Could this gator’s teeth hold clues for regenerating humans’ pearly whites? Photo by Flickr user montuschi

Humans drew the short end of the toothbrush when it comes to our pearly whites’ longevity. Other animals such as reptiles and fish frequently lose and replace their teeth by growing new ones, but people are stuck with the same set of mature adult teeth their entire lives. If they lose a tooth–or all 32–dentures are usually the only option.

Oddly enough, alligators’ deadly chomps may hold a clue for how scientists could coax humans into regrowing teeth. These reptiles belong to the order Crocodilia, who, with their famous cheerful grins, caused songwriters to warn that you should never smile at a crocodile. To the bane of Captain Hook and other victims of gator and croc attacks, the large reptiles often regrow their razor teeth multiple times. Researchers think that, given time, technology may advance so that we can borrow these reptilian smiles. But first, scientists need to understand just how these animals keep their smiles toothy.

In a paper published this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, an international team of researchers attempted to get at the mechanisms behind the superior tooth regenerating abilities of one species of Crocodilia–the American alligator–in the hopes of applying the results to humans.

In humans, organs such as hair, scales, nails and teeth “are at the interface between an organism and its external environment and therefore, face constant wear and tear,” the researchers write. But alligators have evolved ways to deal with these challenges. The carnivores can replace any of their 80 teeth up to 50 times throughout their 35 to 75-year lives. Small replacement teeth grow under each mature alligator tooth, ready to spring into action the moment a gator loses a tooth.

To figure out the molecules and cells responsible for replacement, the researchers used X-rays and small tissue samples from alligator embryos, hatchlings and 3-year old juveniles’ developing teeth. They also grew tooth cells in the laboratory and created computer models of the process. Alligator teeth appear to cycle continuously, they write, but in fact the animals’ teeth seem to go through three distinct phases: pre-initiation, initiation and growth.

Once an alligator loses a tooth, these three phases kick off. The dental lamina, or a band of tissue associated with the initial stages of tooth formation in many animals, begins to bulge. This triggers stem cells and an array of signaling molecules that direct the process of forming a new tooth.

These results may be applicable to humans’ pearly whites. Alligators’ flesh-chomping incisors are surprisingly similar to well-organized, complex vertebrate teeth such as ours. In humans, a remnant of the dental lamina–the structure crucial to tooth formation–still exists and sometimes wrongly activates and begins forming toothy tumors. If the researchers could better tease out the molecular signaling pathways behind alligator tooth replacement, they reason, they they may be able to induce those same chemical instructions in humans to coax the body into forming a new tooth after one gets kicked out in a soccer game or has to be removed after becoming infected.

Alternatively, doctors may be able to shut off the molecules responsible for conditions that cause uncontrolled tooth formation. Individuals suffering from cleidocranial dysplasia syndrome grow many unusually shaped, peg-like teeth, for example, and people with Gardner syndrome also grow supernumerary, or extra, teeth.

While the researchers still need to clarify more molecular details behind alligator tooth growth, this initial study does hint that doctors and dentists may someday be able to selectively bestow patients with the reptiles’ tooth-regenerating abilities.

“Based on our study, it may be possible to identify the regulatory network for tooth cycling,” the researchers conclude. “This knowledge will enable us to either arouse latent stem cells in the human dental lamina remnant to restart a normal renewal process in adults who have lost teeth or stop uncontrolled tooth generation in patients with supernumerary teeth.”

Either way, they note that “Nature is a rich resource from which to learn how to engineer stem cells for application to regenerative medicine.”

Helpless babe or capable professional navigator? Photo by Samuel Blanc

With their big, glossy black eyes and downy fluff, baby Weddell seal pups are some of the most adorable newborns in the animal kingdom. But these cute infants are far from helpless bundles of joy. New research published in the journal Marine Mammal Science reveals that Weddell seal pups likely possess the most adult-like brain of any mammal at birth.

The seal pups’ brains, compared to adult seals’ brain proportions, are the largest known for any mammal to date. The researchers write that this is “remarkable” considering that the pups are quite small at birth compared to many other newborn mammals.

