can animals think

 Absolutely for animals with a cerebral cortex. I’ve observed many people, scientists included, underestimate animal cognition and fail to recognize it because it’s different. Some mistakenly believe language is essential to thinking, and simultaneously overlook the complex vocal and body language that animals possess to convey information. I’ve worked with llamas for years, and in so doing have observed innate ability, the teaching process from elderly to the young and the complex emotional, social and strategic behavior that requires complex thought and reasoning. The following account was my a-ha moment.

Llama lovers cite numerous reasons for having llamas around. These reasons include their calm and serene nature, their inquisitiveness, their willingness to work as packers and guards, their relatively low maintenance requirements, and their remarkable intelligence. The latter reason has been a subject of considerable rumination on my part, as I’ve closely observed llama behavior over the past couple of years. It's long been a point of speculation as to how much of animal makeup is innate instinct vs. learned behavior vs. abstract cognition (awareness of things not currently perceived and thinking ahead to potential consequences).

Llamas are often compared to other animals in terms of relative intelligence, usually in regards to how quickly they learn. A renown trainer of both horses and llamas reports that he can teach an average llama something in an hour what takes the average horse three days to learn, a trait often corroborated elsewhere. In addition, the llama never forgets, whereas the horse needs refresher training if a long period of inactivity goes by. In this regard, llamas are considered more akin to dogs than horses (though it's a real challenge to even teach a dog anything in an hour). Like dogs, llamas are also very social creatures, though for very different reasons. Generally speaking, animals that fall into the prey category (eyes on the side of the head) survive by eluding predators. A charging wildcat would have an easy time of it if the members of a herd crashed into one another and knocked each other down trying to flee. Instead, they appear to move in one fluid motion. This is because each member, based on their position in the hierarchy, knows who they yield to and who yields to them. Order is key to survival. Though the need for a hierarchical social structure comes naturally and the principle of personal space is very deliberately taught by the adults to the youngsters, llamas haven’t had to contend with many large predators in their natural environment. It's their young that are most vulnerable to bobcats and foxes. Possibly as a result, they have developed a much more assertive nature than your typical prey animal, known to actually kill coyotes threatening the young, and the hierarchy seems to be somewhat more fluid, being repeatedly tested, challenged and reinforced – particularly as herd size increases.

We have a dozen female llamas that run together in the large pastures, along with two intact males in separate smaller adjoining fields. Our kitchen window provides a clear view of most of this area and is more entertaining than TV. The ongoing llama drama observed from this window rivals that of the daytime soaps. We observed that among the female herd, while various relationships waxed and waned, one thing remained constant throughout: That being, one particular gal was always #1. Her name is Dazy-May, and is pictured above in the foreground. The other girls would look to her, to follow her lead, and would always yield to her. Yet, unlike the others Dazy was never involved in overt conflict, jostling for position. Her most overt act was a look, and maybe a dry spit, whereas some of the other girls got into real knock-down, drag-outs from time to time – screaming, wrestling and chest butting like the males. So I began to wonder, what was it about her that everyone respected?

The most “obvious” reason for respect in the animal kingdom would be that she was clearly the biggest and strongest, able to fend off all challengers, combined with a very assertive personality. While applicable to the males, this didn’t apply to the females as Dazy is one of the smallest and lightest llamas in the herd – some being nearly double her weight. Also, as noted previously, she never seemed to be involved in fights and didn’t exhibit aggressive behavior towards anyone else. She instead seemed rather aloof, doing whatever she pleased while others followed. Scratch the "brawn" theory.

Okay... at 15+ years of age she happens to be the oldest, with a daughter and granddaughter in the herd – thereby acquiring the nickname of “Granny-May”. This is a unique characteristic that sets her apart. However, aside from the possible exception of her daughter, it doesn’t seem probable that the others would have any real awareness or respect for her age alone. Neither would it be due to her “getting to the top first”, as “new” adult llamas have come and gone from the herd, shaking up the hierarchy, yet none have overtly challenged her. The "respect your elder" theory dropped off the list, and I was quickly running out of theories. Months went by and it remained a mystery.

The reason finally became strikingly apparent one morning during feeding time when Dazy revealed her true colors. Each morning, all the llamas would receive their tasty vitamin/mineral supplement ration in a string of small buckets hanging from the fence inside the feeding/holding pens. This would result in a game of musical buckets, as each girl would take ownership of a bucket, jostling for position, pushing each other around based on the pecking order. One bucket happened to be hung on the common field fence separating the females from one of our intact males. His name is Santana, and is pictured below. Santana is a real mellow, easy-going, soft-spoken guy, but isn’t averse to figuring out a way to get what he wants even if it means cheating.

Once Santana finished his ration, he developed a practice of each day poking his nose through a hole in the common field fence. With some effort, he could feel around with those dexterous lips, grab hold of the rim of the bucket, and flick it such that the bucket would turn with the top facing the fence. He would then stick his nose sideways through another fence hole and steal the remaining goodies from within. Whichever girl happened to be at that bucket at the time would pull their head back, nose in the air in protest, watching him do this, then grunt in disgust and go jostle for a new bucket. Perhaps because he was the male, no one would challenge this intrusion. Consequently, he continued to be rewarded for his efforts and it became a matter of routine. This went on for weeks... until, that is, he tried it for the first time with Dazy at this bucket.

