How Dogs Love Us: A Neuroscientist and His Adopted Dog Decode the Canine Brain

by Berns, Gregory

  “Can we move her to a different period?” I asked.

  “We can check, but that would require changing her whole schedule.”

  “Can you at least move her to the front of the class so she can hear better?”

  I think he realized that this was the least painful way to get rid of us.

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  It was evident that he had been through this type of conference countless times before and that he had heard it all. I felt some small victory in serving notice that we cared about our daughter and that we would not sit idly while she slipped through the cracks of the public school system.

  When we got home, Helen was in her room doing homework. I sat with her on her bed. Lyra jumped up to join us.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Not so good,” I said.

  A look of embarrassment flashed across Helen’s face. “What did you do?”

  “We tried to get you switched to a different period, but that wasn’t going to happen. The best we could do was getting you moved closer to the front of the room.”

  Helen nodded and stroked Lyra’s head. Lyra grinned in delight.

  “I think he forgets to teach your period some of the material,” I explained. “You’re just going to have to make a lot of flash cards.”

  Science is about questioning how the universe works and discovering new things, not memorizing a series of facts out of a textbook. Science constantly changes as we learn more about the world we live in. What could be more exciting than that? It saddened me that Helen had to learn science with all the life sucked out of it.

  Helen continued to smooth out Lyra’s fur.

  “Do you think Lyra knows how I feel?” she asked.

  “I think she does,” I said. “But hopefully we can prove that through the Dog Project.”

  Lyra provided a great deal of comfort to Helen. As the two of them cuddled together, I was struck by their perfect symbiosis. As a golden retriever, Lyra had been honed through generations of selective breeding to get along with humans, especially children. Although the Dog Project had been conceived as an effort to discover what dogs like Lyra and Callie were thinking, Helen’s reaction reminded me that the dog-human relationship is a two-way street. We couldn’t consider the dog brain without taking into account dogs’ effect on humans.

  At a superficial level, you can state the obvious: humans like dogs. They provide companionship. They serve as working and utility animals. They hunt. They guard. They are soft and warm and feel good against the skin. But, as I was trying to convey to Helen, science is about asking why things are the way they are.

  The scientific study of dogs’ effect on humans has been, until recently, almost nonexistent. Florence Nightingale, the matriarch of nursing, was one of the first to argue for the role of animals in improving human health, writing, “A small pet animal is often an excellent companion for the sick, for long chronic cases especially.” But it wasn’t until the last decade, when animal-assisted therapy became more accepted as a treatment for human illness, that researchers began measuring the effect of dogs on humans. Even so, the results have been mixed. For one thing, how can you conduct a double-blind study where neither the researcher nor the patient knows what treatment is being given, if one set of patients gets to play with dogs while the other doesn’t? Double-blind studies are the gold standard in medicine because of the well-known placebo effect. Across the board, for physical and mental illnesses, up to one-third of patients will get better if they believe the treatment they are receiving is effective, even if it is nothing more than a sugar pill.

  Demonstrating that dogs and animals in general can improve human health probably won’t meet most medical standards of evidence. But that doesn’t mean animals don’t help people. One study found that animal therapy helped hospitalized heart failure patients by decreasing blood pressure in the lungs, a measure of how much fluid is backing up. Another study suggested that animal therapy reduced the need for pain medications. Hospitalized children in particular seem to benefit from pet therapy, with marked decreases in pain experienced. Many of these studies, however, have used subjective measures like pain as their endpoints. The few studies that have attempted to measure the effects of animals on human biologic measures, like blood pressure or stress hormone levels, have come up with contradictory results.

  Interestingly, when you look at the entire literature on animal-assisted therapy, patterns begin to emerge. Of the different animals used in therapy, dogs are the ones associated with the largest beneficial effects on health. And although positive effects were observed in most age groups, children seem to derive the most benefit.

  Up until that point, I hadn’t given much thought to how dogs and humans were matched to each other. But watching Helen and Lyra together, it became obvious that Lyra helped soothe Helen’s frustration and that Lyra enjoyed doing so, curling up next to Helen when she was needed most. Callie was a different story. She wasn’t nearly as demonstrative. Even her body language was different. While Lyra was content to put her head in Helen’s lap, Callie preferred to curl up nearby, just out of physical contact. Lyra appeared to be well matched to Helen’s personality, but it surprised me that Callie was better suited to mine. I didn’t care for dogs that fawned over you like slobbering sycophants. I liked dogs that saw themselves as your partner.

  In his book Man Meets Dog, the great Austrian ethologist Konrad Lorenz wrote about the different types of dog-human relationships. Lorenz realized that the loyalty of dogs had no counterpart in human relationships, but that alone did not make them better than people. He believed dogs are “amoral,” without any instinctive sense of right and wrong. Modern research has disputed that statement. For instance, research by primatologist Frans de Waal shows that many animals demonstrate an understanding of fairness.

