I'm very fascinated by Kennedy's description of rhetoric among animals. It's pretty well-known that animals communicate, even though Kennedy "[has] yet to encounter the term 'rhetoric' in social biology" (6), so it's natural that those who are interested in human rhetoric would also be interested in the communication among other members of the animal kingdom.
I chuckled a bit at "the stag that can roar loudest and longest wins" (4). My husband and I come from loud families, so much so that we frequently remind each other about using inside voices, but Chad (husband) likes to tell me about one of his uncles who used to get drunk and then pick a fight with the nearest family member. As long as the uncle was the loudest person present, he went to be happy that he had "won" the argument. I hardly think this phenomenon is limited to Chad's uncle; not only do most people get louder as they drink, but the idea that the loudest person wins seems to be pretty widespread (like on news shows where the participants try to shout each other down). It would seem that our rhetoric is not so far removed, at least in some ways, from other members of the animal kingdom.
Another interesting parallel comes from the crows, who have "what is known as an 'assembly call,' which consists of a succession of loud raucous cries" (5). That sounds like something also known as a "school bell." And I'm very intrigued to read that "what seem to be undifferentiated chirps or grunts...have clearly differentiated meanings" (6). Most parents learn pretty quickly the difference between "I'm hungry," "I'm sleepy," and "I have no better way to get your attention" when their babies cry, even though all three may sound the same to a friend or family member who doesn't spent 24 hours a day with the child.
Then there's the assurance of my pet-owning friends that their pets are excellent at communicating what they want, or have a knack for finding the worst possible moment for interrupting their owners. I used to have this problem with I lived at home; our cats usually decided when I was done sleeping. On the rare occasion that they waited patiently for me to wake up, they were remarkably good at knowing the exact second that I was awake and would immediately launch into action to make sure I stayed that way. I don't speak Cat, but our cats had no trouble understanding me.
I'm sure the easy answer is "Duh, evolution." But I wonder if we (humans, that is) are reading something into animal communication based on our own experience. Or, to take it a step further (and invoke Douglas Adams a bit): Could animal rhetoric actually be superior to our own, and we just don't know it?
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