Inside of a Dog_ What Dogs See, Smell, and Know - Alexandra Horowitz [91]
But dogs certainly remember a large amount: they remember their owners, their homes, the place they walk. They remember innumerable other dogs, they know about rain and snow after experiencing them once; they remember where to find a good smell and where to find a good stick. They know when we can't see what they are doing; they remember what made us mad last time they chewed it up; they know when they are allowed on the bed and when they are forbidden from it. They only know these things because they have learned them—and learning is just memory of associations or events over time.
Back, then, to the matter of the autobiographical memory. In many ways, dogs act as if they think about their memories as the personal story of their life. They sometimes act as though they are thinking about their own future. Unless sick or asleep, there was usually nothing that could stop Pump from eating dog biscuits—and yet she often refrained when home alone, opting to wait for my return. Even when accompanied, dogs regularly hide bones and squirrel away other favored treats; a toy may be abandoned outside with seeming insouciance only to be beelined-for the next week. Their actions can often be traced to events of their own past. They remember and avoid ground that was rough underfoot, dogs who turned suddenly gruff, people who acted erratically or cruelly. And they evince familiarity with creatures and objects they encounter repeatedly. Besides their quick recognition of their new owners, young dogs come to know their owners' visitors over time. They play best, and with the least ceremony, with those dogs they have known the longest—as though they are stamped together. These longtime playmates need not use elaborate play signals with each other: they use their own shorthand, signals abbreviated into mere flashes, before fully engaging.
It is somewhat dispiriting to find that our knowledge about a dog's autobiographical sense has not advanced beyond Snoopy's affirmation half a century ago, "Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog." No experimental study has specifically tested the dog's considerations of his own past or future. But a few studies with other animals examine part of what might be considered their autobiographical consciousness. For instance, a test run on the Western scrub-jay, a bird that naturally caches food for later consumption, has shown what in humans would be called willpower. If I'm hankering for chocolate-chip cookies, and someone gives me a bag of chocolate-chip cookies, it is extremely unlikely that I would put them away until the next day. The jays were taught that when given a preferred food—their chocolate-chip cookie equivalent—they would not be given food on the subsequent morning. Despite what we can presume is a strong interest in eating the food straightaway, they saved some and consumed it the next day. And me, without my cookies.
We might ask whether dogs act similarly. If prevented from eating in the mornings, does your dog begin to stash food the night before? If so, that would be suggestive evidence that they can plan for the future. As we know from finding uneaten unidentifiables in refrigerated takeout containers, not all saved food is equally good over time. If your dog buries a bone in the dirt or in the corner of the couch each month for three months, does he remember which is the oldest, the foulest, and which is the freshest? Putting aside any overpowering odors emanating from your couch, it is not likely.