To arrive at these findings, a team of researchers from the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center and the National Museum of Natural History traveled to Antarctica to collect fresh pups specimens. They took advantage of the fact that many pups never make it to adulthood due to stillbirths, abandonment and accidental death, such as being crushed by an adult. The researchers collected 10 dead seal pups (which quickly freeze in the Antarctic temperatures), conducted a few measurements and then decapitated and shipped the frozen heads back to the Smithsonian. They also tossed in a couple adult Weddell seal heads into the mix, one of which had died from acute toxemia–possibly from its gut being punctured by a fish spine–and the other whose cause of death could not be determined.

Back in the U.S., the researchers partially thawed the skulls in a lab and–like a well picked-over Thanksgiving turkey–manually peeled the tissue off of the baby seal faces. Then, they drilled into the skulls to extract the intact brains. Finally, they put the bones into a tank full of flesh-eating beetles to remove any remaining scraps of meat. Clean skulls and brains in hand, they went about taking measurements, and they also drew upon measurements of some older Weddell Seal skull specimens from the museum’s collection.

Remarkably, baby Weddell seal brains are already 70 percent developed at birth, the team found. Compare this to human infants, whose brains are a mere 25 percent of their eventual adult mass. As a Smithsonian statement explains, baby animals born with proportionally larger brains usually live in challenging environments in which they need to act quickly in order to survive. Other animals that share this trait include most marine mammals, zebras and wildebeest.

For Weddell seal pups, large brains likely help with diving under ice sheets and orienting themselves under water at less than three weeks old–an extremely dangerous task for any mammal, newborn or not. The pups must acclimate quickly since Weddell seal mothers abandon their young at about 6 weeks old, meaning they need to be able to completely fend for themselves when that day arrives.

In nature, however, everything comes with a price. The Weddell seal pups may have the biggest, best developed brains on the block when compared to what they will be as adults, but this metabolically taxing organ requires excessive energy to maintain. A pup weighing just 65 pounds needs between 30 to 50 grams of glucose per day in order to survive, and the team estimates that the energetically hungry brain may account for a full 28 grams of that demand. 

Luckily for the seal pups, their mothers’ milk is almost exactly matched to the babies’ caloric needs. Weddell seal milk supplies about 39 grams of sugar per day. Females seals, however, lose significant weight while tending to their young, which jeopardizes their own survival. At their mother’s cost, the babies’ brains are allowed to thrive. That is, until their mother decides she’s had enough with the nurturing and leaves her pups to survive on their own.   

How many unborn brothers and sisters did this sand tiger shark devour to be here today? Photo by Amada44

Baby animals may seem irresistibly adorable, but in reality many of them are calculating killers. Hyena, wolf or even dog litter runts are pushed aside by their larger siblings and left to go hungry; fuzzy white egret chicks will kick their weaker clutch mates out of the nest to certain doom; and  baby golden eagles sometimes go so far as to snack on their smaller brothers and sisters while their mother looks on.

Perhaps most disturbing of all, however, is the case of the baby sand tiger shark. While sharks may not be the most snuggly animals to begin with, the sand tiger shark sets a new precedent for fratricide. This species practices a form of sibling-killing called intrauterine cannibalization. Yes, “intrauterine” refers to embryos in the uterus. Sand tiger sharks eat their brothers and sisters while still in the womb.

Even by nature’s cruel standards, scientists admit that this is an unusual mode of survival. When sand tiger sharks develop in their mother’s uteri (females have both a left and right uterus), some–usually the embryo that hatched first from its encapsulated, fertilized egg–inevitably grow faster and larger than others. Once the largest embryos cross a certain size threshold, the hungry babies turn to their smaller siblings as convenient meals. “The approximately 100 mm hatchling proceeds to attack, kill and eventually consume all of its younger siblings, achieving exponential growth over this period,” a team of researchers who investigated the phenomenon wrote this week in Biology Letters.  

