Marine Matters: Just a Thought A female turkey came out of the woods the other morning. She stood just at the edge of the open lawn, picking turkey delicacies from the grass. Slowly, head high and alert, she came into the clear. She was alone, an unusual sight in these parts, where turkey flocks come in the tens and twenties. I half expected the local fox to make a hungry dash for her.



She toddled toward the garden, she sauntered toward the driveway, she ambled back and forth, eating heartily in one spot, disdaining the offerings in another. I sensed a sort of inquisitiveness in her beady little eyes. Eventually she moved to the north of the house. I walked to the window on that side just in time to see her come around the corner. She saw me, fluffed her feathers in alarm and rapidly headed back into the woods.



It made me think of the phrase that mothers and fathers down the decades have said to their teenage offspring after yet another completely idiotic mishap requiring either stitches, money or an appointment at the local auto body shop: What were you thinking?



What was that lone turkey thinking as she wandered around the yard, changing direction every few paces, then heading to the house?



Later that morning I saw a large flock of crows wheeling about in the sky and calling harshly to each other. It was a large gathering, at least twenty crows sailing about on a strong northerly breeze. First they flew to the west, then turned and headed east out of sight, calling all the while. Then the flock came back again, the birds rising and falling in the air in intricate patterns. Finally the whole troop flew out of sight above the trees to the west, although I could hear their calls for some time after.



What were they thinking?



We have a long-standing curiosity about animals and their thoughts. A story in Greek mythology tells of a man who could speak the language of the animals. As a child, Melampous saw a servant kill a bunch of snakes. The child then honored those snakes by burning their bodies and took in the snakes’ young to raise. One night the young snakes came to Melampous while he slept and licked his ears. When he awoke he understood the language of animals, a talent that he promptly put to good use as an advisor to various kings. In German legend the hero Siegfried is endowed with understanding of animal language not by friendly snakes but by licking dragon blood from his fingers after he had done battle with the creature. Then of course there’s Dr. Doolittle, a kindly English doctor who prefers animals to humans. His parrot teaches him animal language and off the doctor goes on some highly imaginative adventures.



Scientists would say those tales are way off base; we can never truly know what an animal thinks. Their behaviors are due to environment and instinct, highly developed only in order to propagate an animal’s genes in the next generation. The notion that an animal might do something for other than purely pragmatic reasons smacks of anthropomorphism, which is a big no-no in the science world.



Frans de Waal, the renowned primatologist, published a column in the Sunday New York Times recently titled “What I Learned from Tickling Apes.” He argued that the presumption that only human cognition can be used as a yardstick to measure intelligence in other species is an unduly narrow view of living creatures. “Isn’t it more likely that each animal has its own cognition, adapted to its own senses and natural history?” he asked. That means different species can attain high levels of development, such as using tools or recognizing oneself and others, but within a realm of their own. De Waal goes on to note that the structure of animal brains is very much alike across the spectrum of species, “no different parts, the same old neurotransmitters.” That similarity leads to similar emotional responses in animals, as de Waal demonstrates when he tickles a young chimpanzee. The youngster makes a sound similar to laughter in a human child and, like a child, comes closer for more when the tickling stops.



Those old myths hinted at what we might have had once upon a time, and what some of us still long for: a link with other species. I think it’s perfectly normal to consider what emotions a creature as cautious as a turkey might be feeling on a crisp spring day in a lawn of new grass. I can only credit those crows I saw tumbling in the wind with joy and pleasure in companionship. I feel the delight of a fine spring day; why couldn’t they?



“The more we play down animal intelligence, the more we ask science to believe in miracles when it comes to the human mind. Instead of insisting on our superiority in every regard, let’s take pride in the connections,” de Waal wrote. X