound to unduly favour human perspectives. Animals having their own
views and interests is surely the essence of sentience—as Nagel so fa-
mously proposed, it is to recognize that there is “something it is like for a
bat to be a bat” (Nagel, 1974).
I realise that most philosophers and scientists take Nagel’s notion of
‘what it is like to be a bat’ to suggest that understanding how bats experi-
ence their world is actually beyond human reach, that we are locked into
our human senses. This interpretation has been criticized however (e.g.
Midgley, 1983; Acampora, 2006), and to me it seems that again this inter-
pretation suffers from externalisation imposed by mechanistic epistemol-
ogy. Within that epistemology, perspectives are addressed as objects that
carry no meaning in and of themselves, but need human agents to be
given meaning. And for us to attribute meaning to a bat’s life is, of course,
self-defeating; indeed we cannot know what it is like to be a bat. However,
the question is not what it is like for a human to be a bat—as Nagel said,
the question is what it is like for a bat to be a bat. The challenge is how to
allow that attributing meaning is not an exclusively human affair, but the
sentient fundament on which the lives of all animals are built.
The importance of recognizing ‘other-than-human’ perspectives has
recently received a boost from the humanities and social sciences. The
question of our relationship with animals is centuries old, but it becomes
more urgent as our ability to disrupt and control the lives of animals grows
(Haraway, 2008; Cavalieri, 2009). Postmodernist thinkers are generally
critical of mechanistic ‘perspective-less’ knowledge, focusing instead on
the socially and culturally constructed nature of human viewpoints. From
there they explore different ways of knowing and the unique insights these
different perspectives present (Wolfe, 2003). But the question remains:
where does this leave the animal’s perspective? In human sociocultural
frames, is there any place for animals as they are in and of themselves, or
are we bound to always perceive them through human-tinted glasses?
Philosophers, anthropologists and geographers, often following indigenous
peoples, have written of animals as ‘nations’ co-inhabiting the world with
us—whose language we need to learn and whose customs we must respect,
if any form of decent, non-colonizing relationship is to be possible (Wolch
& Emel, 1998; Ingold, 2000; Segerdahl et al., 2005; McFarland & Hediger,
2009; Abram, 2010). But if such endeavours are ever to be viewed as bio-
logically relevant, then biologists too, must incorporate ‘other-than-human’
perspectives in their view of the natural world.
Animal perspectives: the primacy of communication
What then would be an appropriate starting-point for the study of animal

perspectives, as perspectives rather than objects? Epistemologically there
is only one answer in my view, which is to regard animals, fundamentally,
as subjects. No amount of evidence could ever ‘objectively’ arbitrate wheth-
er such a shift has scientific merit—there is, as argued above, no neutral
epistemological ground for doing so. What we need to consider is whether
we can formulate an alternative (but not necessarily contradictory) epis-

temology to the ‘distancing’ of mechanistic objectivity, and see if this works
in scientific context.
The alternative to ‘distancing’ is ‘approaching’, ‘meeting up’—in the
words of philosopher Martin Buber, “all real living is meeting” (1937: 25).
Phenomenological philosophers speak of ‘being–with’ (Acampora, 2006).
Such meeting does not entirely depend on physical encounter, although
another’s bodily presence will strongly enhance one’s sense of meeting.
Essentially what this implies is an epistemological shift towards recogniz-
ing, engaging with, other living perspectives. It is not easy to convey what
this might mean, but, following Buber (1937), I find the term ‘presence’
useful. Working with another’s perspective is to recognize their presence,
to realize there is someone there—an individual being, not a thing, with an
outlook on the world, to whom things matter. In the words of moral phi-
losopher Tom Regan (1983), it is to recognize animals as ‘subjects-of-a-life.’
We may not (yet) have a clue what it is like to be, say, a cockroach, but we
can acknowledge that there is something it is like for the cockroach to be a
cockroach. And if we ever are to gain insight into this, recognizing animals
as subjects is essential.
What would this imply? First of all, meeting animals as subjects cannot
be enforced; force is more likely to subdue their presence than invite its
expression. Investigating animals’ perspectives, as zoologist Donald Griffin
(1976) suggested, is first and foremost a matter of respectful, skilful com-
munication. Invariably this was how pioneering field ethologists ap-
proached the animals they studied—Jane Goodall (1990), Diane Fossey
(2001), Cynthia Moss (1988), Barbara Smuts (2001), all exercised patience
and sensitivity entering their animals’ worlds. Sensitive communication is
also the leading theme of the book Kanzi’s Primal Language, the cultural
initiation of primates into language by Pär Segerdahl and colleagues (2005;
see Segerdahl this volume); this book brings vividly to life how day-to-day
activities shared by the bonobo Kanzi and his guardian scientists allow
Kanzi to express himself in ways that formal language tests are ill-equipped
to accommodate. Skilful communication establishes contact with the
other, expresses interest, invites interaction, awaits response, engages
further, and so on, establishing a rhythm of attentive engagement. In
other words, addressing another’s presence requires harnessing one’s own
presence, a mode of investigation often characterized as ‘inter-subjectivi-
ty’ (Crossley, 1996; Dutton & Williams, 2004; chapters by Dutton and
Segerdahl this volume). Such ‘being-with’ does not necessarily depend on
close contact, but can also involve observation from some distance, or be
technologically mediated. Essentially it is an attitude, a realization that
relating to animals as ‘fellow living beings’ grounds the study of how they
experience their world2. As philosophers Michael Bavidge and Ian Ground
(1994) argue: “We have to have the right kind of relation to one another,
before we can begin to speak of knowledge” (p. 163).
To many scientists, I know from experience, this will sound soft, awk-
ward, far too politically correct to count as proper science—it is not the
language they speak. And indeed as scientists we struggle to bring subjec-
tivity into focus. Yet as major philosophers such as Wittgenstein (1958) and
Merleau-Ponty (1945) point out, we cannot doubt that it is real: it envelops
our daily actions and relationships like glue holding everything together.
There is a powerful directness to living as subjects that imbues our relation-
ships with liveliness, authenticity, and meaning. This directness is not about
intellectual knowledge, but about knowledge as communication, as in
‘getting-to-know’ someone, becoming better acquainted. One immediate
expression is giving individual animals personal names, as all people living
with companion animals, and many field ethologists do—which is to say:
I know you personally, this is who you are to me (Hearne, 1986; Sanders,
2003). Yet at the same time, such getting to know another being requires
that we concede their un-knowability, the essential incompleteness of our
grasp of them, their existence as a unique, not-to-be-controlled, ‘other.’
This is beautifully expressed by philosopher Freya Mathews in her book
‘For the Love of Matter’ (1993):
Where knowledge in the traditional sense seeks to explain, encounter seeks
to engage. Knowledge seeks to break open the mystery of another’s nature;
encounter leaves that mystery intact. When I believe I have revealed the
inner mysteries of another in the traditional way, my sense of its otherness
in fact dissolves, and any possibility of true encounter evaporates. But where
I respect its opaqueness, I retain my sense of its otherness, and hence the
possibility of encounter remains. … It is only by way of encounter that we
discover one another’s subjectivity and establish the mutuality that is the
foundation for sympathy and respect (p. 78).
This to me sums up how acknowledging another’s un-knowability lies at
the core of knowing them as subjects, however uncomfortable this makes
scientists feel. As Nagel (1974) says, recognizing bats as sentient is to con-
2 And also grounds the study of actual human-animal relationships; studying relationship
surely requires a relational epistemology, or otherwise risk externalizing relationship to
physical reactivity.
cede we cannot know what it is like to be them—so that, as Mathews

clarifies, the possibility of true encounter remains. If by contrast we insist
on viewing them as wholly externally knowable, we will fail to engage their
perspectives, not get to know them, and be restricted to indirect, abstract,
theorizing. This is not, as many philosophers and scientists assume, a state
of affairs inherent to the ‘problem of other minds’, but is “a failure at the
level of primary communication” (Bavidge & Ground, 1994:163).
In building a subject-oriented research approach, I was inspired by
(amongst other things) research on human infants (Trevarthen, 1993). Like
animals, babies don’t speak verbally, and there is similarly debate about
their capacity for subjective experience. Increasingly research shows that
rather than babies’ development being ‘hardwired’, they require attentive
and mutually expressive non-verbal communication with parents or pri-
mary caretakers to flourish. If such engagement is withheld, they become
withdrawn and unresponsive, which can lead to chronic depression later
in life. This research encouraged me to create similar one-to-one encoun-
ters with farm animals, pigs in our case, and develop a way of assessing the
animals’ experience (Wemelsfelder et al., 2000). Pigs were trained to accept
separation from their pen mates in a straw-filled empty pen, and on the
test day I would enter this pen to meet them. Addressing them as subjects
required that I would not follow standardized movements, but engage with
them naturally. I would crouch down, wait for the pig to take the initiative,
and then flexibly and hopefully sensitively respond to gain each pig’s con-
fidence, and build up a flow of mutual interest and interaction. As pigs are
inquisitive and often playful creatures, this was not hard to do, although
some were too shy to approach me. They all behaved in different ways,
expressing what in common sense terms would be called their individual
characters and personalities. Very few if any were indifferent to my pres-
ence; most were highly attentive, continuously monitoring my movements,
either approaching and touching with interest, or gazing at me from some
distance. The whole situation was intensely engaged and expressive—two
living beings checking each other out.
So yes, in my view, there was inter-subjectivity happening right there
in that pen. The question was how to address this scientifically. At every
step of assessment, there are mechanistic criteria for what is considered
objective reporting, which must either be met, or if unsuitable, adjusted.
My flexible way of interacting with the pigs, for example, was criticised by
some scientists as biasing the pigs’ behaviour, making objective assessment
of their state impossible. It was felt I should have moved in exactly the
same way with each pig, so that variations in behaviour could be attrib-
uted to them, not me. So right away, there we have it: the need for research-
ers to distance themselves, and to externalize the other’s behaviour as a
physically organised, causally isolated, process or state. And had I standard-
ized my movements, what might have happened? The pigs would still have
responded expressively of course, but they would likely have been more
suspicious, puzzled and fearful—more subdued, in short, like the babies.
There would have been less, if any, behavioural synchrony and flow, and
a much weaker sense, if any, of mutual engagement. The outcomes would
have reflected the methods used: the pigs and I would have been portrayed
as objects colliding in space, not as meeting subjects. In the same vein, the
pigs’ individual characters would be viewed as particular behavioural
‘traits’, presumed to be largely genetically pre-disposed; whereas to the
general public (and to philosophers taking the public view seriously), an
animal’s personality embodies its fundamental individuality, the presence
of a being to whom we can relate if we wish. To bring scientific substance
to the latter approach, we must develop methodological starting-points
suited to that task.
Animal body language: recognising animals’ expressivity
Reinstating the Whole Animal