Dazy was calmly feeding when a snout slips through the fence, lips reaching for the bucket. As with the other girls, she yanked her head back, nose stabbing the air and ears back protesting this unwelcome incursion, which Santana paid no heed to. But instead of leaving, she stood there watching Santana for a moment as he struggled to get hold of the bucket. Then, calmly, she turned around in place, doing a complete 180° rotation. Spreading her hind feet and assuming “the position”, she proceeded to unleash a prodigious stream of urine, squarely into the center of the bucket. She did this looking straight ahead, nose slightly elevated, like, “laa-tee-daa...”. Santana, feet rooted to the ground, jerked his head back as far as it would go, body recoiled in horror! Those of you familiar with llamas know that they are quite fastidious about cleanliness. They establish a community potty-pile, separate from anywhere they eat, and you certainly don't think about going potty when there are tasty treats to be had. As Dazy continued to relieve herself, and lest anyone think this whole thing was accidental, she slowly swung her head and neck around 180°, lowering it in the process alongside her body, and glared squarely at Santana. After holding that steely pose for some time, with Santana still frozen in place, she then straightened out, cut off the stream of urine, recomposed herself, and walked straight away, not looking back. She hadn’t spilled a drop of urine on the ground, nor did she poo (usually they take care of both at the same time).

Santana stood there as she strolled away with her head held high, seemingly stunned... or was it indignant, it was hard to tell. My wife and I both witnessed what had transpired. We just looked at each other in astonishment, and together busted out laughing. I straight-away washed out the bucket and set things back in order. Nevertheless, his cheating ways ceased that day, and the girls have not been troubled with it again.

So there you have it – the answer to the mystery. Nobody messes with Dazy because she is the most clever (and devious) of the bunch. Granny has a way of making her feelings known without raising a big fuss, and everyone else has learned to respect and appreciate that – including Santana despite being separated by a fence. And we’ve gained new respect for her too. It's become clear that the female herd values intelligence and wise decision-making in their leaders above all else – with that comes security. Llamas are indeed very special creatures!

Need more proof? See

Scott Noga

 · 3y

Why do people own llamas? Are they just pets?

