Research suggests the average dog is about as smart as a two-year-old baby, capable of understanding around 200 words or commands. But of course, there’s no such thing as an average dog as far as their owners are concerned…
I often communicate with my fiancée, Heather, via our dog, Squid. “Squidders,” I’ll say, “do you think Mommy realises it’s her turn to put the kettle on,” or “Squidders, don’t tell Mommy I forgot to put the bins out again.” Depending on her mood – and how overflowing the bins are – such quips will either tax or amuse my darling Heather, but they certainly always give Squid and me a lift. (English staffies are always smiling anyway, look at that pic!)
Dog owners, I feel, generally appear to fall into two proud camps: those that think their dogs to be so monumentally dumb it’s beyond endearing, and those that consider their fur babies canine Albert Einsteins. For the latter, it turns out the internet is full of IQ tests to separate the howling halfwits and slobbering savants.
Squidders, come!
The smartest dog on record is a sadly now-deceased border collie (of course) named Chaser. Chaser was able to identify and retrieve not only more than 1,000 toys by name but even differentiate similar looking objects like balls or frisbees by their size and shade. Amusingly, Chaser was apparently not a particularly obedient pooch – and never forced into doing anything that did not take her fancy – but was named “the most scientifically important dog in over a century” by Brian Hare, co-author of The Genius of Dogs.
Now, while I certainly don’t expect Squid to display Chaser levels of intelligence, I certainly expect him to ace the IQ test (no pressure, Squidders) I find on Outward Hound (outwardhound.com). As we prepare, Heather morphs into one of those psycho stage moms adopting a look of such seriousness I expect her to begin shadow boxing to warm-up on Squid’s behalf. Squid doesn’t care. He’s eyed up the pouch of super-duper treats reserved only for training, knows something AMAZING is about to happen and immediately sits, his tail wagging furiously, as Heather breathes deeply to calm her nerves.
First up, the Towel Test. A towel is placed over Squid to see how long it takes him to escape from underneath it. Three points if he’s free in less than 15 seconds, two points if it takes up to 30 seconds, and one point for anything more. Squid takes eight seconds, no messing. He knows there are treats at stake.
Next, the Hidden Treat Test. Too easy – my dog once dug up a single grape at a beach. All Squid must do is retrieve a treat from under the towel in less than 15 seconds for three more points. He sniffs the towel, then ignores the towel and decides I must have the treat in my hand. He sits at my feet and looks up longingly as his tail sweeps back and forth like a windscreen wiper in a storm. “Under the towel!” I yell, pointing to the ground. He looks at my finger, I look to Heather and fear she may weep.
Twenty seconds have passed, Squid can still salvage two points. A symbolic buzzer sounds in our heads as Squid fails. “Damn it!” screams Heather. But wait, hold on, apparently, she insists, that didn’t count. “Why not?” I ask. “Because it just doesn’t” she says, “he didn’t understand.” “Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” I ask. Heather throws me some side-eye and we go again. Squid dives in like a bull shark and begins to eat the treat through the towel. Heather is even less impressed. It’s a guest towel. Null points for Squid. And we need a new towel.
Memory test Which Cup? offers Squid chance to claw back some glory. Three upside down paper cups are lined up, with a treat under only one. Squid is shown it, distracted for a few seconds then instructed to take his treat. He correctly knocks over the middle cup for his reward, then begins to eat the cup after checking there are no more treats under the other two vessels. Doesn’t matter. Three more points are scribbled into my notepad.
Things step up a notch with Problem Solving. A treat is placed under the couch, which Squid must retrieve using only his paw. If he tries to use his head first, he loses a point. Which he does. This time it’s my turn to protest. “He has to use his head to see where the treat is!” I plead. But now Heather’s being a stickler for the rules. Sorry Squidders, two points.
Finally, it’s Beyond the Barrier whereby Squid must retrieve a treat from behind a sheet of cardboard by walking around, rather than over or through it. It’s a bit of a boring one to finish off with I think, and Squid seems to think so too as he nonchalantly notches up three more points to bring his total tally to 11. But what does that mean?
“Your dog’s not quite Einstein,” reads Heather from the website, “but he’s still a smart cookie.”
“Speaking of cookies,” she adds, “Squidders, tell Daddy it’s his turn to make the tea.”
