Stop tinkering
Yesterday, as with every other day, I was welcomed home by a cacophony of barking, slobbering and the pitter-patter of paws on wood. For some reason, the dog seems to think I enjoy going deaf. Or having my ankles chewed off. The noise is usually put to an abrupt halt when the cat gives her a good swat on the nose. And after the swatting last night, I picked the hound up, looked into her doleful eyes and said, “You… you are a proud descendant of the grey wolf. So why haven’t you torn the feline’s head off yet?”
It’s really the fault of us humans, though. 100,000 years ago, in a cave somewhere, someone toted the world’s first handbag and decided “Oh, how charming. Now all I need is a dog that’ll fit into this.” And thus, we pesky human beings, with our penchant for selective breeding, have reduced the majestic wolf into a sock-chewing bundle of fur.
At least we’ve left cats more or less as they were. My cat habitually leaves cockroach and gecko bits outside my door as his contribution to the family’s well-being. And then watches as I curse and throw it all down the chute. But you get the idea. Cats can hunt. You try asking a Maltese to catch its own dinner. You’d be lucky if dinner didn’t eat it first.
And we’ve gone even further with all this genetic tinkering. Already, we’ve made chickens that get so heavy so fast their legs break under all the weight. In cattle farming, there aren’t just ways to make cows gain more weight. We can even get them to fart less. And now, scientists are looking at growing meat sans the animal. They reckon that, in a few years, they’ll be able to grow meat in meat sheets and then use the stuff to produce ground meat products. Give them a bit more time and we’ll be plucking steaks from branches. All very smart but not very tasty, I’m afraid. The thought of lamb chops grown out of a Petri dish is about as tempting as having a romp with a blow-up doll.
And therein lies the problem. Things just aren’t natural anymore. I like cats in general because there’s something beautifully primal about the way they’re built. I’d like any large dog for much the same reason – they still retain some semblance of wolf-ness which I appreciate. But toy dogs, no matter how many bags you can stuff them in, are just an anomaly. Even if they’re so darn cute.
It’s really the fault of us humans, though. 100,000 years ago, in a cave somewhere, someone toted the world’s first handbag and decided “Oh, how charming. Now all I need is a dog that’ll fit into this.” And thus, we pesky human beings, with our penchant for selective breeding, have reduced the majestic wolf into a sock-chewing bundle of fur.
At least we’ve left cats more or less as they were. My cat habitually leaves cockroach and gecko bits outside my door as his contribution to the family’s well-being. And then watches as I curse and throw it all down the chute. But you get the idea. Cats can hunt. You try asking a Maltese to catch its own dinner. You’d be lucky if dinner didn’t eat it first.
And we’ve gone even further with all this genetic tinkering. Already, we’ve made chickens that get so heavy so fast their legs break under all the weight. In cattle farming, there aren’t just ways to make cows gain more weight. We can even get them to fart less. And now, scientists are looking at growing meat sans the animal. They reckon that, in a few years, they’ll be able to grow meat in meat sheets and then use the stuff to produce ground meat products. Give them a bit more time and we’ll be plucking steaks from branches. All very smart but not very tasty, I’m afraid. The thought of lamb chops grown out of a Petri dish is about as tempting as having a romp with a blow-up doll.
And therein lies the problem. Things just aren’t natural anymore. I like cats in general because there’s something beautifully primal about the way they’re built. I’d like any large dog for much the same reason – they still retain some semblance of wolf-ness which I appreciate. But toy dogs, no matter how many bags you can stuff them in, are just an anomaly. Even if they’re so darn cute.
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