In a sun-dappled pool not far from the clamor of Waikiki Beach, two female dolphins poke their heads out of the water, waiting for a command. "O.K.," says Louis Herman, founder and director of the Kewalo Basin Marine Mammal Laboratory, "now let's try a tandem creative." Two graduate students, positioned at opposite ends of the 50-ft. tank, throw full body and soul into communicating this message to the animals, Phoenix and Akeakamai. First the humans ask the dolphins to pay attention by holding a finger high in the air. Then they tap the index fingers of each hand together, forming the gesture that has been taught to mean tandem. Next they throw their arms up in an expansive gesture that signifies creative. The dolphins have just been told, "Do something creative together."
The dolphins break away from their trainers and submerge in the 6-ft.-deep water, where they can be seen circling until they begin to swim in tandem. Once they are in synch, the animals leap into the air and simultaneously spit out jets of water before plunging back into the pool. The trainers flash huge smiles at their flippered pupils and applaud wildly. The animals also seem delighted and squeak with pleasure.
What is going on here? Do the dolphins actually understand the command tandem creative as a request to make some joint artistic statement through movement? Did they communicate in some fashion to choose a routine and coordinate their movements? In order to spit, for instance, they both must take water into their mouths before they leap into the air -- a trick that takes some forethought. Other requests for tandem creatives have yielded a variety of results, including a synchronized backward swim culminating in a simultaneous wave of the tails. Or could it be that these routines are nothing more than one dolphin very closely following the lead of another? In the wild, after all, dolphins are extraordinarily skilled at tuning their actions to the movements of others in their group.
In cluttered quarters at the University of Arizona -- half lab, half toy- strewn nursery -- Alex, the voluble African gray parrot, is, as usual, commenting on all he sees. "Hot!" he warns in a sweet, childlike voice, as a visitor picks up a mug of tea. Alex spots a plateful of fruit and announces his choice: "Grape."
Everyone knows parrots can talk, but for the past 15 years, ethologist Irene Pepperberg has been working with Alex, exploring the degree to which the birds understand what they are saying. Pepperberg picks up an object from a crowded tray and inquires, "What toy?" Alex promptly answers, "Block." He then responds to questions about the plaything, describing its color, shape, what it is made of ("wood") and whether it is bigger or smaller than other objects on the tray.
Something less than true creativity may account for the dolphin flights of fancy seen at Kewalo Basin, but something more than simple mimicry seems to be at work in the case of this 1-lb. bird.