Posted on 01/07/2014 7:42:21 PM PST by DogByte6RER
Did the nazis really have a school for talking dogs?
Just when you think you've gotten to the end of the bizarre by-products of World War II, you learn about talking Nazi dogs. The question is: How official were they? We'll look into the school — or possibly the con game — of talking dogs.
Here's what we know. In 1930, Margarethe Schmidt lived with her mother in a relatively large house, and kept Asra, a Great Dane. Asra gave birth to five puppies, and the Schmidts took in a terrier. Somewhere along the line, all the dogs began learning to talk. And at some later point along the line, reports went out that these talking, spelling, and "reasoning," dogs, would go out into the battlefields and the villages and start working for the Nazis.
The idea that dogs could talk was not unprecedented in Germany. In the 1920s, a dog named Don, that would bark his name, tell people he was hungry, and ask for "kuche," became a celebrity and brought his owner a great deal of wealth. The Nazis harbored a sentimentality for animals, and a belief in the deep connection between humans and nature. Great Danes speaking German and helping their human comrades didn't seem that crazy. This might be why German newspapers published plans for educated dogs taking over low-level command posts and helping out on the battlefields. One dog, Rolf, reportedly learned to spell with his paw. He spelled out his thoughts on religion - in between hitting on women and asking them if he could wag their tails. Margarethe Schmidt was referred to as an "animal psychologist," in these pieces. Possible uses for the new educated dogs that she churned out were bandied about in the German power structure.
On the other hand, people who actually saw the educated wonder dogs generally agreed that they saw little more than the Clever Hans effect. Clever Hans was a horse who was said to talk and to do math problems by tapping his hoof, but was shown to be responding to clues in the body language of his trainer and the people around him. When the crowd relaxed back (after the proper number of taps that had been achieved), Hans stopped tapping. Animal behaviorists have, ever since, had to take pains not to let their expressions or body language show when they are gauging animal reaction.
The "speaking" dogs didn't speak. One guest was told they all had colds. They seemed to respond to trainers and to rehearsed commands. After the war - and after posing for a lot of pictures with her educated dogs - Margarethe Schmidt agreed with this assessment, saying that she received no money from the Nazi government and had no real plans with them. She was only running a sort of circus.
So the question remains a mystery. Did Germany actually try to train an army of talking Nazi dogs?
Ah, the infamous Woofwaffe.
Trapper: I ain’t Salad.
Carpenter: What?
Trapper: You want Teddy Salad?
Carpenter: Yeah ... (the man looks around rather furtively, to see if anyone is watching, then takes Carpenter’s arm and indicates the dog team) I don’t see anyone.
Trapper: The one on the end, on the right. That’s Salad.
Carpenter: That’s a dog!
Trapper: (confidentially) No, only bits of it.
Carpenter: What do you mean?
Trapper: Listen, Teddy Salad is the most brilliant agent the CIA ever had, right?
Carpenter: Right.
Trapper: That’s how he made his name (indicates the dog) - disguise!
(They look at the dog in silence for a moment.)
Carpenter: That’s incredible!
Trapper: He had to slim down to one and a half pounds to get into that costume. He cut eighteen inches off each arm and over three feet off each leg. The most brilliant surgeon in Europe stuck that tail on.
Carpenter: What about the head?
Trapper: All of the head was removed apart from the eyes and the brain in order to fit into the costume.
Carpenter: That’s incredible!
Carpenter: Look, we haven’t got much time ... He hasn’t given me any information yet...
Trapper: OK. Tell you what, let’s eat. You give him one of your meatballs, he’ll tell you anything... OK?
Carpenter: OK.
(Suddenly the dog woofs, gets up on back legs and starts pawing the trapper.)
Trapper: Wait a minute - he’s trying to tell us something.
(A strangled, strained American voice comes from within the dog. Slightly muffled perhaps.)
Dog: Carpenter ... er ... ugh ... ah...Carpenter...
Carpenter: (kneeling down and peering into the dog’s face) Yes, Mr Salad? Can you hear me?
Dog: Yes... yes... it’s just it’s so goddam painful in here... what’s the problem?
Carpenter: It’s Mr Neutron, sir ... he’s gone missing. The Supreme Commander wants you to take charge.
Dog: I ... oh God ... I ... I ... I...
Carpenter: Yes, Mr Salad?
Dog: I gotta go walkies again.
Remember some of the female East German athletes...
My wife and I once had a beagle who could howl out “I wuv you” after being taught that by her. No kidding. We were not the only ones who could understand him. Others listened and without our saying what he said, they said he did indeed say “I love you” (though with a slight impediment on the “l”).
Dogs had a hard time convicing Yanks that they “knew” the password. Always responded Rooth when asked “who’s the greatest baseball player of all time”. Everyone then knew it was DiMaggio.
But what does the fox say?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE
I wish I could understand Dog-Speak anywhere near as well as my dogs understand spoken English. They must think I’m awfully dumb not to understand their vocalizations. My girl gets louder and louder as if to say, “I’ll say it again. You still don’t get it?”
Hitler Cat is not amused.
I think of the Far Side cartoon where it says what dogs really hear....
“Blah blah blah Ginger.....Blah blah blah Blah blah blah..Ginger......lah blah blah Blah blah blah......Ginger....”
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.