The starting-point for addressing animals as subjects, it seems to me, must
lie in acknowledging their primary wholeness and agency (Midgley, 2002).
Subjects, in contrast to objects, have indivisible integrity: as argued above,
there is someone there, an individual living being (Verhoog, 2007). Of course
living beings have parts—legs, tails, guts, brains, etc—but these parts do
not add-up to their psychological presence. Rather, the individual’s pres-
ence permeates and encompasses its many parts—in what philosophers
and physicists describe as holographic connectivity (Bohm, 1980; Bortoft,
1996). Associated with such integrity is the whole being’s primary agency.
The animal is the prime mover, bringing, so to speak, the parts and their
function into being—animals walk with their legs, it is not the legs that
walk. Without the animal there would be no walking, and thus no legs; the
animal is what philosopher Henri Bortoft (1996) calls the ‘authentic whole.’
Such agency is not necessarily accompanied by conscious awareness on
all levels—organisms must develop subconscious habits to be able to func-
tion—but such habits are still part of what the organism, as a whole, does
and experiences (Hornsby, 2004; Solomon, 2004). Extending this argument

leads to granting animals causal efficacy in their own development and
evolution, a thesis discussed by biologists such as Russell (1930) and
Goldstein (1939), and more recently Goodwin (1994).
Addressing such wholeness within fragmentary frameworks of mecha-
nistic science is, predictably, problematic. ‘Integration’ in mechanistic
contexts involves aggregation, understanding how parts connect, putting
together the complex puzzle of behavioural organisation—what Bortoft
(1996) calls the ‘counterfeit whole.’ The term ‘holistic’ is often used in this
context, referring to efforts to include multiple layers of organization, and
to work with complex, non-linear systems of causation. Talking about an
animal’s feelings or thoughts is then to inquire how ‘mental states’ or ‘pro-
cesses’ emerge from such systems. There is immense scientific interest, for
example, in understanding how subjective experience coincides with brain
function, and feelings are conceptualised as qualia, mappings, representa-
tions, codings, convergent properties, or any other evaluative function the
brain may have (e.g. Panksepp, 1998; Scherer, 2004, Damasio, 2010). This is
where many consider the cutting edge of consciousness research to be—
brain organization is seen as the substrate where things really take shape.
The animal as such has no efficacy here—in mechanistic models, notwith-
standing holistic efforts at integration, it is the (neural) parts, processes or
events that are the primary loci operandi, presumed to organize meaning,
produce subjectivity, and ultimately cause the animal to act this or that
way.
But scientists tend not to be sufficiently aware how problematic such
constructions are (Nagel, 1986). Philosophers of language such as Ryle and
Wittgenstein have argued that psychological descriptions are logically
anchored to, and find meaning in, activities of whole living beings, and that
to disregard this is a logical mistake. Ryle (1949) speaks of a ‘category mis-
take’, while Bennet and Hacker (2003) call it a ‘mereological fallacy’—that
is, to grant capacities to parts (the brain) that properly belong to the whole
(the animal). Indeed, neural processes do not have meaning in and by
themselves; to judge their significance we must correlate them with how
intact organisms behave. Neuroscientists often observe how damage to
particular parts of the brain affects behaviour—and regard these effects
as evidence for the causal efficacy of these parts. Thus Panksepp (1998)
states that “people with frontal lobe damage typically perseverate on old
strategies and do not plan ahead effectively”, and that therefore “it is gen-
erally accepted that the frontal lobes are capable of anticipating events
and generating expectancies and foresights about the world” (p. 316). But
this is an explanatory inversion (Searle, 1990). That one needs frontal lobes
to be able to plan ahead does not mean those lobes do the planning. Equally,
that limbic systems enable organisms to feel pain does not mean limbic
systems do the feeling—this is a misplaced transfer of psychological agen-
cy from living beings to their constituent parts. It is not parts of brain or
body that act or feel—it is the animal who does, and for whom the things
that happen create fear or pleasure. The whole animal is the sentient cen-
tre of action, the psychological agent, the subject to whom things mat-
ter—and this is logically true also for subconscious processes—it is still
the animal who experiences and acts upon those processes.
Despite this logical imperative, scientific literature brims over with
explanatory inversions. Damasio (2010:6), for example, speaks of the con-
scious, knowing, feeling brain, assigning the brain with the extremely
potent agency of ‘constructing minds’ and ‘making these minds conscious.’
Examples abound of scientists declaring brains capable of knowing, learn-
ing, asking, remembering, representing or deciding things (Bennet &
Hacker, 2003). Such accounts likely appeal because they have a reassuring
ring of objectivity and concreteness. To say ‘the brain decides’ appears
more scientific than saying ‘an animal decides’; the discovery of ‘mirror
neurons’ seems more scientifically weighty as evidence for animal empathy
than actually observing animals mirroring each other in close interaction
(De Waal & Ferrari, 2010). Talk of deciding brains and mirroring neurons
exudes a satisfying sense of ‘physicalness’—a preference which the phi-
losopher Alfred Whitehead (1925) named the ‘fallacy of misplaced concrete-
ness.’ What he referred to was scientists’ tendency to regard abstract
theories and concepts as more concrete than observed/experienced real-
ity, which they habitually shrug off as mere appearance. Indeed, Segerdahl
and colleagues (2005) give some striking examples of scientists reiterating
their theories of language while in the presence of animals communicating
their views.
But such disregard for reality rests on flawed inflation of our technical
prowess. Mechanistic science may offer powerful forms of biological engi-
neering, but it disregards the integrity of living beings at great cost (Twine,
2010). In losing sight of others’ perspectives, we create explanations that
lack psychological immediacy, and risk having little relevance for to their
actual lives. To redress this discrepancy, studying animals as sentient beings
should be acknowledged as primary to any analysis of their functional
organization. This has moral relevance (e.g. supporting notions such as
integrity and dignity (Hollands, 1985; Acampora, 2006; Verhoog, 2007), but
more basically, it is vital for epistemological balance in scientific research.
Acknowledging the wholeness of behaving organisms enables us to ap-
ply internalizing rather than externalizing logic, that is, to focus on finding
coherence rather than creating fragmentation. Using the metaphor of a
river, Bortoft (1996) speaks of the need for ‘thinking upstream’—moving
closer to an event’s source—while physicist David Bohm (1980) urges us
to recognize an ‘implicate order’ complementing the ‘explicate order’ fa-
miliar to scientists. With animals, this would entail recognition that we
don’t just see ‘behaviour happening’ (as scientists routinely assume), but
that first and foremost we see a ‘behaver’ doing things and acting meaning-
fully in the world (Wemelsfelder, 1997; Crist, 1999). Observing a behaver’s
presence creates conceptual space in which physical movement is seen as
psychologically expressive; that is, the way in which an animal moves about,
using legs, snout, ears, tail, spine, teeth, and all other body parts, acquires
psychological meaning that unfolds over time (Bavidge & Ground, 1994;
Crist, 1999; Wemelsfelder, 1997, 2007). No single body part alone can reflect
experience; its expressive power lies in being joined up to other parts in
how the animal behaves. Flat ears, for example, can mean various different
things depending on how and in which context the animal does the flat-
tening. This dynamic, the ‘how’ of the animal moving, is never fixed, always
full of subtle variations; by adjusting tiny postural details an animal can
change its mood of expression. Thus expressivity is always fluid and full of
ever-changing salient detail—it constitutes, one could say, a body language,
communicating in Nagel’s terms ‘what it is like to be’ that animal in any
given situation.
Languaging Animal Expressivity

Notions of animal body language are not new, as professionals living and
working with animals well know. In scientific research, such ideas chime
well with recent studies illustrating communicative intelligence in differ-
ent animal species, from social insects, crustaceans, fish, birds, to many
different mammals. Increasingly, research shows that animals engage with
each other’s vocal and non-vocal expressions with much greater sophisti-
cation than previously assumed (Chandroo et al., 2004; Brosnan et al., 2010;
Seyfarth et al., 2010). However, scientists’ loyalty to mechanistic thought
affects how they report and interpret such findings. Typically the focus is
on particular behavioural signals—calls, gestures, postures, displays—as
primary units of analysis; these are assumed to have functional meaning,
generated through natural selection, but this meaning is not assumed to

