Scrub jays can trick you, researchers say. Monkeys kick themselves for mistakes in judgment. And at least one parrot figured out something close to the mathematical concept of zero.
Animals can be remarkably devoted—as the stories on these pages prove. What's less obvious is how smart they are. In study after study over the past decade, they've shown abilities previously thought to exist only in humans.
Take the scrub jays.
A few years ago, Cambridge University professor Nicky Clayton, PhD, found that these birds can be surprisingly devious, remembering not only what foods they've hidden but where, how long ago, and whether anyone else might have noticed. "If another bird was watching, they'd wait until that bird was gone and then move the food," Clayton says.
Even more interesting, not all jays protected their food that way—only those that had previously raided other birds' stores. "It takes a thief to know a thief," says Clayton. Another recent experiment hints that monkeys experience regret when they make the wrong choice and miss out on a treat: Researchers say brain scans suggest the animals were having "coulda, woulda, shoulda" thoughts.
"I knew monkeys were smart, but I didn't think they were that smart," says Michael Platt, PhD, the Duke University neurobiologist who led the study.
But perhaps no animal has done more to upend conventional notions than Alex, an African gray parrot. A 30-year research subject for scientist Irene Pepperberg, PhD, Alex whittled away at the belief that parrots were simple mimics. He was constantly being tested; when he tired of it, he would tell Pepperberg, "Wanna go back"—to his cage. If the request annoyed her, Alex would say, "Sorry." The parrot toyed with her relentlessly, and one afternoon, he showed an apparent grasp of something only humans and a few apes had been known to understand: the notion of zero.
Pepperberg had a tray of different-colored balls; she wanted Alex to count each group. Using their shorthand, she asked, "What color six? What color two?" Bored, Alex threw the balls on the floor instead. Then, finally, he said, "Five." And repeated it: "Five. Five." There were no five of anything on the tray. So Pepperberg asked, "Okay, smarty, what color five?"
Alex said, "None."
Not only had the bird figured out an abstract mathematical concept, he had manipulated Pepperberg into asking the question so he could prove it. "I nearly dropped the tray," she says.\
Animals can be remarkably devoted—as the stories on these pages prove. What's less obvious is how smart they are. In study after study over the past decade, they've shown abilities previously thought to exist only in humans.
Take the scrub jays.
A few years ago, Cambridge University professor Nicky Clayton, PhD, found that these birds can be surprisingly devious, remembering not only what foods they've hidden but where, how long ago, and whether anyone else might have noticed. "If another bird was watching, they'd wait until that bird was gone and then move the food," Clayton says.
Even more interesting, not all jays protected their food that way—only those that had previously raided other birds' stores. "It takes a thief to know a thief," says Clayton. Another recent experiment hints that monkeys experience regret when they make the wrong choice and miss out on a treat: Researchers say brain scans suggest the animals were having "coulda, woulda, shoulda" thoughts.
"I knew monkeys were smart, but I didn't think they were that smart," says Michael Platt, PhD, the Duke University neurobiologist who led the study.
But perhaps no animal has done more to upend conventional notions than Alex, an African gray parrot. A 30-year research subject for scientist Irene Pepperberg, PhD, Alex whittled away at the belief that parrots were simple mimics. He was constantly being tested; when he tired of it, he would tell Pepperberg, "Wanna go back"—to his cage. If the request annoyed her, Alex would say, "Sorry." The parrot toyed with her relentlessly, and one afternoon, he showed an apparent grasp of something only humans and a few apes had been known to understand: the notion of zero.
Pepperberg had a tray of different-colored balls; she wanted Alex to count each group. Using their shorthand, she asked, "What color six? What color two?" Bored, Alex threw the balls on the floor instead. Then, finally, he said, "Five." And repeated it: "Five. Five." There were no five of anything on the tray. So Pepperberg asked, "Okay, smarty, what color five?"
Alex said, "None."
Not only had the bird figured out an abstract mathematical concept, he had manipulated Pepperberg into asking the question so he could prove it. "I nearly dropped the tray," she says.\
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