Empathetic Animals

I've been told that we, as human beings (as opposed to we, as jerks) are differentiated from the rest of the animal kingdom because we have the ability to empathize. When we look at scenes from the war, we can imagine the heartbreak and sorrow the devastation has caused; when we see starving, malnourished people, our instinct is to send them some ethically grown, organic carrots; when we see ostensibly poor and struggling college girls, we wish to send them some clothing, no matter how much they smile and act is if they're enjoying themselves.

I have no idea how we've determined that other animals don't share this trait, but then again, I have no idea how the other animals think. One thing I'm convinced of is that the dogs I've owned sure don't feel the same things I do. Or, at least, they don't seem to feel them in the same way, to the same extent.

I base this on nothing scientific, mind you. Only on observation.

I had a dog once, Boutros, who confounded me by laying on the floor and resting his head on some wood that served as part of the frame for a coffee table. Yes, it acted like a pillow, or perhaps a synthetic Russell leg or arm, and kept his head off the ground, but there were actual pillows nearby that he ignored. My current dog, Minardi, will invariably lay his head on the bed's footboard instead of on the bed itself or any wadded up bedding, and I tell ya, that can't be comfortable.

I know these dogs can feel pain,  but seeing their behavior when trying to rest or, in Minardi's case, after his recent run-in with that cat, whatever pain he feels isn't very similar to my own. He may flinch a bit at the moment when I apply some dressing to a wound, but it's no where near the overall reaction I'd have. He shrugs off his little sores and wounds about a minute after getting them, and I have to wonder if nature has somehow given animals a less dramatic sense of pain and injury than we humans have.

Is it worth thinking about? Maybe.