Free How Dogs Love Us: A Neuroscientist and His Adopted Dog Decode the Canine Brain by Gregory Berns Page B

upset, I asked him to explain the problem.
    “For starters,” he continued, “you included a consent form.”
    “Yes,” I replied. “We thought it was reasonable to get consent from the dog’s owner.”
    “The IACUC doesn’t do consent forms,” he said. “This sounds like human research.”
    “But the humans aren’t the subjects,” I said. “The dogs are.”
    “Well, we don’t know what to do with a consent form,” he said. “You need to send it to the IRB.” The Institutional Review Board, or IRB, was the committee that reviewed human research protocols.
    “They’re not going to want to review it because it’s not human research.”
    “There are other problems,” the lawyer continued, ignoring me. He then ticked off a laundry list of issues. Once on campus, how would we transport dogs to the MRI? How would we prevent the dogs from escaping? What would happen if they bit someone? The hospital risk management lawyers would have to sign off on this too. I would need to check with the Occupational Safety and Health Office to see if there were OSHA issues to resolve. I would also need to check with the biosafety officer to see if she had concerns about the spread of biological pathogens.
    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly, the little feist that slept in our bed and licked my face every morning represented a threat to the safety and welfare of the entire university.
    “Have you considered purpose-bred dogs?” the lawyer asked, referring to dogs, usually beagles, bred and sold exclusively for research. There was no way I would support that ugly practice, and I said so.
    “That would mitigate some of the liability concerns because Emory would own the dogs,” the lawyer continued.
    “We need to find a way to do this project with community-owned dogs,” I said. “I’m confident that people will volunteer their dogs just to have a chance to participate in this research.” Then I had an idea. “Do you have a dog?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then surely you’ve wondered what your dog is thinking,” I said. “Would you volunteer him?”
    “Well, I don’t think he would be a good subject,” the lawyer replied. “But I see your point.” He paused and then continued. “Maybe the IRB would act as a consultant to help us with your consent form.”
    A glimmer of hope.
    “But because of the liabilities, you’re still going to need all the offices to approve your protocol.”
    This was not going to be easy. I had interacted with some of these offices before, and I knew that nobody would want to be the guy who approved the crazy dog experiment. What if something went wrong? But there was no turning back. If I had to, I would do this off campus, on my own time. I would find some private MRI facility willing to take dogs.
    One way or another, the Dog Project was going to happen, even if I had to fight every lawyer in Atlanta.
    Many of the people who work in the divisions of the university concerned with regulatory compliance adopt a cover-your-ass attitude. This typically manifests as a preoccupation with the letter of the law. Unfortunately, there is an endless array of federal regulations, and they are not always consistent with one another, so knowing which rules take precedence in a given situation is a bit of an art. In my experience, many of the people in the compliance divisions were primarily concerned with minimizing the chance of any violation or anything that might bring negative publicity if something went wrong, without much regard to the potential benefits of taking that risk.
    I called Sarah Putney, the director of the IRB. Sarah had always helped me work through ethical issues in our human work. She had an incredible knowledge of the rules, she loved research, and, perhaps most important, she was a dog person.
    I explained what we wanted to do and Sarah immediately seemed to understand.
    Getting right to the heart of the matter, she asked, “Who is the subject of the