Size differential between a recent hatchling (H) and an older embryo (E) from the same uterus in a typical litter the researchers samples. Photo by Chapman et al., Biology Letters

From what began as two uteri full of a dozen embryos results in just two dominating baby sand tiger sharks coming full term. What’s more, once the unborn babies consume all of the living embryos, they turn to their mother’s unfertilized eggs next, in a phenomenon called oophagy, or egg-eating. By the time those two surviving babies are finally ready to be introduced into the big, bright world, all of the pre-birth inner feasting has paid off. They emerge from their mother measuring in at about 95 to 125 centimeters long, or a bit longer than a baseball bat, meaning fewer predators can pick them off than if they had shared food with siblings and were smaller.   

This peculiar situation has implications for the genetic makeup of the species. Female sand tiger sharks, like many animals, mate with multiple males. Oftentimes in nature, females determine which males will sire the next generation by selectively choosing to mate with the most impressive bachelor (or bachelors) around. If mating with multiple males at any given time–as sharks, insects, dogs, cats and many other animals sometimes do–the babies that the female eventually produces share the same womb with siblings that may have different fathers. 

In this case, however, there are two modes of selection at work. Females may choose mates, but that does not guarantee those males’ genes will make the cut. The embryos the males sire will also have to survive the subsequent frenzy of cannibalism going on inside the female’s body. 

To find out whether some males are mating but missing out on actually producing offspring, the authors of this new study undertook microsatellite DNA profiling of 15 sand tiger shark mothers and their offspring. The researchers collected the sharks from accidental mortality events near protected beaches in South Africa between 2007 to 2012. By comparing the embryo genetics, the researchers could determine how many fathers were involved in fertilizing the eggs.

Nine of the females, or 60 percent, had mated with more than one male, the researchers found. When it came to which embryos hatched and grew large first (and thus would have survived if their mothers hadn’t have been killed), 60 percent shared the same father. This means that even if a female mates with more than one male, there is no guarantee that the male has been successful in passing on his genes. Rather, he could have just provided a convenient entree for another male’s offspring.

This also explains some male sand tiger shark behavior and physiology. Male sand tiger sharks often guard their mates against other males just after copulation. Males of this species also produce a conspicuously large amount of sperm compared to other sharks. Both of these characteristics increase the likelihood that the embryo fertilized by that male will successfully implant in the female’s uterus earlier, giving it a significant head start for developing more quickly than its siblings, which makes it more likely that the recent mate’s offspring will eat the others that may come along.

As for the females sand tiger sharks, some researchers think they actually may not have much of a choice when it comes to mating with multiple males.  It could be that females just give in to some amorous partners because the energetic cost of resisting those advances outweighs the cost of just conceding to the act–a behavior biologists call the convenience polyandry hypothesis. In this case, however, females may still get the final laugh since the males they first mated with and most likely preferred will have the greater chance of actually triumphing as the father of their children. “[Embryonic cannibalism] may allow female sand tigers to engage in convenience polyandry after mating with preferred males without actually investing in embryos from these superfluous copulations,” the researchers speculate.

While the females did invest in initially developing those doomed embryos, those investments are much smaller than what would be required to bring multiple embryos to full term. Those smaller embryos also represent resources allocated to the stronger, dominate embryonic winners, which thus have a better chance of surviving and passing on their mother’s genes than if she had spent the energy to instead birth multiple, weakling babies. In a way, the mother shark is providing nourishment for her strongest babies by producing multiple embryos that the most robust can eat. 

“This system highlights that competition and sexual selection can still occur after fertilization,” the authors write. For example, the first embryo to implant may not end up being the the one that survives the gladiator arena of the sharks uterus. While this new research still needs to delve into the details of the competition that takes place within the uterus, a picture is emerging based upon these initial findings: Females may chose which males to mate with or may be coerced into reluctantly mating, but male sperm fitness and the quality of the embryos they produce could also carry significant weight in which animals ultimately wind up as winners in this system. 

“This competition can play an important and probably under-appreciated role in determining male fitness,” the authors conclude. 

We find different pitches attractive because of the body size they signal—and a touch of breathiness is crucial to take the edge off a man’s deep voice. Image via Flickr user linda

Who you’re physically attracted to might seem like a frivolous, random preference. In recent years, though, science has told us that our seemingly arbitrary tastes often reflect unconscious choices that are based upon very relevant biological traits.

