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Inside of a Dog_ What Dogs See, Smell, and Know - Alexandra Horowitz [51]

By Root 764 0
this has made them good watchers of human beings.

Just one element of the lives of wolves goes a long way to explaining the eyes they have evolved: eating. Most of their food runs away. Not only that, it is often camouflaged or living in the relative safety of herds. It is active—and thus findable—at dusk, dawn, or night. So wolves, like all predators, have evolved in response to their prey. As important as scent is, it cannot serve as the only indicator of the presence of prey, as air currents send odors on circuitous paths before they reach the nose. Odors are volatile: if smell lies on a surface, a sensitive nose can track it specifically; but if it is on the wind, the odor appears more like a cloud that could have come from one of a thousand sources. Rapidly moving prey outrun their own odor. Light waves, by contrast, are transmitted reliably through open air. So after catching a whiff, wolves use their sight to locate their prey. Many prey animals are camouflaged to blend in with their environment. This camouflage is betrayed in motion, however. So wolves are adept at spotting a change in the visual scene that indicates that something is moving. Finally, prey animals are often active at dusk or dawn, a compromise of lighting: easier to hide, harder to see. In response, wolves developed eyes that are especially sensitive in low light, and are especially good at noticing motion in that light.

Her eyes are deep pools of brown and black. It is hard to see which way they gaze, they are so dark—but it also makes any glimpse of her irises delightful, as though seeing inside her soul. Her eyelashes only became apparent when they grayed. Her eyebrows are also essentially invisible, but the effect of their moving—as with her head on the floor, to follow me walking across the room—is visible. In sleep, in dreams, her eyes scanned the world under their lids. Even closed, the lids reveal a bit of pink peeking out, as though she were keeping prepared to open her eyes at once should something important happen nearby.

At first glance these prey-tracking eyes look much like ours: viscous spheres fitted in sockets. Our eyes are about the same size as dogs'. Despite the fact that dogs' heads vary so significantly in size (four Chihuahua heads would fit in a wolfhound's mouth—not that anyone would deign suggest verifying such a thing), eye size barely varies between breeds. Small dogs, like puppies and infants, have large eyes relative to the size of their heads.

But small differences between the eyes of humans and dogs immediately become apparent. First, our eyes are smack in the front of our face. We look forward, and images in the periphery fall away to darkness around our ears. While there is variation among dogs, most dogs' eyes are situated more laterally on their heads in the manner of other quadrupeds, allowing a panoramic view of the environment: 250–270 degrees, as contrasted to humans' 180 degrees.

If we look a little closer, we discover another key difference. The superficial anatomy of our eyes gives us away: it shows where we're looking, how we're feeling, our level of attention. While dog and human eyes are similarly sized, our pupil size—the black center of the eye that lets light in—varies considerably when we are in a darkened room or are aroused or fearful (expanding to up to 9 millimeters wide) or in the bright sun or are highly relaxed (contracting to 1 millimeter). Dogs' pupils, by contrast, are relatively fixed at about 3 to 4 millimeters, regardless of the light or the dog's level of excitement. Our irises, the muscles that control pupil size, tend to be colored to contrast with the pupil, blue or brown or green. Not so in most dogs, whose eyes are often so monochromatically dark that they remind me of bottomless lakes, repository of all attributions of purity or desolation we might ascribe to them. And the human iris sits amidst the sclera—the white—of the eye, while many (but not all) dogs have very little sclera. The anatomical sum effect is that we can always see where another person is looking:

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