  Lorenz, however, believed that the ideal canine companion was a “resonance dog.” He noted the extraordinary parallelism in personality between many dogs and their owners, sometimes to the point that they even looked alike. According to Lorenz, strong dog-human bonds were created when both human and dog resonated with each other.

  Certainly Helen and Lyra resonated. And even though Callie was the relatively new, and somewhat standoffish, dog in the house, I had to admit that she was beginning to resonate with me.

  Leaving Helen and Lyra alone after our discussion about science class, I padded downstairs to find my resonant dog. As usual, she was in the backyard.

  “Callie, here girl!”

  She came bounding into the kitchen smelling like dirt and dog sweat. Wagging her stiff tail very quickly, she looked at me and ran out the door again. Clearly, she wanted me to follow her.

  Callie had her nose buried in the ivy with her butt in the air. As I approached, she looked up and started shaking her rear end back and forth. Callie took something in her mouth and flipped it in the air. Whatever it was (probably a mole) emitted a high-pitched squeal, which was soon cut short.

  I was impressed with Callie’s hunting skills. Since she had no interest in eating her prey, she hunted either for her own enjoyment or for mine. There was no need to tell Helen about Callie’s predatory activity. That would remain a secret between us.

  “Good girl,” I said. “You’re a SuperFeist.”

  7

  Lawyers Get Involved

  DECADES AGO, WHEN COLLEGES had fewer rules and regulations, dogs were a fixture on campuses. Most fraternities had a dog, and professors often brought their dogs to class. What would college be without a dog chasing a Frisbee on the quad?

  Sadly, those days are long gone. They were gone even before I went to college. But it’s even worse now. Not only are dogs nowhere to be seen on a campus, but most universities explicitly forbid them. Only a handful of colleges, including Caltech and MIT, allow pets, and those are cats only. Lehigh University in Pennsylvania allows one cat or dog per fraternity or sorority, but it must remain in the house at all times. The only universities t
hat allow dogs a relatively free run of campus are Stetson University and Eckerd College in Florida, the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and Washington and Jefferson College in Pennsylvania (although in the latter case you need to prove that it is a family dog you have owned for at least a year).

  Emory University is not pet-friendly. Its policy manual reads, “Because of restrictions governing University insurance policies, concerns for the integrity of research projects, and interest in the welfare of faculty, students, staff, and visitors, it is the policy of Emory University that animals not be permitted in University buildings.”

  Insurance policies? Is the welfare of the university really threatened by dogs? It sounded like some lawyer had visions of a rabid dog running amok.

  There was, however, a loophole in the prohibition against dogs: animals used for research were allowed. But this meant that several committees, buttressed with lawyers, would need to sign off on it. I mentally prepared myself to do battle against an army of “No.”

  When we do brain-imaging experiments on humans, all the procedures must be reviewed by a panel intended to protect volunteers from harm. Having performed close to a thousand MRIs on human subjects over the last decade, I have become accustomed to the approval process. But this time was different. We were going to scan dogs.

  It is one of the sad facts of biomedical science that the road to scientific progress is littered with the bodies of both humans and animals. The modern era of human experimentation began with the Nazis. Doctors and scientists performed horrific experiments on people held in concentration camps, and all of this was justified in the name of scientific progress. During the Nuremberg Trials, these atrocities came to light. As a result, a code of conduct was established for how to do medical research without putting people at great risk. These rules have evolved over time, especially after some horrible lapses in judgment, like the Tuskegee syphilis study, which ran from 1932 all the way to 1972. In the Tuskegee study, researchers withheld treatment to disadvantaged African Americans without their knowledge so that the scientists could document the natural course of syphilis. In 1974, after the study was shut down, the National Research Act established a commission for the protection of research subjects. The commission produced a landmark document called The Belmont Report, which not only summarized the history of human biomedical experimentation since World War II, but also laid down guidelines for experiments involving humans.

  The Belmont Report contains three basic principles for human research. First, there must be “respect for persons.” This means that every person has the right to make his or her own decisions, including whether to volunteer for research. In other words, you cannot force or trick someone into participating in an experiment. Second is the principle of beneficence, which means that we should maximize the good resulting from research. This also means we should not harm people in the name of research. There is a bit of a gray zone here, however, in the recognition that all research carries some risk. As long as the potential benefits outweigh the risks, then the research is generally considered okay. For example, an experimental drug for cancer may have terrible side effects, but if it has the potential to save the subject’s life, then the benefits might outweigh the risks. Finally, there is the principle of justice, or fairness, which means that scientists cannot use just poor people for research, because this would unfairly take advantage of their need to make money by renting their bodies for medical research.

  While it has taken decades to work out how these principles are applied in practice for humans, the situation is entirely different with animals. The law does not recognize animals as having the same rights as humans. Legally, animals are considered property. This means that researchers can, within limits, do whatever they want with them. Usually, this means the death of the animal.

  As bad as that sounds, the care of laboratory animals is highly regulated by the Department of Agriculture. The Animal Welfare Act, signed into law in 1966, specifies how animals used in research should be treated. Periodically updated, the text of the law is a mind-boggling list of rules that describes everything from cage requirements to veterinary care to methods of euthanasia.