In general, we find symmetric faces more attractive, likely because they reflect a healthy underlying genome. Women typically prefer men with more distinctively masculine facial features because they indicate high testosterone levels and physical strength, while men prefer women with exaggerated youthful features, possibly because of the evolutionary advantages a male gets when coupling with a younger mate.

Despite all this research into our visual appearances, though, scientists have done relatively little digging into our auditory preferences when it comes to sexual attraction. Why do we find certain peoples’ voices attractive–and why do we sometimes find other types of voices such a turn-off? Specifically, why do women generally prefer men with deep voices, and men prefer women with higher ones?

At least according to a paper published today in PLOS ONE, the explanation is relatively simple: It’s all about body size. Researchers from University College London found that, at least among a sample of 32 participants, high-pitched female voices females were found to be attractive because they indicated the speaker had a small body. Deep male voices, on the other hand, were judged as more attractive because they conveyed that the speaker had a large frame—but were found to be most attractive when tempered by a touch of “breathiness,” suggesting the speaker had a low level of aggression despite his large size.

The group, led by Yi Xu, figured this out by playing recordings of digitally manipulated voices to the participants. The males in the study heard a computer-generated female voice saying phrases such as “I owe you a yo-yo” in which the voice was manipulated with a number of digital alterations in terms of pitch, formant (the particular peaks and valleys in a sound’s frequency spectrum) and other qualities.

The specific manipulations either conveyed a smaller body size or a larger one, based upon previous research that matched various voice qualities with different body sizes in humans. When asked to rate the voice’s attractiveness on a 1 to 5 scale, the men preferred the voices that suggested a smaller female. Past a certain point, though, higher voices were judged as no more attractive that slightly deeper ones. Listen to the most and least attractive (both, admittedly creepy) voices below:

The female participants’ voice preferences were similar, but slightly more nuanced. On the whole, they preferred deeper voices, which signaled a large body size, but another trait was also crucial: “breathiness.” The researchers hypothesized that this breathiness effectively takes the edge off a voice, making a man with a presumed large frame seem less aggressive and angry. They also polled the participants on whether they thought the simulated voices sounded angry or happy, and the breathy deep males voices were generally perceived as much happier and less angry than the less breathy (i.e. “pressed”) deep ones. Listen to the most and least attractive male voices below:

Beyond explaining the popularity of Barry White, the researchers say these findings correspond to much of what we know about voice preferences in the rest of the animal kingdom. Birds and other mammals, it turns out, have long been known to advertise their physical characteristics via the sound qualities in their mating calls.

All this points to an obvious question, though: Why would males prefer smaller females, and females prefer larger males in the first place? The researchers don’t attempt to address this question, but this duality reflects the sexual dimorphism present in most animal species. These differences generally result from sexual selection giving incentive to different mating strategies—so in this case, our voice preferences suggest that women benefit, in evolutionary terms, by mating with larger, but less aggressive men, while males benefit from mating with smaller females.

As the same time, what we commonly consider attractive varies dramatically over time and location—for example, dozens of prehistoric “Venus figurines,” discovered all over the world, portray extremely voluptuous female figures. So, if we tested the preferences of all humans throughout history, we might find a less obvious trend. This preference for small-voiced females and big-voiced males, then, might simply be an artifact of our contemporary cultural concepts of “attractiveness,” rather than a deep-seated evolutionary choice after all.

This chimp may look innocent, but he may harbor any of dozens of diseases that infect humans. Photo by AfrikaForce

Anyone who has read a Richard Preston book, such as The Hot Zone or Panic in Level 4, knows the danger of tampering with wildlife. The story usually goes something like this: Intrepid explorers venture into a dark, bat infested cave in the heart of East Africa, only to encounter something unseen and living, which takes up residence in their bodies. Unknowingly infected, the happy travelers jump on a plane back to Europe or the States, spreading their deadly pathogen willy-nilly to every human they encounter upon the way. Those people, in turn, bring the novel virus or bacterium back home to strangers and loved ones alike. Before the world knows it, a pandemic has arrived.

This scenario may sound like fiction, but it’s exactly what infectious disease experts fear most. Most emerging infectious diseases in humans have indeed arisen from animals–think swine and bird flu (poultry and wild birds), SARS (unknown animals in Chinese markets), Ebola (probably bats) and HIV (non-human primates). Therefore, experts prioritize the task of figuring out which animals in which regions of the world are most prone to delivering the latest novel pathogen to hapless humanity.