exist for the animal subject—the animal merely “does what it has been
selected to do” (Brosnan et al., 2010: 2701). For signals to qualify as explic-
itly communicative, cognitive scientists argue, they must be intentionally
aimed by the animal at recipients to convey information. Intentional
gestures are thought to be controlled by complex internal mental states,
frequently referred to as the capacity for ‘theory of mind’3, so far attributed
only to a few ‘highly evolved’ species. Such mental control is thought to
manifest in animals’ efforts to monitor and regulate how their signals affect
others, making these signals more flexible than pre-conditioned ones. Great
apes—chimpanzees, bonobos and orang-utans, for example— naturally
use arm-hand gestures to communicate socially, and given these gestures’
flexibility, it has been suggested they could be evolutionary precursors of
human language (Pollick & de Waal, 2007; Cartmill & Byrne, 2010).
Thus in cognitive science behavioural flexibility is a crucial criterion for
granting animals the capacity for meaningful communication, a capacity
which in this context refers to abstract mental control, not sentient expe-
rience. This is not the place to review the growing body of research ad-
dressing behavioural flexibility. However, although this research is
contributing substantially to our understanding of animal intelligence, it
is questionable whether it will ever truly resolve the intentionality debate.
Using behavioural monitoring as a criterion to distinguish between ‘pro-
grammed’ and ‘intended’ signals is ambiguous, in that all animals continu-
ously monitor and adjust their behaviour on different sensory levels—they
would soon be dead if they did not. Identifying ‘intentional types’ of mon-
itoring is, as scientists acknowledge, problematic, in that postures, facial/
vocal expressions, gestures, displays, and their contexts, are all embedded
within each other and mutually dependent in conveying meaning (King,
2004; Helton, 2005; Brosnan et al., 2010). And the more closely researchers
look at how animals interact and communicate, the clearer the intricacy,
sensitivity and variability of these processes emerge. Displays long assumed
to depend on fixed patterns, upon closer inspection turn out to be subject
to continuous attentive monitoring and adjustment; well known examples
are the dance language of honey bees (Leadbeater & Chittka, 2007), vocal
communication in (amongst others) primates and birds (Bell et al., 2009;
Laporte & Zuberbuhler, 2010), and deceptive displays, such as the feigned
3 It is interesting how scientists assume that an animal’s psyche, too, is dominated by
theory—another example, it seems, of Whitehead’s fallacy of misplaced concreteness.
‘broken wing’ manoeuvres through which plovers coax predators away

from their nests (Ristau, 1991).
Yet despite such evidence, granting intentionality to bees, fish or birds
is not an option for most scientists (Crist, 2004). However sophisticated it
is what these animals do, it is taken as ‘what they have been designed to
do.’ To justify such a priori exclusion from realms of experienced meaning,
scientists, as we saw, postulate the existence of higher internal mental
states in a privileged few species. The quest is then to find evidence for
such mental states—and so we go round in circles. Once again, it seems
to me, we see how an externalizing epistemology vacillates between mech-
anistic and anthropocentric interpretations, forever chasing goal-posts of
‘true’ intentionality and language. But these, as discussed earlier, are un-
likely to be found because flexibility and meaning do not reside in the
physical signals studied. It is not gestures, vocalizations, or displays per se
that have meaning, symbolic or otherwise. It is in how the whole animal
gestures, screams, or shakes its head, that the dynamic flexibility and ensu-
ing subtlety of signalling acquires expressive meaning. Communication is
a dynamic process involving all of animals’ behavioural organization and
context; this may at times include abstract intentional thought, but think-
ing is only one aspect of what animals, and humans, do (Ingold, 2000;
Costall & Leudar, 2007).
And so we return to the notion of body language, and its importance as
a gateway to an animal’s world. Investigating this will never entail only one
method or model, there will be many ways to engage with animals and
gauge their perspective. Beginnings of such work can be found in different
areas of inquiry. For example, work on non-verbal communication in hu-
man infants, noted earlier, has also begun to affect primate research.
Barbara King devotes her book ‘The Dynamic Dance—non-verbal commu-
nication in African great apes’ (2004) to re-visioning social communication
as an intrinsically dynamic and expressive co-regulated process—a dance,
in other words—rather than a process conveying information. She dis-
cusses many examples of how body postures, gestures, vocal and facial
expressions are inseparable in creating meaningful interaction between
individual apes. Similarly, human movement notation systems, often used
in dance analysis, have been used to address expressive aspects of animal
behaviour (Fagen et al., 2007), a theme elaborated for both animals and
humans by philosopher and dance scholar Maxine Sheets-Johnstone (2009).
She argues that what she calls ‘whole body dynamics’ are essential to ad-
dress the “felt experience of being moved and moving” which she considers
the backbone of emotion. “A movement-deficient understanding of emo-

tion”, she says, “is an impoverished understanding of emotion.…When
serious attention is turned to kinetic form and to the qualitative com-
plexities of movement, emotions are properly recognized as dynamic forms
of feeling” (p. 214).
Emphasis on interactive dynamics also characterizes efforts by sociolo-
gists, philosophers and other scholars describing social bonds between
people and companion animals (Sanders, 2003; Irvine, 2004, Segherdal et
al., 2005). “Close relationships are those in which participants mutually
shape and connect their behaviour, emotions and thoughts. .. Sharing at-
tention demonstrates a measure of shared subjectivity” (Sanders, 2003:
414–415). People tend to be consistent in interpreting expressions and
vocalizations of companion animals (Morris et al., 2000; Wiseman-Orr et
al., 2006; Pongracz et al., 2005; Tami & Gallagher, 2009; Walker et al., 2010).
Of course pet owners can also mis-interpret their animal’s expressions
(Bradshaw & Casey, 2007), but misinterpretation is still a form of meaning-
ful communication, open to correction, as opposed to the meaning-less
nature of mechanistic analysis (Midgley, 1983). Generally, fields of inquiry
such as phenomenology, ecological psychology, and biosemiotics all invest
great effort in understanding how action and interaction (or generally,
agency), rather than causation, provide the epistemological foundations
for communication and insight in living organisms (e.g. Merleau-Ponty,
1945; Ingold, 2000; Wheeler, 2006; Costall, 1995; for biosemiotics also see
Böll, this volume).
There is thus growing evidence supporting the development of research
grounded in expressive dynamics of whole living beings. Philosopher Mary
Midgley (2002) suggests that, “we have to take seriously the rich, well-or-
ganised language we use about it every day” (p.85). Sheets-Johnston (2009),
however, cautions that this task may be hindered by the “object-tethered
English language”:
Languaging the dynamics of movement is a challenging task … Pinpointing
the exact character of a kinetic experience is not a truth-in-packaging mat-
ter; the process of moving is not reducible to a set of ingredients. The chal-
lenge derives in part from an object-tethered English language that easily
misses or falls short of the temporal, spatial, and energic qualitative dynam-
ics of movement (p. 206, footnote 16).
Meeting this challenge clearly requires a primarily qualitative research
approach, using integrative concepts aimed at evaluating expressive pat-
terns of movement, as Sheets-Johnstone suggests. Qualitative assessment
methods began to gain credibility in animal science when applied to the

study of individuality (Stevenson-Hinde, 1983; Feaver et al., 1986), tem-
perament and personality (Gosling, 2001), and responsivity to health and
welfare challenges (Weiss et al., 2006; Wiseman-Orr et al., 2006; and see
Wemelsfelder, 2007; Meagher, 2009; and Whitham & Wielebnowski, 2009,
for further discussion). Within this larger field, my interest was to further
harness the potential of qualitative language to address, not particular traits
(e.g. personality), but the experience of the animal as a whole.
Working with animal body language in science
These themes have all informed my search for a ‘sentience-friendly’ meth-

odology for animal welfare assessment. In distilled form, they suggest some
inter-connected guidelines for investigation, formulated below. Of course
these are not exhaustive, but I hope they have general relevance. In this
section I discuss some of my experience underlying these guidelines, as it
relates to the themes of this book.
To address animal body language is:

1. To forge experimental/observational settings amenable for com-
munication rather than control, enabling animals to behave as
freely as possible;
2. To favour spontaneous dynamic flow between (animal and hu-
man) individuals rather than standardized moves;
3. To focus observation and analysis on the whole animal rather than
on parts and their interactions;
4. To adopt qualitative starting-points for addressing body lan-
guage—to evaluate how animals behave rather than what they
do;
5. Within a study’s given context, to let observers freely ‘language’
qualitative assessments rather than using pre-fixed indicators;
6. To interpret such assessments as communications (i.e. expressive
meanings) rather than reify them as ‘states’ or ‘events’ to comply
with mechanistic thought;
7. To regard insights built through such communication as intrinsi-
cally open-ended and uncertain, a matter of growing in skill rath-
er than acquiring mechanistic proof;
8. To build observers’ confidence in that skill rather than try and

standardize knowledge into fixed rules;
9. To apply training methods and statistical tools amenable to these
goals.
The first four guidelines indicate how one may draw out an animal’s expres-
sivity and assess it. As reflected in guideline 5, it seemed crucial to me to
allow observers to interpret how they saw an animal behave for themselves,
rather than give them pre-fixed lists of descriptors. Only then would they
actually experience the animal’s body language as a communication they
were attempting to understand (i.e. getting to know someone), bringing
them closer to the animal in the process. Using a fixed descriptor list would
foreclose this epistemic dynamic—observers would already know the re-
quired interpretation and look for it in the behaving animal, making the
animal’s expression more of an object to find (i.e. acquiring knowledge)
than a communicative act to assess. It was a stroke of good fortune there-
fore that a colleague pointed me towards the existence of Free Choice
Profiling (FCP), a food science methodology that instructs panellists to
develop their own descriptors to rate the quality of provided food items.
Even better was that it came with a sophisticated multivariate statistical
tool designed to analyze these ratings without any interpretative interven-
tion from the experimenter (Oreskovich et al., 1991). Using this methodol-
ogy I was able to let recruited observers produce as many descriptors for
an animal’s expressions as they saw fit, and to analyze the ratings based
on these descriptors in ways acceptable to most scientists (Wemelsfelder
et al., 2000, 2001).
Over the years that I and many colleagues and students have applied
this approach to different animal species such as pigs, cattle, sheep, poul-
try, dogs, horses, and elephants, we have generally found that people show
good agreement in their body language assessments, and that these assess-
ments correlate well to other measures of behaviour and physiology (e.g.
Wemelsfelder et al., 2001; Rousing & Wemelsfelder, 2006; Napolitano et al.,
2008; Walker et al., 2010; Stockman et al., 2011). Thus, while this type of as-
sessment may be unconventional, it does work scientifically. Observers
generally find the first FCP phase, in which they observe animals live or on
video and write down preferred descriptors, the most taxing. They feel
daunted at the responsibility of independently interpreting animals’ ex-
pressions, and worry they will fail to come up with adequate terms.
However, invariably these worries are overcome once they start and find
that, while watching the animals behave, descriptors suggest themselves
without much effort. To their own amazement, observers often come up

