“I was hiking last Saturday with my dog, and I started thinking about how his memory works.”
What about that?
“He must have memory the same as us. He remembers how to eat, run, jump, bark. Even the involuntary stuff, the breathing and chasing squirrels, must draw on its own sort of memory.”
Like a stored procedure?
“Something like that, yes.”
Tell me more.
“He seems so much happier than we are. Even if a bigger dog takes his food, he forgets pretty quickly. He doesn’t spend a week thinking about revenge.”
What does he choose to remember?
“I don’t know. I don’t think he chooses to remember. I don’t think he has a capacity for asking, say, ‘What was the color of that rabbit I chased last week?’ I don’t think he has conscious access to his memory the way we do.”
What does he think when he wants to run faster?
“‘I am running faster.’ That’s what he thinks, I think, and then he is doing that. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
What are you talking about?
“A metaphor for how we access memory consciously that’s different from what he does.”
Tell me more.
“Our memories, mine and his, are like containers, and they’re about the same size, they –”
I’m seeing lakes.
“OK, yes, good. We have about the same size lakes. Maybe mine’s a bit wider and deeper. He stands at the edge of his, unconscious of it, and when its water splashes on him, he reacts.”
What about yours?
“I stand farther away from mine. It almost never splashes on me. But I have a bridge to mine. And I walk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, across that bridge, like all damn day, making sure it’s still there, still functional – that I’m still able to cross it.”
What’s the name of that song? what’s eight times four? when’s Joaquin’s birthday?
“The only time mine splashes on me is in emergencies.”
What do you mean?
“If we came round a corner at Guadalupe River State Park and there was a giant grizzly bear in our path.”
What would you do?
“I don’t know. But my dog and I would think – or remember? – the exact same thing in the first half-second or so. In the second or third second, we’d do other things. He’d probably bark, I’d probably freeze. But that first second, both our lakes would splash on us.”
With the same water?
“Actually, yes. With water from the exact same, ancient source.”
What do you want to do next?
“Be more like my dog. Consciously access my memory less often. Wait till the water splashes me.”