With this in mind, researchers at Harvard University, the University of Granada and the University of Valencia set out to develop a new strategy for predicting the risk and rise of new diseases transmitted from animals before they happen, describing their efforts in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

To narrow the hypothetical disease search down, the team chose to focus on non-human primates. Because monkeys and great apes are so closely related to us, their potential for developing and transmitting a pathogen suited to the human body is greater than the equivalent risk from animals such as birds or pigs. As a general rule, the more related species are, the greater the chances they can share a disease. The researchers gathered data from 140 species of primates. They overlaid that information with more than 6,000 infection records from those various primate species, representing 300 different pathogens, including viruses, bacteria, parasitic worms, protozoa, insects and fungus. This way, they could visualize which pathogens infect which species and where.

Like mapping links between who-knows-who in a social network, primates that shared pathogens were connected. This meant that the more pathogens an animal shared with other species, the more centrally located it was on the tangled web of the disease diagram.    

A diagram depicting shared parasites among primate species. Each bubble represents one species, with lines connecting species by shared pathogens. The larger the bubble, the more emerging infectious diseases that species harbors. The dark blue bubbles represent the top 10 primates that share the most emerging infectious diseases with humans. Photo by Gomez et al., via PNAS

From studying these charts, a few commonalities emerged. Animals at the center of the diagram tended to be those that lived in dense social groups and also covered a wide geographic range (yes, similar to humans). These species also tended to harbor parasites that are known to infect humans, including more pathogens identified as emerging infectious diseases. In other words, those species that occurred in the center of the diagram are the best positioned to kick off the next pandemic or horrific infectious disease, and thus should be the ones that experts should keep the closest watch on.

Such animals could qualify as “superspreaders,” or those that receive and transmit pathogens very often to other species.”The identification of species that behave as superspreaders is crucial for developing surveillance protocols and interventions aimed at preventing future disease emergence in human populations,” the authors write.

Apes appeared in the heart of the disease diagram and are among the species we should be most worried about, which is not surprising considering that diseases such as malaria and HIV first emerged from these animals. On the other hand, some non-ape primates, including baboons and vervet monkeys, also popped up in the center of the diagram and turn out to harbor many human emerging disease parasites. 

Currently, our ability to predict where, when and how new emerging infectious diseases might arise is “remarkably weak,” they continue, but if we can identify those sources before they become a problem we could prevent a potential health disaster on a regional or even global scale. This new approach for identifying animal risks, the authors write, could also be applied to other wildlife groups, such as rodents, bats, livestock and carnivores. “Our findings suggest that centrality may help to detect risks that might otherwise go unnoticed, and thus to predict disease emergence in advance of outbreaks—an important goal for stemming future zoonotic disease risks,” they conclude. 

The rare coealacanth’s genome is slowly evolving—and contrary to prior speculation, it probably isn’t the common ancestor of all land animals. Image via Wikimedia Commons/Amelia Guo

On December 23, 1938, South African Hendrick Goosen, the captain of the fishing trawler Nerine, found an unusual fish in his net after a day of fishing in the Indian Ocean off of East London. He showed the creature to  local museum curator Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer, who rinsed off a layer of slime and described it as “the most beautiful fish I had ever seen…five foot long, a pale mauvy blue with faint flecks of whitish spots; it had an iridescent silver-blue-green sheen all over. It was covered in hard scales, and it had four limb-like fins and a strange puppy dog tail.”

The duo, it turned out, had made one of the most significant biological discoveries of the 20th century. The fish was a coelacanth, a creature previously known only from fossilized specimens and believed to have gone extinct about 80 million years earlier. Moreover, its prehistoric appearance and unusual leg-like lobed fins immediately suggested to biologists that it could be an ancient ancestor of all land animals—one of the pivotal sea creatures that first crawled onto solid ground and eventually evolved into amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals.