with as many as 40 or 50 terms to characterize a species’ body language;
had I asked the poultry stockmen participating in one study in advance
whether they could generate 50 terms for chicken body language they
would have laughed sceptically, but that is exactly what they did. In the
second FCP phase observers subsequently use their terms to quantita-
tively score the expressions of the same animals on a visual analogue scale,
and surprisingly they tend to find this quite easy. Apparently going on
‘gut-feeling’ they quickly and confidently work their way through scoring
their terms, and, when asked, confirm that yes, they perceived substantial
variation between the animals’ expressions which they could capture by
scoring their many terms.
This assessment process itself, before any analysis of scores, already
bears witness to the direct and concrete nature of engaging with animal
expressions. It is richly perceptive, flows easily, and generates confidence.
On one occasion for example, we used the FCP exercise to enable a group
of experienced farm animal assessors to evaluate body language in farm
animals and design a common descriptor list. The group was initially
sceptical, but when they watched and discussed a series of video clips of
animals in different situations, vigorous debate ensued about the precise
meaning of the animals’ demeanour. On some things they immediately
agreed and on others they differed, and I was impressed by their grasp of
the animals’ situation and their discussion of the animals’ welfare. After
that, scepticism was no longer credible—it was clear they cared and were
eminently capable of evaluating body language—they could not stop
themselves from commenting when shown footage of animals in different
situations. The assessors set about enthusiastically selecting terms for
welfare assessment, and have since remained dedicated to further develop-
ing these in the field. Other groups responded similarly—in the words of
one assessor, “I will never look at an animal in the same way again.” What
matters most here, I think, is that assessors readily connected to animals’
experience and to their own skill for evaluating it. Surely this connection
and motivation to develop it are more important in the first instance than
whether ensuing assessments are 100% correct—it is what drives the quest
for good animal welfare.
Clearly though, in the long run the scientific robustness of a method’s
output is of prime importance. Consistently, multivariate analysis shows
that observers can use their own descriptors as semantically coherent
frameworks for evaluating animal expression, with their many terms or-
dered in logical sequence along expressive dimensions (e.g. ranging from

relaxed/content/playful to tense/anxious/aggressive). Seeing 30 or 40 terms
neatly arranged this way, scientists sometimes ask incredulously “do you
really think pigs/chickens/sheep can feel all of this?”, and worry about the
inclusion of terms such as ‘content’ and ‘purposeful’, or by contrast, ‘de-
pressed’ and ‘aimless.’ This concern makes sense from a cognitive perspec-
tive, in which such terms would reflect distinct mental states; and to most
cognitive scientists ascribing 40 different mental states to a chicken is
provocative. But these terms should not be understood as mental states,
they reflect dynamic, overlapping, mutually dependent meanings of active
body language, expressed by one and the same being, the chicken. Yet even
with this clarified, quite a few scientists remain so uncomfortable that they
insist qualitative assessments are ‘nothing but’ human perceptions, irrel-
evant to an animal’s biology. One wonders what these scientists’ own as-
sessments are based on—alien perception? Indeed, what emerges here
again is the distancing impetus of mechanistic thought, causing scientists
to distrust outcomes from ‘close up’ human perception. This stands in
contrast to the farm animal assessors, for whom using terms such as ‘con-
tent’ or ‘purposeful’ posed no problem—as they said, they saw what these
terms meant “with their own eyes.”
So what are data generated by observing body language ‘with our own
eyes’ worth scientifically? There is no space here for full discussion of this
crucial question, however our experience has generally been that animal
body language scores generated through FCP are surprisingly sharp and
precise. They can be repeated both over time and against different envi-
ronmental backgrounds (Wemelsfelder et al., 2001, 2009), and generally
map well onto other measures of behaviour and physiology (e.g. Minero
et al., 2009; Stockman et al., 2011). In one study for example, we found that
the ratings of 26 pigs on three body language dimensions (anxiety, aggres-
sion and frustration) in three brief interactive tests, all correlated highly
with physical activity and arousal (e.g. as measured by heart rate). These
correlations clearly support the biological relevance of observers’ assess-
ments. But they also illustrate that physical activity (e.g. high heart rate)
can mean different things in different situations (e.g. anxiety, aggression
or frustration), and that it requires whole-animal assessment to accu-
rately judge those expressions. This was also apparent in other studies run
by colleagues, in which observers were unaware that pigs they were asked
to assess came from different experimental backgrounds; the animals’ rat-
ings differentiated sharply between these backgrounds, and facilitated
interpretation of their effect on other physical indicators.
There is, then, nothing vague or woolly about addressing animals as

whole sentient beings. On the contrary, the highly integrative nature of
such assessments, if facilitated by appropriate methodology, can make a
sharp-edged, essential contribution to scientific models and measurements.
This approach does not of course replace mechanistic assessment, but
rather has the potential to guide, evaluate, and complement it. It makes
sense surely that assessing animals as a whole is crucial to analyzing un-
derlying aspects of their organization. Our data so far firmly support that
addressing animals as subjects makes studies more scientific, not less, and
can, at the very least, play an important role in the validation of these stud-
ies.
Concluding comments: standing in relation to animals
The growing integration of this sort of research into mainstream scientific

practice will inevitably expose it to pressures of standardization. It takes
time to communicate with animals in their own environment; making
videos is easier and lets observers see more animals in more situations. It
is cumbersome to ask groups of observers to develop their own descriptors,
and much easier to train just a few assessors in the use of pre-fixed descrip-
tors. Certainly for practical applications such as on-farm welfare inspection,
use of standardized lists is inevitable. Yet such pressures risk eroding the
subject-oriented nature of the research. It seems ironic to speak of ‘meeting’
and ‘getting closer to’ animals seen on video that in reality are miles away.
Popular standardized test situations will limit the spontaneity of an ani-
mal’s expressivity, and routine use of fixed descriptors will coax people
into regarding these as welfare ‘states’ rather than dynamic body language.
As Lynda Birke (2003) eloquently describes, the entire practice of trans-
forming animals into data-producing devices inevitably has an external-
izing effect on our relationship with them.
Nevertheless, with appropriate training, video footage and fixed lists
addressing animal body language can still work well and contribute valu-
able insight into animals’ experience and welfare. The question is how we
can safeguard the potential ‘subject-power’ of relating to animals as sentient
beings even when there is little chance of influencing the mechanistic
parameters enveloping scientific work. The main issues are, it seems to me:
to focus on the whole dynamic animal, in the way videos are made, mea-
sures are taken, and explanatory models constructed; to remain flexible:
descriptor lists can be added to and changed to suit particular studies, and
observers allowed to fine-tune meanings to particular contexts; and fi-

