Prehistoric biotechnology
Our astronomer steps out of his area of expertise to comment on biology.
Our astronomer writes:
The apartment next door is sometimes host to a pair of small dogs. They’re the kind that I call “squeaky-toy dogs” because, to be quite honest, their barking is just like the sound that rubber toys with squeakers make when stepped on. (No doubt I am horrifying true canine specialists with the irreverant label, and also by lumping together many quite different breeds.) This pair works as a team: one barks in a high pitch, the other howls at a high pitch, producing an effect that must be heard to be appreciated.
And yet, these squeakers have much the same genetic material as wolves. Indeed, they’re one species; they can interbreed. Picture, if you will, a pack of toy poodles pulling down an elk! Well, maybe not. But the great variation in size, shape and behavior among the many breeds of dog is all man-made. The process began well before history, in one sense with the first domestication of the dog back during the last Ice Age.
Some days ago I stepped out of the apartment to go to a concert (not to get away from the squeaking; the dogs are actually very well-behaved most of the time). Along the way I stopped in at a local bar to take advantage of its air conditioning. The TV was showing the Belmont Stakes. I do not follow horse racing, nor do I have any serious experience with horses, but I had to admire these magnificent animals–thoroughbreds. As the name shows, these are another example of humans doing genetic modification. In fact I understand that the wild horse, before people stepped in, was too small and weak to carry a person on its back. Those are all gone now (with the possible exception of a few critically endangered animals). Any herds of “wild” horses you may see are descended from some that escaped from humans. Again, this genetic modification began before history.
One more example, and one you almost certainly have a personal connection with: wheat. Now, most of the family of grasses attach their seeds to streamers of various kinds, and when the ear is ripe it falls apart, allowing the wind to scatter the seeds. If you hit a ripe ear of wheat, though, the seeds fall to the ground and the chaff blows away. In the wild, wheat would not do well and might disappear altogether in the face of competition from other plants. But when this type of grass appeared it was especially convenient for humans to harvest, and humans did all the work to spread the seeds. This happened (not a coincidence!) at the beginning of agriculture, say ten thousand years ago.
For the past year we’ve been posting here regularly on the social effects of technology: things like smartphones, digital computers, even obsolete things like film photography. Consider, now, the social effects of prehistoric biotechnology!
