Minneapolis, 1943. In the dim light of a basement laboratory, eight wooden boxes line the wall, each with a single restless pigeon inside. In one box, a white-feathered pigeon turns a slow circle to the left, again and again, its head bobbing in a curious dance. In another, a bird keeps pecking at the empty air, as if an invisible seed floats just out of reach. The room is hushed except for the whir of a fan and the occasional metallic click of a feeder mechanism. Every fifteen seconds, click—a hopper swings out in one of the boxes, delivering a few grains of food. The pigeon that had been turning in circles rushes to the hopper and gobbles the reward.

Niklas Osterman BHPRN, MA