nally to be creative, open-minded and participative, by encouraging stake-
holders to envision and test novel descriptors and assessment procedures.
Such directives apply to how we study animals, but also, to return to the
main theme of this book, to the study of human-animal relationships itself.
What are appropriate concepts to capture the expressive qualities of those
relationships—their mutuality or lack of it? We can choose as many suit-
able descriptors as we wish and make them work scientifically—as long
as we act commensurably with subject-oriented epistemology, we can build
a science of relationship in whatever way works.
Finally, recognizing sentience in others is indispensable to a science of
relationships, but it is not the only factor. What it does is integrate and
interpret the dynamics of being, and so its strength is primarily diagnostic,
identifying how things are going, what are prevailing qualities of life for
animals, humans, and their relationships. What it does not shed light on
is why things are going that way, the causal fabric of the process. For that,
analytical rather than integrative approaches seem more appropriate, not-
ing exactly what subjects do and how this varies with contingent factors.
Causal mechanistic thought thus also contributes to understanding rela-
tionships, but unless it is embedded in, and guided by, integrative aware-
ness, it is has no meaning and explains nothing. If studies of human-animal
relationships are to be more than recording physical reactivity, scientists
must be willing to recognize sentient perspectives other than their own
(Midgley, 2002). In the end, the notion of sentience is about standing in
relation, about ‘relationing’ humans and animals into an evolving story.
I can think of no better way to conclude than with Martin Buber’s words
(1937, p.17–25): “Inner things or outer things, what are they but things and
things! …When Thou is spoken, the speaker has no thing; he has indeed
nothing. But he takes his stand in relation…The relation to the Thou is
direct.”
References
Abram, D. (2010). Becoming Animal. An earthly cosmology. New York: Pantheon Books.
Acampora, R.R. (2006). Corporal Compassion. Animal ethics and philosophy of body. Pitts-
burgh: University of Pittsburgh Press.
Anthony, L. & Spence, L. (2010). The Elephant Whisperer: Learning About Life, Loyalty and
Freedom From a Remarkable Herd of Elephants. London: Pan.
Bavidge, M. & Ground, I. (1994). Can we understand animal minds? Wiltshire: The Cromwell
Press.
Bekoff, M. (2008). The Emotional Lives of Animals: A Leading Scientist Explores Animal Joy,
Sorrow, and Empathy and Why They Matter. Novato: New World Library.
Bell, M.B.V., Radford, A.N., Rose, R., Wade, H.M. & Ridley, A.R. (2009). The value of constant
surveillance in a risky environment. Proceedings of the Royal Society B—Biological Sci-
ences 276, 2997–3005.
Bennett, M.R. & Hacker, P.M.S. (2003). Philosophical Foundations of Neuroscience. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Birke, L. (2003). Who- or what- are the rats (and mice) in the laboratory. Society and Animals
11 (3), 207–224.
Bohm, D. (1980). Wholeness and the Implicate Order. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Böll, M. (2012). The Nature of Relations. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Bound-
aries (pp. 209–222). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Bortoft, H. (1996). The Wholeness of Nature. Goethe’s way of science. Edinburgh: Floris Books.
Bradshaw, J.W.S. & Casey, R.A. (2007). Anthropomorphism and anthropocentrism as influ-
ences in the quality of life of companion animals. Animal Welfare 16, 149–154.
Brosnan, S.F., Salwiczek, L. & Bshary, R. (2010). The interplay of cognition and cooperation.
Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 365, 2699–2710.
Buber, M. (1937). I and Thou (2nd Edition, translated from German by R.G. Smith). Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark.
Cartmill, E.A. & Byrne, R.W. (2010). Semantics of primate gestures: intentional meanings
of orang-utan gestures. Animal Cognition 13, 793–804.
Cavalieri, P. (2009). The Death of the Animal. New York: Columbia University Press.
Chandroo, K.P., Duncan, I.J.H. & Moccia, R.D. (2004). Can fish suffer?: perspectives on
sentience, pain, fear and stress. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 86, 225–250.
Costall, A. (1995). Socializing affordances. Theory and Psychology 5, 467–481.
Costall, A. & Leudar, I. (2007). Getting over ‘the problem of other minds’: Communication
in context. Infant Behavior & Development 30, 289–295.
Crist, E. (2004). Can an insect speak? The case of the honeybee dance language. Social Stud-
ies of Science 34, 7–43.
Crist, E. (1999). Images of Animals. Anthropomorphism and animal mind. Philadelphia:
Crossley, N. (1996). Intersubjectivity. The fabric of social becoming. London: Sage Publications.
Damasio, A. (2010). Self Comes to Mind. Constructing the conscious brain. London: William
Heinemann.
Damasio, A. (1994). Descartes’ Errror. Emotion, reason and the human brain. London: Paper-
mac.
Dawkins, M.S. (2008). The science of animal suffering. Ethology 114, 937–945.
Dawkins, M.S. (2006). Through animal eyes: what behaviour tells us. Applied Animal Behav-
iour Science 100, 4–10.
De Waal, F.B.M. & Ferrari, P.F. (2010). Towards a bottom-up perspective on animal and
human cognition. Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14, 201–207.
Duncan, I.J.H. (2006). The changing concept of animal sentience. Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 100, 11–19.
Dutton, D. & Williams, C. (2004). A view from the bridge: subjectivity, embodiment and
animal minds. Anthrozoös 17, 210–224.
Edgar, J.L., Lowe, J.C., Paul, E.S. & Nicol, C.J. (2011). Avian maternal response to chick distress.
Proceedings of the Royal Society B. 278, 3129–3134.
Fagen, R., Conitz, J. & Kunib, E. (1997). Observing behavioural qualities. International Jour-
nal of Comparative Psychology 10, 167–179.
Feaver, J., Mendl, M. & Bateson, P. (1986). A method for rating the individual distinctiveness
of domestic cats. Animal Behaviour 34, 1016–1025.
Fossey, D. (2001). Gorillas in the Mist: A Remarkable Story of Thirteen Years Spent Living with
the Greatest of the Great Apes. London: Phoenix.
Goldstein, K. (1939). The Organism. Reprinted in 1995 with a foreword by Oliver Sacks. New
York: Zone Books.
Goodall, J. (1990). Through a Window: Thirty Years with the Chimpanzees of Gombe. London:
Phoenix.
Goodwin, B. (1994). How the Leopard changed its spots. London: Weidenfield & Nicholson.
Gosling, S.D. (2001). From mice to men: what can we learn about personality from animal
research? Psychological Bulletin 127, 45–86.
Griffin, D.R. (1976). The question of animal awareness: Evolutionary continuity of mental
experience. New York: Rockefeller University Press.
Guthrie, S.E. (1993). Faces in the Clouds. A new theory of religion. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Hearne, V. (1986). Adam’s Task: Calling Animals by Name. London: Heinemann.
Hacker, P.M. (1993). Wittgenstein: Meaning and Mind. Part I, Essays. Oxford: Blackwell.
Haraway, D.J. (2008). When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Helton, W.S. (2005). Animal expertise, conscious or not. Animal Cognition 8, 67–74.
Hemsworth, P.H. & Coleman, G.J. (1998). Human-Livestock Interactions. The stockperson
and the productivity and welfare of intensively farmed animals. Wallingford: CAB Inter-
national.
Hollands, C. (1985). Animal Rights in the Political Arena. In P. Singer (Ed.) In Defense of
Animals (pp. 168–178). New York: Basil Blackwell.
Hornsby, J. (2004). Agency and actions. In J. Hyman & H. Steward (Eds.) Agency and Action
(pp. 1–23). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hurley, S. & Nudds, M. (2006). Rational Animals? Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ingold, T. (2000). The Perception of the Environment. Essays in livelihood, dwelling and skill.
Abingdon: Routledge.
Irvine, L. (2004). A model of animal selfhood: expanding interactionist possibilities. Sym-
bolic Interaction 27, 3–21.
King, B.J. (2004). The Dynamic Dance. Non-vocal communication in African great apes. Cam-
bridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
Laporte, M.N.C. & Zuberbuhler, K. (2010). Vocal greeting behaviour in wild chimpanzee
females. Animal Behaviour 80, 467–473.
Leadbeater, E. & Chittka, L. (2007). Social learning in insects—From miniature brains to
consensus building. Current Biology 17, R703–R713.
Littin, K.E. (2010). Animal welfare and pest control: meeting both conservation and animal
welfare goals. Animal Welfare 19, 171–176.
Mathews, F. (1993). For Love of Matter. A contemporary panpychism. New York: State Uni-
versity of New York.
McFarland, S.E. & Hediger, R. (2009). Animals and Agency. An interdisciplinary exploration.
Leiden: Brill.
Meagher, R.K. (2009). Observer ratings: validity and value as a tool for animal welfare re-
search. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 199, 1–14.
Mendl, M., Burman, O.H.P & Paul, E.S. (2010). An integrative and functional framework for
the study of animal emotion and mood. Proceedings of the Royal Society B 277, 2895–2904.
Merchant, C. (1980). The Death of Nature. Women, ecology and the scientific revolution. San
Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1945). Phenomenology of Perception. Reprinted in 2002, translated from
French by Colin Smith. London: Routledge.
Midgley, M. (2002). Science and Poetry. London: Routledge.
Midgley, M. (1983). Animals and Why They Matter. Athens: The University of Georgia Press.
Minero, M., Tosi, M.V., Canali, E. & Wemelsfelder, F. (2009). Quantitative and qualitative
assessment of the response of foals to the presence of an unfamiliar human. Applied
Morris, P., Fidler, M. & Costall, A. (2000). Beyond anecdotes: an empirical study of ‘anthro-
pomorphism.’ Animals & Society 8, 151–165.
Moss, C. (1988). Elephant Memories: Thirteen Years in the Life of an Elephant Family. New
York: William Morrow.
Nagel, T. (1986), The View from Nowhere. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Nagel, T. (1974). What is it like to be a bat? Psychological Review 83, 435–451.
Napolitano, F., De Rosa, G., Braghieri, A., Grasso, F., Bordi, A. & Wemelsfelder, F. (2008).
The qualitative assessment of responsiveness to environmental challenge in horses and
ponies. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 109, 342–356.
Oreskovich, D.C., Klein, B.P. & Sutherland, J.W. (1991). Procrustes Analysis and its applica-
tions to free-choice and other sensory profiling. In H.T. Lawless & B.P. Klein (Eds.)
Sensory Science: Theory and Applications in Foods (pp 353–393). New York: Marcel Dekker.
Panksepp, J. (1998). Affective Neuroscience. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Penn, D.C. & Povinelli, D.J. (2007). On the lack of evidence that non-human animals possess
anything remotely resembling a ‘theory of mind.’ Philosophical Transactions of the
Royal Society B 362, 731–744.
Penn, D.C., Holyoak, K.J. & Povinelli, D.J. (2008). Darwin’s triumph: explaining the unique-
ness of the human mind without a Deus ex Machina. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 31,
153–178.
Plumwood, V. (1993). Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. London: Routledge.
Pollick, A.S. & De Waal, F.B.M. (2007). Ape gestures and language evolution. Proceedings of
the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 104, 8184–8189.
Pongrácz, P., Molnár, C. & Miklósi, A. (2005). Acoustic parameters of dog barks carry emo-
tional information for humans. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 100, 228–240.
Regan, T. (1983). The Case for Animal Rights. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Ristau, C.A. (1991). Aspects of the cognitive ethology of an injury-feigning bird, the piping
plover. In A. Ristau (Ed.) Cognitive Ethology. The minds of other animals. Hillsdale: Law-
rence Erlbaum.
Rousing, T. & Wemelsfelder, F. (2006). Qualitative assessment of social behaviour of dairy
cows housed in loose housing systems. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 101, 40–53.
Russell, E.S. (1930). The Interpretation of Development and Heredity. A study in biological
method. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ryle, G. (1949). The Concept of Mind. London: Penguin Books.
Sanders, C.R. (2003). Actions speak louder than words: close relationships between humans
and non-human animals. Symbolic Interaction 26, 405–426.
Scherer, K.R. (2004). Feelings integrate the central representation of appraisal-driven re-
sponse organisation in emotion. In A.S.R. Manstead, N. Frijda & A. Fisher (Eds.) Feelings
and Emotions. The Amsterdam Symposium (pp. 136–158). Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Searle, J.R. (1990). Consciousness, explanatory inversion and cognitive science. Behavioral
and Brain Sciences 13, 585–642.
Seed, A.M., Tebbich, S., Emery, N.J. & Clayton, N.S. (2006). Investigating physical cognition
in rooks (Corvus frugilegus). Current Biology 16, 697–701.
comparative psychology. In L. Birke & J. Hockenhull (Eds.) Crossing Boundaries (pp. 139
–160). Boston & Leiden: Brill Academic Press.
Segerdahl, P., Fields, W. & Savage-Rumbaugh, S. (2005). Kanzi’s Primal Language: The Cul-
tural Initiation of Primates into Language. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Seyfarth, R.M., Cheney, D.L., Bergman, T., Fischer, J., Zuberbühler, K. & Hammerschmidt,
K. (2010). The central importance of information in studies of animal communication.
Animal Behaviour 80, 3–8.
Sheets-Johnstone, M. (2009). The Corporeal Turn. Exeter: Imprint-academic.
Smuts, B. (2001). Encounters with animal minds. Journal of Consciousness Studies 8, 293–309.
Solomon, R.C. (2004). On the passivity of the passions. In A.S.R. Manstead, N. Frijda &
A. Fisher (Eds.) Feelings and Emotions. The Amsterdam Symposium (pp. 11–30). Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Stevenson-Hinde, J. (1983). Individual characteristics: a statement of the problem. In R.A.,
Hinde (Ed.) Primate Social Relationships: An Integrated Approach (pp. 28–34). Oxford:
Blackwell Scientific Publications.
Stockman, C.A., Collins, T., Barnes, A.L., Miller, D., Wickham, S.L., Beatty, D.T., Blache, D.,
Wemelsfelder, F. & Fleming, P.A. (2011). Qualitative behavioural assessment and quan-
titative physiological measurement of cattle naive and habituated to road transport.
Animal Production Science 51, 240–249.
Tami, G. & Gallagher, A. (2009). Description of the behaviour of domestic dog (Canis famil-
iaris) by experienced and inexperienced people. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 120,
159–169.
Trevarthen C. (1993). The self born in inter-subjectivity: the psychology of an infant com-
municating. In U. Neisser (Ed.) The Perceived Self. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Twine, R. (2010). Animals as Biotechnology. London: Earthscan.
Verhoog, H. (2007). The tension between common sense and scientific perception of ani-
mals: recent developments in research on animal integrity. NJAS-Wageningen Journal
of Life Sciences 54(4), 361–373.
Visalberghi, E. & Limongelli, L. (1994). Lack of comprehension of cause-effect relations in
tool-using capuchin monkeys (Cebus apella). Journal of Comparative Psychology 108,
15–22.
Walker, J., Dale A., Waran, N., Clarke, N., Farnworth, M. & Wemelsfelder, F. (2010). The
assessment of emotional expression in dogs using a Free Choice Profiling methodology.
Animal Welfare 19 (1), 75–84.
Weiss, A., King, J.E. & Perkins, L. (2006). Personality and subjective well-being in orangutans
(Pongo pygmaeus and Pongo abelii). Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 90,
501–511.
Wemelsfelder, F. (2007). How animals communicate quality of life: the qualitative assess-
ment of animal behaviour. Animal Welfare 16(S), 25–31.
Wemelsfelder, F. (1997). The scientific validity of subjective concepts in models of animal
welfare. Applied Animal Behaviour Science 53, 75–88.
Wemelsfelder, F., Nevison, I., Lawrence, A.B. (2009). The effect of perceived environmental
background on qualitative assessments of pig behaviour. Animal Behaviour 78, 477–484.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, E.A., Mendl, M.T. & Lawrence, A.B. (2001). Assessing the ‘whole
animal’: a Free-Choice-Profiling approach. Animal Behaviour 62, 209–220.
Wemelsfelder, F., Hunter, E.A., Mendl, M.T. & Lawrence, A.B. (2000). The spontaneous
qualitative assessment of behavioural expressions in pigs: first explorations of a novel
methodology for integrative animal welfare measurement. Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 67, 193–215.
Wheeler, W. (2006). The Whole Creature. Complexity, Biosemiotics and the evolution of culture.
London: Lawrence & Wishart.
Whitehead, A.N. (1925). Science and the Modern World. Reprinted in 1997. London: Simon
& Schuster.
Whitham, J.C. & Wielebnowski, N. (2009). Animal-based welfare monitoring: using keeper
ratings as an assessment tool. Zoo Biology 28, 545–560.
Wiseman-Orr, M.L., Scott, E.M., Reid, J. & Nolan, A.M. (2006). Validation of a structured
questionnaire as an instrument to measure chronic pain in dogs on the basis of effects
on health-related quality of life. American Journal of Veterinary Research 67, 1826–1836.
Wittgenstein, L. (1958). Philosophical Investigations. Oxford: Blackwell.
Wolch, J. & Emel, J. (1998). Animal Geographies. London: Verso.
Wolfe, C. (2003). Zoontologies. Minneapolis: University of Minesota Press.
Woolfson, E. (2008). Corvus. A Life with birds. London: Granta.
Young, R. (2003). The Secret Life of Cows. Animal sentience at work. Preston: Farming Books
and Videos LtD.
Crossing Borders: some concluding comments 251
CHAPTER TWELVE
Crossing Borders:
some concluding comments
Contributors to this book were asked to write about how they went about
studying ‘human-animal relationships.’ What methodologies have they
used? And what issues are thrown up by using those methods? While hu-
man-animal studies is a broad field, covering human engagement with
various different animal kinds, much to date has focussed on relationships
with those animals closest to us—usually domesticates. And it is this sense
of close relationship, of bonds, that contributors are exploring here. To be
sure, many chapters are concerned with examining human bonds with the
very species who live so close as to share our houses—dogs, in particular—
but some chapters also reflect on bonds that may be formed with other
kinds of animal.
These chapters have, nevertheless, ranged widely, using sometimes
radically different methodologies. This breadth carries with it certain
limitations, as well as promises, which we will sketch out here. The first
limitation concerns generalisability. The very focus on species particu-
larly close to us is an obvious limitation. Some species, such as horses, cats
and dogs, have co-evolved alongside us, over long periods of time; so, as
several contributors note, they are likely to have developed significant skills
in reading human behaviour and developing bonds with us. Whether re-
search methodologies devised for work with these species can be extrapo-
lated to our relatings with other species is not yet clear.
A second limitation follows from this: most contributors are people who
work with detailed, one-to-one relationships with specific animals. To some
extent, this constrains available methods. Tracing networks or extensive
ethnographies do not lend themselves so readily to such a focus. We are
indeed bound into multispecies communities, and new scholarly interest
in multispecies ethnographies attempt to map these (e.g. Kirksey &
Helmreich, 2010; and see Buller in this volume). Such mappings are impor-
tant—they show us the complex ways in which ‘relatings’ are formed. But
micro-level studies which concentrate on specific relationships are also

