[7] These dogs were born on 26 and 27 January, 1914. Compare the letter of Rolf in the "Communications of the Society for Animal Psychology," 1914, p. 28; and "The Soul of the Animal," p. 111. "Ilse: 'bd'. "Frau Dr. Moekel: 'Bed? Ilse--have you a bed?' "Ilse: 'Nein.' "Frau Dr. Moekel: 'But where do you sleep?' "Ilse: 'hols.' "Frau Dr. Moekel: 'Ilse, you poor little dog! Have you to sleep on the wood behind the stove?' "Ilse: 'Ja!' "Frau Dr. Moekel: 'Then I'll tell you what to do, Ilse: you just get up on to your master's bed--he needn't have it all to himself.' "Frau Dr. Moekel said later that she had not made this suggestion seriously, that, in fact, she had said it more to quiet Carla, and had soon forgotten all about it. But the next day the dog's master called again and complained of Ilse, saying: 'What do you think of this? Ilse is really getting unbearable--the beast got into my bed last night: there she was this morning--stretched her whole length!' And Frau Dr. Moekel had now to confess that she herself had instigated this lapse on Ilse's part. "To this account Dr. Oelhausen has added: 'This statement has several points of interest. There is firstly the complaint about 'beatings,' and secondly the comparison drawn between her own nocturnal quarters and those of Rolf. It may also be noticed that she was very sparing of her words, using, indeed, no more than the merest 'essentials'! Then, observe the careful way in which she followed 'Mother's' advice--only getting into her master's bed after he was well asleep!' "Another incident, the details of which were supplied to him by Ilse's master, has also been communicated to us by Dr. Oelhausen: "'The clergyman had taken several of his village school-children for a walk, during the course of which he asked them the names of the various trees. Among these was one of which no child could tell the name. Ilse, his constant companion, was also of the party, and she now pressed forward with such marked interest that her master put the question to her too. At this Ilse started rapping and spelt out the correct name--the tree was a larch. Her master was greatly surprised at this, suggested, however, that it was probably less a matter of knowledge than of thought-transference, yet Dr. Oelhausen queries whether the dog might not have heard the name mentioned on some previous outing, and her master admits that this might have been the case.' "We know the unfaltering tenacity with which the Mannheim dog, Rolf, remembers names, so that it would seem more reasonable to ascribe the spelling of the name to her excellent memory than to thought-transference, which would be quite as inexplicable and incomprehensible. "To the above I may add one more incident touching Ilse, which I received from Frau Dr. Moekel on 25 May, 1915: