Don’t Do It Yourself: Why Dogs Trump Pigs at Problem Solving

A little while ago I read in The Times (‘Forget Fido’, 23 January 2023) about a study that compared the problem solving abilities of dogs and pigs.

Both species are considered highly intelligent. Pigs outperform dogs on certain tests and so may be slightly smarter. (In one experiment, for example, pigs were more adept at using a joystick to control a cursor to hit a target.)

Recent research carried out at Eotvos Lorand University in Hungary (published in the journal Scientific Reports) has considered dogs’ and pigs’ broader analytical and communication skills when interacting with humans.

Scientists put 13 pet dogs and 11 miniature pet pigs in a room with their owners and an out-of-reach box containing their favourite food. The animals were then shown that only a human could open the box. 

In the test the dogs animatedly looked back and forth between their owner and the food, securing their help in accessing it. The pigs, however, just stared at the food and got frustrated. 

The researchers concluded that, while pigs may be more intelligent, dogs have the edge in problem solving, thanks to their superior talent for communication. 

'Pigs do not often use visual signals, perhaps partly because of their poor visual acuity - poorer than that of dogs and humans — or due to anatomical restraints such as the rigidity of their neck.’

In my years running a Strategy Department I found that the most intelligent Planners were rarely the most effective at their jobs, or the most successful in their careers. 

My more cerebral team members tended to try to solve problems themselves. They’d shut themselves away with data and research - burning the midnight oil, beavering away in isolation - struggling to crack the code on their own.

The Planners that thrived were generally more resourceful and extrovert. They had emotional as well as rational intelligence, and so sought allies and assistance; provocation and stimulus. 

'I'm not the smartest fellow in the world, but I can sure pick smart colleagues.’
Franklin D Roosevelt

The lesson here is that, when confronted with a knotty strategic task, we should not endeavour to do it all ourselves. We should collaborate to solve. 

'Talent wins games, but teamwork and intelligence win championships.’
Michael Jordan

One can’t read about the Eotvos Lorand research without feeling some sympathy for the pigs. How frustrating to be outwitted by a less intelligent competitor. I too suffer from a stiff neck and poor eyesight. On reflection, this explains a lot.

'When somebody reaches for your heart,
Open up and let them through.
Because everybody
Needs someone around,
Things can tumble down on you.
You discover,
When you look around,
You don't have to be alone.
Just one lover is all you need to know
When you're feeling all alone.
You might need somebody,
You might need somebody too.’

Randy Crawford, 'You Might Need Somebody’ (Nan O'Byrne, T Snow)

No. 424

The Dog Under The Telly: Don't Distract Attention, Find The Centre Of It

When I was a child we had a Springer Spaniel called Dillon. Springer Spaniels are somewhat eccentric dogs with inexhaustible energy and passionate loyalty. Dillon’s coat was liver and white and he salivated liberally. He had long shaggy ears that required a special tall bowl to eat from so he didn’t get them caught in his food. In the long hot ‘70s summers I had many happy reflective moments sat with Dillon in the back garden watching birds. But for the most part he was rather a disruptive influence around the house: scratching paintwork, scavenging for unattended Garibaldi biscuits, barking at passers by on Heath Park Road from his elevated vantage point in Sarah’s bedroom. I always imagined Dillon was something of a class warrior as his absolute favourite activity was disturbing the peace at Haynes Park Bowling Club.

As it was the '70s, my family spent most evenings in the over-lit living room, sat on the three-piece suite, watching TV. To prolong its life the three-piece suite was covered in a loud orange-brown floral stretch-cover that Dad had bought from his mate Barry on Romford Market. There we were, five kids, Dad and my sainted Mother ranged in front of The Two Ronnies, The Likely Lads and Tommy Cooper. (I always imagined Dad had commissioned five children as he had not foreseen the advent of the TV remote control.) Dad would be smoking endless Embassy cigarettes; the rest of us consuming endless mugs of sweet tea and toasted Sunblest. ‘To be young was very heaven.’

Despite the general domestic reverie, Dillon was none too happy with this arrangement: he was being ignored. He had discovered that the traditional canine method for attracting attention precipitated a rather gruff response from Dad. In this particular environment he would have to be the dog that didn’t bark.

Eventually Dillon worked out that the best remedy was to position himself under the telly itself, looking out at the Carroll family. Thus he could at least imagine that it was him we were looking at. He could watch us, watching him. He had found proximity to the action. He was involved. And he was back where he belonged: the centre of attention.

Thinking back on Dillon’s idiosyncratic behaviour, I now understand that he was teaching us a fundamental lesson in strategy: don’t seek to distract attention; seek to be at the centre of it. Find your own way of participating in culture. Find relevance, join in, get involved, contribute.

Over the years working with Clients in many different sectors, I noticed that often there was a kind of melancholy amongst those who managed brands that were not in some way part of the zeitgeist. Their fellow Marketers were having so much fun working with mobile phones, tablets, craft beers and yogurty drinks. They could gleefully contribute to trend presentations on connectivity, the wisdom of crowds, artisanal craft and holistic health. They were being lauded at black tie functions in luxury hotels. Their brands were being shot in the Evening Standard with Cara, Rita, Taylor and Ellie. But what if you worked with a hot beverage or a biscuit, a bank or a breakfast cereal?  What if you were operating at the margins of culture? What if no one cared?

And yet we have seen in years gone by how gravy can be at the heart of the reconfigured British family, detergent can encourage child development and whisky can redefine aspiration and success. We’ve seen how soap and sanpro brands can speak out for gender equality, knitwear for diversity, yellow fats for the old folk. And I can easily imagine an instant coffee brand creating social networks, a tea brand inspiring mindfulness, a bank reviving local high streets and a shaving brand saving us from hipsters. Finding cultural relevance doesn't have to be difficult. 

I have come to conclude that it’s possible for almost any brand to have cultural currency. Any brand can find a way of participating in the broader social conversation of the day. Indeed I believe this is consistently the optimal positioning strategy: identify relevant cultural change and locate your brand within it. Contemporary brands need to contribute to contemporary life. They need to commentate on it, participate with it, shape it. Because if you can't make yourself relevant, you're irrelevant.

There are too many introverted businesses nowadays: talking to their own heavy users, about their own sector, on their own terms, within their own conventions. I’ve lost count of the number of Clients who consider themselves converts to the new religion of growth-through-penetration. But if we are to take the penetration arguments seriously, then we ought to be reaching out to new communities and new audiences, and locating ourselves around social and cultural change.

As John Bartle used to say, ‘you’ve got to decide whether you’re in the vanguard or in the guard’s van.’

When Dillon passed away, Dad buried him at the end of the back garden by the rockery. Mum wept for days. I always imagined that Dillon found his way to Dog Heaven. He’d had his day. He’d chased his tail. He’d howled at the moon. And he’d made his own very significant contribution to Carroll family culture. He’d found the centre of our attention.

No. 48