important. It is not, however, necessarily easy to do both at once; focussing
on specifics loses some of the context, while broader mappings can lose
the specifics.
As Segerdahl queries in his chapter, can there be ‘a’ specific methodol-
ogy in something as wide-ranging as human-animal studies? The various
approaches to studying relationships described in this book indicate that,
indeed, there is no one method. Moreover, the very interdisciplinarity of
human-animal studies means that it must draw on the problematic his-
tory of divisions between disciplines. The kind of study advocated by
Segerdahl for work with Great Apes, for instance, contrasts with the more
laboratory-based questions pursued by Topal and Grasci: both yield im-
portant understandings about our engagement with other animals, though
from different perspectives. In discussing the qualitative methodology she
has developed, Wemelsfelder notes,too, the pressure from other natural
scientists for her to standardise and quantify—the tension between qual-
itative, and often descriptive, methods and those rooted in hypothesis
testing and quantitative assessment runs throughout HAS.
And this raises a further question: is it possible to give voice to animals,
as research subjects rather than objects, in any research programme? Or
are the methods we use to study human-nonhuman engagement inevitably
going to be anthropocentric? And, to draw on debates that have run through
feminist scholarship for decades, how can research be more accountable
to the subjects of study (see Birke, 2009?). Whatever the merits of ap-
proaches such as Actor Network Theory, with its mandate to include all
actors on an (apparently) equivalent basis, the processes we call research
begin and end with questions that we, humans, consider important.
Yet despite the diversity evident in these chapters, there are a number
of promising common threads. To begin with, we would emphasise that
all the contributors start from the assumption that the individuals they
study are mindful, they are sentient subjects, whatever their species.
Humans are not exceptions. It is this starting point which, we believe, uni-
fies those working in HAS, and which motivates us to seek more nuanced
ways of studying or thinking about how we relate to nonhuman animals.
We want here to pick up on some important strands which seem to run
through the various chapters. These are: seeking to understand what the
animal is telling us; how to follow multiple levels of relatings with other
animals; how to situate oneself, the researcher, in the research process;
and the significance of methodology in challenging anthropocentrism.
The first theme follows from the point about recognising sentience.
Researchers in HAS generally seek, in differing ways, to understand the
‘animal’s point of view.’ For people trained in the sciences, it seems ap-
propriate to address this by asking questions about how other animals
communicate with us, and about what preferences they have. These are
considerations that matter a great deal in terms of animal welfare: if we do
not communicate well with animal others, or fail to understand what they
want, then animals are likely to suffer. The ethologists whose work features
in the last few chapters are concerned primarily with thinking about the
animals’ points of view—how do they communicate? How do their minds
work? What do they feel?
Lakatos and Miklosí, for example, note the exceptional skills that some
species (dogs, in particular) have in communicating with us, and interpret-
ing our gestures—skills which can teach us much about how minds work,
even robotic ones. Similarly, Topál and Gácsi explore how such skills
contribute to the development of attachment. In these landmark studies
of canine behaviour, the scientists used ethological approaches, using
controlled scientific studies to focus on the situations in which communi-
cative gestures are understood.
Interspecies communication can, however, be studied in many different
ways. Böll, for example, draws on ideas of the ‘Umwelt’, or the lifeworld of
the organism, and talks about how these might be shared or overlapping
fields of mutual influence between individuals. Dutton, too, emphasises
the reciprocity of relationships, the shared attention and engagement
which, she argues, can be studied using a phenomenonological approach
focussing on mutuality and process, rather than individuals; she empha-
sises that two engaged individuals share attention, and become attuned to
each other, which researchers must heed. That attunement transcends
individuals and species-specificities. Such mutuality is further evident in
ethnographic studies, such as Higgin’s following of pairs of people with
their guide dogs. To understand these close-knit relationships requires
understanding what the animal, as well as the human, has to say. It is this
awareness of animal minds, and a willingness to listen to what these beings
are telling us that is common to all the chapters in this book, however dif-
ferent the approaches.
Human lives are profoundly intertwined with nonhumans, and several
chapters attest to the multiple networks in which we are all embedded—
those by Taylor, and Buller, in particular. As Buller points out, both stock-
person and consumer are enmeshed in a multitude of ways with the lives
of animals who will become meat. Importantly, Taylor stresses networks