There are the stock answers, packing, guarding, driving (carts), fiber, etc., but perhaps the reason can best be appreciated by a true story, illustrating how smart, emotional, social and personable they can be. It was a hot sunny summer's day in July 2009 when King Asher and I were returning from a scouting pack trip to Pete Lake and the Pacific Crest Trail in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. Asher, our large five-year-old intact alpha male, is usually the one to accompany me on solo scout trips as he is a strong packer and doesn't mind being the only llama in the herd during these excursions. He follows me on solo hikes and hangs around camp. Cruising I-90 east of Ellensburg Asher was comfortably cushed in the back of the llama llimo watching the world go by as we gradually regained altitude. Cresting at 2500' following the steepest part of the climb I smelled something very hot and a glance at the instruments confirmed something was seriously amiss. The temperature gauge, which typically reads low, was nearly pegged hot. The van doesn't lack for cooling so there was clearly a malfunction. I lifted my foot from the accelerator and the engine immediately died. We were now traveling 55mph at the start of a 2000' descent to the small town of Vantage ten miles away next to the Columbia River. Power steering was gone and I knew I had one, maybe two, actuations of the power brakes available. Rather than use the one shot brake to stop on the shoulder of the highway in the middle of nowhere, I decided to coast to let the airflow cool things off and at least get closer to the gas station with convenience store (which is about all there is in Vantage). Speed gradually increased to 70mph -- the only thing moderating our descent being the very unaerodynamic shape of the van providing the aerobraking. Like a plummeting spacecraft, with furnace-like heat radiating from the vehicle, interior heating up, and trailing a vapor cloud we dodged slower automobiles with lane changes while winding our way down to the river for a landing. Fortunately, traffic was very light. The thought occurred to me as we sped along that it was a good thing the tires were new. A blowout at a time like this could cause a catastrophic rollover in such a high CG vehicle. At last the Vantage exit neared as the highway leveled out, which ends at a T-intersection with stop sign. On nearly level ground the van decelerated rapidly. A left turn is necessary to reach civilization on the other side of the freeway and there is just desert to the right. I calculated if I could coast through the intersection, I could make it at least very close to the gas station, which is the first establishment three hundred yards away. Weighing the pros and cons of breaking the law by rolling through the stop sign, visibility clear in all directions, I spied a single automobile to the right on the normally deserted road on a perfectly-timed intercept course with me to the intersection, obviating the need to make that decision. So the brakes came on and there we were, stranded on the shoulder of the road. Figuring the long downgrade had cooled things down some, I thought perhaps I could fire up the engine just long enough to get the van up to about 20-25mph and then shut it down and coast into the gas station. A turn of the key said we were going nowhere. The engine wouldn't even crank over. By opening the hood and raising the pressure relief lever on the radiator cap, I discovered there was no pressure. The cooling system clearly had developed a breach somewhere. Removing the cap and peering in revealed only emptiness. I normally carry a water can on the van at all times for just this sort of thing but of course this time it had been removed for periodic refresh and had not been returned prior to the trip. Aside from my small bottles of drinking water there was not only no water but no large closed container to easily transport water either. I poured in my drinking water and it right away flashed to steam. After a while a mini-Winni style RV came from Vantage and turned at this intersection, stopping in the road to ask if I needed help. I told him of my need for water for the radiator, whereupon he hoisted a gallon plus poly juice container off the bench seat next to him and held it out the window stating he had just filled it from the river. He said I could have it. Wondering to myself what he was doing with a bottle of river water next to him but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth I thanked him as he went on his way. I very slowly poured the water into the radiator. After some sizzling and steaming the level in the radiator was still not high enough to be visible, but at least it wasn't leaking out on the ground. More time passed with a round trip to the service station to refill the container. Returning and emptying it into the radiator had it near the top but now water was leaking onto the ground from somewhere near the front of the engine. I feared a failed water pump seal, with 80 miles of hot desert still between us and home. Hurriedly before much water leaked out I attempted to start the van and things were now cool enough it turned over and fired right up. I quickly made our way to the gas station lot and parked. After raising the hood and with water still leaking onto the ground, I decided I'd better get Asher off the van in case he needed a potty break. Asher had been on his feet casually monitoring the situation from the back of the van since we became stranded. I tied him close by to the only tree in the area, which was all of about nine feet tall -- not much shade -- and put out a pail of water. As usual he was not interested in a potty break (bladder of steel) but was quite fixated towards the river and accompanying park about a thousand feet away with its expanse of grass, like a desert oasis, and vocalized to me quite emphatically that he would like to go there. Meanwhile, my attempts to disassemble the van were in vain. It wasn't for lack of tools. I always carry a well-provisioned toolbox on trips. It was Asher's natural irresistible charisma. With a steady stream of travelers refueling their automobiles and motorcycles, it fed a steady stream of excited people of all ages coming over to pet the llama, take pictures, and chat. I couldn't get a minute without interruption. After about thirty minutes of this, there was a momentary lull and I decided I had better get Asher out of sight or I might become a permanent tourist attraction. I was anxious to find out what was wrong with the van. I put him back on board. I'm sure he thought we were going somewhere -- like to the river! Removing the air cleaner assembly and searching for the source of the leak, I found a piece of heater hose had a hole next to an attachment point. Relieved, I figured I could disconnect the hose end, cut the bad part off, and reattach. This would be an easy and effective fix that would at least get us home. But while I worked, Asher's patience was wearing thin. He was not happy to be stuck on the van with nothing to do while I was too busy to pay attention to him and he could see far more interesting things to do. With my head under the hood and hands working the tools, the van began rocking violently from side to side. Keep in mind this is a tall but stiffly sprung E-350 with extra springs added in the rear for even more carrying capacity. I was both mystified and somewhat alarmed. I went to the passenger side and stuck my head in the doorway to see Asher facing me throwing his full weight from side to side, front legs alternately leaving the floor and sidestepping! He had somehow mastered the resonant frequency of the van suspension and was exploiting it fully with impeccable timing. I yelled, Asher! Knock it off!... He stopped, and just glared at me with a steely gaze. We locked eyes and I gave him the sternest look I could muster under the circumstances. I retreated under the hood and continued working. Less than ten minutes passed when again, the van began rocking violently from side to side. Through the open passenger door I yelled, Asher! Knock it off!!... Again, he froze and we locked eyes, each trying to wrestle the other to the mat with our looks. Back under the hood, I was nearing completion after about five more minutes when the van resumed its lateral oscillation. Returning to the passenger doorway with the now standard refrain, Asher! Knock it off!!!... I was met with the same pause and "make me!" look, but again not receiving my cooperation he escalated matters according to plan. Raising up on his hind legs, with a front foot he hooked one of his panniers sitting on the floor attached to the wall with bungee cord and tore it loose, batting it across the van. As it ricocheted off the opposing wall, he batted it back and began leaping around on all fours spinning and kicking this thirty pound pannier all around the floor like a soccer ball. Faced with this temper tantrum the first thing that came to my mind was a recollection of the 1970's American Tourister television commercial where a man tosses a piece of luggage into the gorilla cage to demonstrate how no amount of abuse would spring it open -- only in this case I was watching a Flaming Star Master Pack commercial. Asher had gone ape! After a moment of incredulity, I charged onto the van to face down the miscreant and with verbal chastisement affixed the pannier back to its proper place. Asher seemed quite satisfied that he at least had my attention. I finished the repair job by topping off the radiator and closing the hood. Back in the driver's seat, we were quickly on our way. Asher cushed and calmly watched the world go by. As long as we were doing something or going somewhere, he was content. The remainder of the trip was uneventful but I had to marvel once again that there is so much more that goes on between the ears of these thinking and emotional creatures than we realize.