  The act requires any entity that performs research on animals, such as a university, to establish a committee to review and approve research protocols. This committee is called the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee, or IACUC. The acronym is usually pronounced eye-a-kuk.

  Let’s say I wanted to conduct some behavioral research on Callie at home, like figuring out the best method to get her to come when called. As long as I didn’t violate any animal cruelty laws, I could do whatever I wanted. Use a long leash? Fine. Try an ultrasonic whistle? Check. Use an electronic shock collar? Still okay. I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission to do any of this.

  But if I asked the same question in an academic setting, like the university, it would fall under the legal jurisdiction of the Animal Welfare Act. If I wanted to write an academic paper on which dog biscuit was most effective for training, I would still need to get IACUC approval. The main difference between doing research at home and at the university is that the university is considered a “research facility” that receives money from the federal government. As part of the deal for receiving federal funds, the university must abide by all federal rules and regulations. One big part is compliance with the Animal Welfare Act. (The other is compliance with human research regulations like the ones established in The Belmont Report.)

  Although I was accustomed to navigating the maze of human research rules, I had had no experience with the animal rules. Surprisingly, the rules of animal research were a lot more complicated. Unlike humans, animals have no choice in whether they want to participate in research. So while a human can theoretically judge the risks and benefits and make an informed decision, animals cannot. As a result, the rules around animal research acknowledge that their lives will be awful and limit as much as is practical the pain and suffering they must endure.

  None of this seemed terribly relevant to the Dog Project. After all, the dogs were going to be people’s pets. They weren’t going to be housed at the university. The plan was for the owners to train their dogs at home and, when they were ready, bring them in for an MRI scan. Andrew and I figured this should be pretty simple. We wrote a document describing our plan for the experiment. This document spelled out the research protocol. It contained everything from how we would select the subjects, to how we would train them, to how we would protect their hearing during the scans. It even included a consent form (for the owner, not the dog).

  We sent the protocol document to the IACUC and waited for a response.

  Two weeks later, I received a phone call from a university lawyer.

  “We have a jurisdiction problem with your protocol.”

  Trying not to get upset, I asked him to explain the problem.

  “For starters,” he continued, “you included a consent form.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “We thought it was reasonable to get consent from the dog’s owner.”

  “The IACUC doesn’t do consent forms,” he said. “This sounds like human research.”

  “But the humans aren’t the subjects,” I said. “The dogs are.”

  “Well, we don’t know what to do with a consent form,” he said. “You need to send it to the IRB.” The Institutional Review Board, or IRB, was the committee that reviewed human research protocols.

  “They’re not going to want to review it because it’s not human research.”

  “There are other problems,” the lawyer continued, ignoring me. He then ticked off a laundry list of issues. Once on campus, how would we transport dogs to the MRI? How would we prevent the dogs from escaping? What would happen if they bit someone? The hospital risk management lawyers would have to sign off on this too. I would need to check with the Occupational Safety and Health Office to see if there were OSHA issues to resolve. I would also need to check with the biosafety officer to see if she had
concerns about the spread of biological pathogens.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly, the little feist that slept in our bed and licked my face every morning represented a threat to the safety and welfare of the entire university.

  “Have you considered purpose-bred dogs?” the lawyer asked, referring to dogs, usually beagles, bred and sold exclusively for research. There was no way I would support that ugly practice, and I said so.

  “That would mitigate some of the liability concerns because Emory would own the dogs,” the lawyer continued.

  “We need to find a way to do this project with community-owned dogs,” I said. “I’m confident that people will volunteer their dogs just to have a chance to participate in this research.” Then I had an idea. “Do you have a dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then surely you’ve wondered what your dog is thinking,” I said. “Would you volunteer him?”

  “Well, I don’t think he would be a good subject,” the lawyer replied. “But I see your point.” He paused and then continued. “Maybe the IRB would act as a consultant to help us with your consent form.”

  A glimmer of hope.

  “But because of the liabilities, you’re still going to need all the offices to approve your protocol.”

  This was not going to be easy. I had interacted with some of these offices before, and I knew that nobody would want to be the guy who approved the crazy dog experiment. What if something went wrong? But there was no turning back. If I had to, I would do this off campus, on my own time. I would find some private MRI facility willing to take dogs.

  One way or another, the Dog Project was going to happen, even if I had to fight every lawyer in Atlanta.

  Many of the people who work in the divisions of the university concerned with regulatory compliance adopt a cover-your-ass attitude. This typically manifests as a preoccupation with the letter of the law. Unfortunately, there is an endless array of federal regulations, and they are not always consistent with one another, so knowing which rules take precedence in a given situation is a bit of an art. In my experience, many of the people in the compliance divisions were primarily concerned with minimizing the chance of any violation or anything that might bring negative publicity if something went wrong, without much regard to the potential benefits of taking that risk.