as a way of ensuring that other species are viewed properly as social actors
(drawing on Actor Network Theory; also see Taylor, 2011), and, therefore,
of a way toward a less anthropocentric methodology. But wider networks
are also evident—if more implicit—in several other studies described here,
such as Dawson’s discussion of human bereavement, Böll’s analysis of her
work with the ‘social Umwelt’, and in Wemelsfelder’s work with animal
subjectivity.
The third theme concerns the positioning of the researcher. Feminist
researchers have often emphasised the importance of situatedness, of ac-
knowledging where ‘I’ am located in the research process (Haraway, 1988).
Traditionally, many scientific approaches to research tend to assume the
researcher is detached both from the process and from the subjects being
investigated. By contrast, what comes through in these chapters is a sense
of engagement with subjects, an awareness of what Wemelsfelder calls
relationing, or of what Higgin refers to as passionate interest. This is, ulti-
mately, based on some degree of participation in the research, rather than
impartial detachment from it. Segerdahl, too, describes the centrality of
the researcher in the process of ‘getting to know’ the apes with whom
language acquisition studies are done.
Perhaps the clearest example of researcher involvement is shown in
Dawson’s chapter. For her, the procedures of Organic Inquiry require pas-
sionate involvement, so that the researcher’s own reflections and feelings
become centrally part of the inquiry. Indeed, we might ask if it could ever
be otherwise, in a study of caregivers’ experiences of bereavement after
losing a much-loved animal companion? While we agree with Segerdahl,
that there is no one method applicable to the breadth of HAS, we might
also suggest that (com)passionate involvement and awareness of animal
minds are crucial components.
They are crucial components, moreover, in the challenge that HAS can
offer to anthropocentrism. It is undoubtedly true that research is something
initiated and done by people (at least in the sense that we understand it
here, although it is equally true that to live successfully with/near humans
requires that other species make special studies of us). In that sense, no
research methodology can escape anthropocentrism completely. But some
ways of doing research are closer to that goal than others—most notably
approaches that start from animal sentience and awareness, and endeavour
to think ‘from the animal’s point of view.’ To that end, practical methods
which do not privilege spoken language are useful—studies which con-
centrate on other species’ use and understanding of nonverbal, gestural,

communication are significant here. Several authors also point to the use
of webcams, for example, as a means of tracking how other species are
implicated in the production of social relations, or in the use of space, and
how relationships between species are shaped.
We are, of course, sensorily limited in such endeavours. Humans, espe-
cially in industrialized societies, rely heavily on vision (whether our eyes
or webcams), in ways that probably do not make complete sense to a dog.
Perhaps we can never really do research that takes the animal’s point of
view if we cannot imagine their rather different sensory worlds. But we can
be aware of these differences, and think of them as rich sources of wonder
in our relationships with other species. We can, indeed must, approach
research with humility and compassion. Whatever senses we use in studies
of how we live with other animals, we need to listen to what they have to
say.
References
online at http://www.depauw.edu/humanimalia/issue01/birke.html)
Haraway, D. (1988). Situated Knowledges: The science question in feminism and the privi-
legeof partial perspective. Feminist Studies, 14 (Fall), 575–599.
Kirksey S.E. & Helmreich S. (2010). The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography. Cultural
Anthropology 25 (4), 545–576.
Taylor, N. (2011). Can sociology contribute to the emancipation of animals? In N. Taylor &
T. Signal (Eds.) Theorizing Animals: Re-thinking Humanimal Relations. Leiden: Brill
index 257
Index
Academic (disciplinary) boundaries 2, 5, Baboons 100

15, 37, 40, 43–5, 48, 73, 86 Behaviour as choreography 10, 27, 237
Accountability, to animals in research 252 Behnke, Elizabeth 107
Actor Network Theory (networks) 4, 19, 24, Berger, John 51, 55
42, 252, 254 Biosemiotics 209–211, 220
Aggression 190, 216–218 Body language 232, 235–240, 242
Agricultural practices Bonobos 8–9, 99–100, 143–153, 229
as relational practice 55, 58–9 Boundaries, human and animal 38–39, 41,
food production systems 54–5, 61, 63, 44
66 Brandt, Keri 28, 103
labelling of food 61 Bruner, Jerome 146
narrowing of interspecies relationships Buber, Martin 229, 244
Burt, Jonathan 53
in, 57–9
production and consumption 7, 21, 51 ff
Caesar, Terry 101, 106
‘revitalization of animals’ 54–5, 65–6 Carnal capital 58
Ainsworth, Mary (see Strange Situation- Categories, messiness 38–39, 41
Test) 171 purification 38, 41, 42, 44, 47, 48
Animal emotions 226 Cats 26, 107, 170, 180-181, 189
Animal play 82–3 Cattle 53, 57, 62, 63
Animal sentience 223, 225, 242–3, 252–3 Chickens 57, 62, 242
Animal subjects, inequalities of power Chimpanzees 38–9, 91, 140, 142n, 143, 153,
3, 6, 20, 114 181
and alterity 98 Churchill, Scott 99, 100
and experience 231 Coleman, Grahame 58
as behavers 10, 30, 235 Communication 191–194, 196–7, 212, 231
as social actors 19, 40, 44, 63–4, 66, 73, barking 194
85 eye contact 196
emotional expression 10 pointing, gestures 27, 46, 99, 191–3, 196,
generic 2n.1, 43–4 219–20
lab animals, relationship to caretakers verbal 193, 195, 197, 199
18n.3, 21, 31n. 7 Companion species 20
mindedness of 3, 9, 27 animals 8, 15, 18, 20, 23, 27, 43, 85, 97, 113,
testing intelligence of 18, 22, 31n.6, 227 127, 130–1, 133, 251
welfare of 154–5 Companion Animal Bonding Scale 169, 182
Animal subjectivity 93, 96, 226, 228–9, 231, Companionship 187–188
233 Comparative psychology 91–108, 116 139–
in research 252 42, 148, 152, 156, 158
Animal viewpoints 226, 228, 253–4 Conceptualising nature 1, 16, 37, 40, 41, 42,
Anthropocentrism 37–8, 40–1, 64, 252, 254 44, 64, 83, 85, 209
Anthropomorphism 40, 42, 85, 164, 168, 170, Coyotes 194
201–2, 226–7 Crist, Eileen 92
Csordas, Thomas 97–8
‘critical anthropomorphism’ 95
Attachment 9, 26, 31, 165–7, 169–71, 173–82, Damasio, Antonio 226
188–9, 191, 196, 203 De Landa, Manuel 56, 60
Authenticity 218–19, 230 Derrida, Jacques 60
258 index
Descartes, René 140 Heart rate 177-8, 217–18

Despret, Vinciane 28–9, 61, 68, 82, 86 heart rate variability 178, 217–18
Dogs 4, 20, 25, 27, 39–40, 73–87, 163–86, Home 8, 139, 146, 148, 153, 157
188–204, 215, 218–20, 251, 253 Home/lab duality 146–149, 152–3, 157
doghuman worlds 20, 27 Homer (Odysseus) 163
dog walking 27–8, 81–2 Horses 15, 22–3, 25–28, 103–4
guide dogs 73–87, 176-78, 253 Human Mother-infant bond 171, 174, 177
Domestication, and dogs 76 Human Animal Interactions (HAI) 182
Dualism in psychology 8, 91–108 Human-encultured apes 139–60
Human-material interactions 46
Embodied attention 98, 106 Hypothesis testing 17
Emotions 83–5, 113, 115, 125
Ingold, Tim 66, 76
Empathic resonance 125, 128
Instinctual mechanisms 92
Epistemic privilege 47 Intersubjectivities 27, 29, 32, 75, 83, 92–4,
Ethology 5, 9, 17, 19, 24, 26, 32, 165, 169, 187– 96, 98–105, 107, 115, 231
8, 190–91, 199, 203–4, 209, 212–13, 216, Irvine, Leslie 26, 101n.7
223 ff, 225, 253
industrial ethology 210, 216, 219 Jackals 194
Eustis, Dorothy 75
Euthanasia, companion animals 8, 113, 126 Kanzi 144–9, 150n-151n, 153
Evolution 171, 179, 181-2, 188, 201, 209, 218 Kinaesthetic empathy 28, 98, 99
Expressivity 235–8, 240 Kohn, Eduardo 101
Kynology 164
Farm Animal Welfare Council (UK) 58, 68
Farm animals 51–3 Laboratory 139, 146–7, 149, 152–5, 157, 190
as bio-factories 57, 60 Language use 38–9
consumption of, in USA 56 Latour, Bruno 40–1, 80
relationship to caretakers 53, 58–9, 223 Law, John 43, 56
representation of 56 Lefebvre, Henri 83
welfare of 225 Lexington Attachment to Pets Scale 169
Feminist methods 44, 252 Lorenz, Konrad 165, 198
spirituality 114, 116 Lorimer, Jamie 65
Food as interspecies relationship 51–2, 56,
60, 62, 66 Matthews, Freya 230
Foucault, Michel 45 Mead, George Herbert 26
Free choice profiling 240–2 Mechanistic causation 225–8, 231, 244
‘Meeting up’ 229
Fudge, Erica 91
Method as political 39, 43, 47
Fukuzawa, Megumi 193–4 Michael, Mike 22
Midgeley, Mary 54, 59, 62, 66, 238
Game, Ann 28 Mirror neurons 96
Great apes 8, 31n.8, 237, 252, 254 Mitchell, Robert and Thompson, Nicholas
Grief, loss of companion animal 113, 124, 133 195–6
Guide Dogs for the Blind (U.K) 73–7 Mutual attunement 98, 102–3, 129, 236, 254
Handling 177 Nagel, Thomas 230–1, 235
Haraway, Donna 3, 9, 20, 31n.4, 43, 60, 61, ‘Naturecultures’ 43
76, 85, 105, 147n.12 Nim Chimpsky (see Terrace, Herb) 143,
Hayward, Eva 24 146–7, 153
Health benefits of dog ownership 189–90 Noske, Barbara 18
Hearne, Vicki 85 Nosworthy, Cheryl 22
index 259
Ontogenetic ritualisation 195 Research, animals as other in 6, 37, 40, 43–

Organic inquiry 254 4
ethnographies 7, 19, 29, 32, 65, 74, 86
Panbanisha 147, 149–52 ethical dilemmas of 6, 44
Panksepp, Jaak 233 generalisability 251
Peirce, Charles Sanders 211 honouring animal lives in 120
Personality 203 interviews in 7, 17, 22, 25, 32, 74
assessment (the Big Five) 200 limitations, realities 15 ff, 135–6, 251
Pet keeping, Australia 43 lived experience 224
pet keeping culture 201 meditation in 118, 126–7, 129
Pets as children (dogs) 168, 170, 201 multi-level approaches 25 ff
as family members 188 multispecies ethnographies 19, 251
as social support 170 ‘mess’ 32, 39, 41, 47, 74
Phenomenology 229, 253 observation in 7, 10, 17, 18, 24, 32, 46–7,
Philosophy 139–42, 152, 154, 156, 209 65, 223
Pigeons 85 objectivity 18, 31, 115, 224
Pigs 10, 30, 62, 154–5, 231–2, 242 organic inquiry 8, 113 ff
Play 171, 172, 176, 182, 191, 194–6, 199, 215 participative, performative 32, 47, 65,
Porcher, Jocelyne 66 74–5, 85–6, 114
Posthumanism 5, 37–48, 79 phenomenology 91 ff, 118
Power, and discourse 41, 45, 47 position of researcher 8–9, 47
and human-animal relationships 3, 6, quantitative vs qualitative 17, 117, 134,
20, 114 252
Producing meaning 26, 32, 46, 84–6, 93, 99 symbolic interactionism 32
Proximity maintenance 166, 171 telling stories in 8, 31–3, 114, 122, 127
Psychology, see comparative psychology transcripts in 130–1
use of artwork in 119, 127, 133–4
Qualitative vs quantitative 17, 252 use of video in 7, 25, 47, 243
Quality, behaviour 30, 238–9 the unconscious in 120–2
of relationships 32 Resistances of animals 20, 22
of food 51, 62, 66 Riding as embodiment 28
Questionnaires 7, 19, 45, 168–71, 182, 188– Robots 191, 198–204
90, 195, 198–200 Rodents 1, 22, 28–9, 31n.6
Runa people 101
Regan, Tom 229
Relatings 20–1, 251 Sacred knowing, in research 114, 116, 119–
Relations, human-animal 209–10, 212, 214, 22, 124, 130, 135
220 Safe haven 166–7, 170, 177-8
Relationships Sanders, Clint 26, 238
as bonds 2, 8, 15, 21 Savage-Rumbaugh, Sue 143–51, 152n, 153
as embodied 28–9, 32, 91 ff Secure base 166–7, 170, 177-8
as ‘lived order’ 81, 93, 114 Semiotics 9, 209–21
as performance 32, 42, 46, 65, 82 Separation anxiety (separation distress;
as flows of affect 86 dogs) 166, 174, 178, 181, 190
as intersubjective 100–1 Shapiro, Ken 28, 93, 98–9, 102
as narrowed in human food chains 57–9 Sheep 62, 64, 242
as paradox 122 Sheets-Johnstone, Maxine 238
as process 2, 8, 16, 24–6 Shelter dogs 177, 193
failure of 23 Situated knowing 115, 254
nature of 209–10, 212–14 Slaughter as magnifying effect 52
outcome 2, 33 Smuts, Barbara 100
260 index
Social life as performative 42, 46, 65 Umwelts 9–10, 213–15, 216, 253–4

Socialisation period (sensitive period; dogs) social umwelts 213, 215, 221
167, 176
Sociology 7, 16, 19, 26, 37–48, 64, 156 Violence and cruelty 37
Strange Situation Test (see Ainsworth) 171– Vision, centrality of 255
7, 179, 181-2
Supermarkets, and farms 55 Wedde, Ian 103
Welfare assessment 225
Teaching 191, 196 Wemelsfelder, Francoise 30, 106, 154–5,
Temporal patterns in behaviour 196–7, 199, 220–21
202 Wholeness, of organism 232–3
Terrace, Herb (see Nim Chimpsky) 143 vs reductionist explanations 234
Theory of Mind 149–51, 235 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 141–2, 146, 152
Tomasello, Mike 82, 140, 153n Wilkie, Rhoda 53
Toys 198, 201–202 Wolves 165, 167-9, 179-82, 191–5, 201
Transpersonal psychology 116 Wood tick 214
Uexkull, Jakob von 9–10, 213–14 Zoonoses 190

Human-Animal Studies
1. Munro, L. Confronting Cruelty. Moral Orthodoxy and the Challenge of the Animal
Rights Movement. 2005. ISBN 978 90 04 14311 1
2. Herda-Rapp, A. & Th. L. Goedeke (eds.) Mad about Wildlife. Looking at Social
Conflict over Wildlife. 2005. ISBN 978 90 04 14366 1
3. Kemmerer, L. In Search of Consistency: Ethics and Animals. 2006.
ISBN 978 90 04 14725 6
4. Simmons, L. & Ph. Armstrong (eds.) Knowing Animals. 2007.
ISBN 978 90 04 15773 6
5. Sittert, L. van & S. Swart (eds.) Canis Africanis. A Dog History of Southern Africa.
2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15419 3
6 Tyler, T. & M. Rossini (eds.) Animal Encounters. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 16867 1
7. Caesar, T. Speaking of Animals. Essays on Dogs and Others. 2009.
ISBN 978 90 04 17406 1
8. McFarland, S.E. & R. Hediger (eds.) Animals and Agency. An Interdisciplinary
Exploration. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17580 8
9. Freeman, C. Paper Tiger. A Visual History of the Thylacine. 2010.
ISBN 978 90 04 18165 6
10. Knight, J. Herding Monkeys to Paradise. How Macaque Troops are Managed for
Tourism in Japan. 2011. ISBN 978 90 04 18793 1
11. Taylor, N. & T. Signal (eds.) Theorizing Animals. Re-thinking Humanimal Relations.
2012. ISBN 978 90 04 20242 9
12. Boddice, R. (ed.) Anthropocentrism. Humans, Animals, Environments. 2012.
ISBN 978 90 04 18794 8
13. Alves, A. The Animals of Spain. An Introduction to Imperial Perceptions and Human
Interaction with Other Animals, 1492-1826. 2012. ISBN 978 90 04 19389 5
14. Birke, L. & J. Hockenhull (eds.) Crossing Boundaries. Investigating Human-Animal
Relationships. 2012. ISBN 978 90 04 23145 0

10 1163@9789004233041

Încărcat de

Informații document

Titlu original

Drepturi de autor

Formate disponibile

Partajați acest document

Partajați sau inserați document

Opțiuni de partajare

Vi se pare util acest document?

Este necorespunzător acest conținut?

Drepturi de autor:

Formate disponibile

10 1163@9789004233041

Încărcat de

Drepturi de autor:

Formate disponibile

Crossing Boundaries

Lynda Birke and Jo Hockenhull

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Crossing boundaries : investigating human-animal relationships / edited by Lynda Birke and

Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Introduction: On Investigating Human-Animal Relationships. . . . . . 1

1. On Investigating Human–Animal Bonds: Realities, Relatings,

5. Being-with-Animals: Modes of Embodiment in Human-Animal

8. Lessons We Should Learn from Our Unique Relationship with

As the sub-title indicates (“Investigating human-animal relationships”),

Kenneth Shapiro, Series Editor

Lynda Birke is Visiting Professor in the Department of Biological Sciences,

Mette Miriam Böll is currently working on her doctorate in industrial

Henry Buller is Professor of (non-)Human Geography at the University

Susan Dawon is Director of Animal-Kind UK a research, training and

Sanctuary investigating how children with social and emotional behav-

Diane Dutton completed her undergraduate and postgraduate studies at

Márta Gácsi has been doing research on dog-human relationship since

Jo Hockenhull works in the Animal Welfare and Behaviour Group at the

Gabriella Lakatos is working as a researcher at the Department of

Ádám Miklósi is the Head of the Ethology Department at the Eötvös

Pär Segerdahl is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Uppsala University

ume on animal studies, Undisciplined Animals (Cambridge Scholars

Nik Taylor received her Ph.D ‘Human-Animal Relations: A Sociological

József Topál is an ethologist, he received his PhD degree in Behavioural

Françoise Wemelsfelder is Senior Research Scientist in Sustainable

Lynda Birke and Jo Hockenhull

the relationship between them—many studies in ethology, for instance,

1 The use of the generic ‘animal’ is always problematic. We refer to human-animal

opposition is deeply problematic in the way that it posits generic ‘animals’

enculturation), as well as to the sociological and psychological investiga-

of how we come to understand the mutual production of human and non-

seek to understand how ongoing relationships between humans and non-

tracing social networks. In Chapter One, we introduce some of the major

understand how together they construct their world(s). Following partici-

studies he outlines human researcher and bonobo participant are sharing

of expression through artwork and poetry. In some situations, quantitative

Armstrong, D. (2002). Ethnography should replace experimentation. Behavioral and Brain

On Investigating Human–Animal Bonds:

Lynda Birke1 and Jo Hockenhull 2

Relationships are complex intertwinings of lives and expectations. They

1 Department of Biological Sciences, University of Chester.

borders in our research. It is that trans-disciplinarity that we believe is

To understand how relationships form means taking all participants seri-

who care for them, even if it is often unacknowledged in academic scholar-

relatively recently have domesticated animals become the focus of research

Relatings (and resistances)

‘needing to learn’ about her/his environment, as noted in Latimer & Birke,

Tracking multiple levels of relatings needs new, more integrative, ap-

from ethological studies how human actions or attitudes impact on animals’

which can be further analysed. The point we want to emphasise here is

construction of meaning. Growing recognition of the subjective worlds of

every­day understandings of ‘relationship.’ But, she suggests, the way the

7 The contributors to the book The Inevitable Bond: Examining Scientist-Animal

Reprise: telling better stories

One thing is clear: to be able to understand that somewhat intangible

Bryman, A. (2004). Social Research Methods. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Kirksey S.E. & S. Helmreich (2010). The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography. Cultural

Animals, Mess, Method:

Animals have historically been studied in a particular way—as part of

1 Department of Sociology, Flinders University of South Australia.

tions about epistemology and methodology which I believe post-humanism

everyday understandings of ‘relationship.’ But, she suggests, the way the