Now, though, the coelacanth’s full genome has been sequenced for the first time, and the results, published by an international team of researchers today in Nature, suggest otherwise. Genetic analysis suggests that the coelacanth doesn’t appear to be the most recent shared ancestor between sea and land animals—so its lobed fins didn’t make that first fateful step onto land after all.

When the researchers used what they found out about the coelacanth’s genome to build an evolutionary tree of marine and terrestrial animals (below), they found it’s more likely that ancestors of closely-related class of fish called lungfish played this crucial role. The ancestors of coelacanths and lungfish split off from each other before the latter group first colonized any land areas.

The genetic sequencing showed that terrestrial animals share a more recent common ancestor with lungfish, rather than coelacanths. Image via Nature/Amemiya et. al.

Additionally, the coelacanth’s prehistoric appearance has led to it commonly being considered a “living fossil”: a rare, unchanging biological time capsule of a bygone prehistoric era. But the genomic sequencing indicated that the fish species is actually still evolving—just very, very slowly—supporting the recent argument that it’s time to stop calling the fish and other seemingly prehistoric creatures “living fossils.”

“We found that the genes overall are evolving significantly slower than in every other fish and land vertebrate that we looked at,” Jessica Alföldi, a scientist at MIT and Harvard’s Broad Institute and a co-author, said in a press statement. Small segments of the fish’s DNA had previously been sequenced, but now, she said, “This is the first time that we’ve had a big enough gene set to really see that.”

The fact that the fish is evolving isn’t surprising—like all organisms, it lives in a changing world, with continuously fluctuating selection pressures that drive evolution. What’s surprising (though reflected by its seemingly-prehistoric appearance) is that it’s evolving so slowly, compared to a random sampling of other animals. According to the scientists’ analysis of 251 genes in the fish’s genome, it evolved with an average rate of 0.89 base-pair substitutions for any given site, compared to 1.09 for a chicken and 1.21 for a variety of mammals (base-pair substitution refers to the frequency with with DNA base-pairs—the building blocks of genes—are altered over time).

The research team speculates that the coelacanth’s extremely stable deep Indian Ocean environment and relative lack of predators might explain why it has undergone such slow evolutionary changes. Without new evolutionary pressures that might result from either of these factors, the coelacanth’s genome and outward appearance have only changed slightly in the roughly 400 million years since it first appeared on the planet.

A mixture of plant oils, bacterial spores and ozone is responsible for the powerful scent of fresh rain. Image via Wikimedia Commons/Juni

Step outside after the first storm after a dry spell and it invariably hits you: the sweet, fresh, powerfully evocative smell of fresh rain.

If you’ve ever noticed this mysterious scent and wondered what’s responsible for it, you’re not alone.

Back in 1964, a pair of Australian scientists (Isabel Joy Bear and R. G. Thomas) began the scientific study of rain’s aroma in earnest with an article in Nature titled “Nature of Agrillaceous Odor.” In it, they coined the term petrichor to help explain the phenomenon, combining a pair of Greek roots: petra (stone) and ichor (the blood of gods in ancient myth).

In that study and subsequent research, they determined that one of the main causes of this distinctive smell is a blend of oils secreted by some plants during arid periods. When a rainstorm comes after a drought, compounds from the oils—which accumulate over time in dry rocks and soil—are mixed and released into the air. The duo also observed that the oils inhibit seed germination, and speculated that plants produce them to limit competition for scarce water supplies during dry times.

These airborne oils combine with other compounds to produce the smell. In moist, forested areas in particular, a common substance is geosmin, a chemical produced by a soil-dwelling bacteria known as actinomycetes. The bacteria secrete the compound when they produce spores, then the force of rain landing on the ground sends these spores up into the air, and the moist air conveys the chemical into our noses.

“It’s a very pleasant aroma, sort of a musky smell,” soil specialist Bill Ypsilantis told NPR during an interview on the topic. “You’ll also smell that when you are in your garden and you’re turning over your soil.”

Because these bacteria thrive in wet conditions and produce spores during dry spells, the smell of geosmin is often most pronounced when it rains for the first time in a while, because the largest supply of spores has collected in the soil. Studies have revealed that the human nose is extremely sensitive to geosmin in particular—some people can detect it at concentrations as low as 5 parts per trillion. (Coincidentally, it’s also responsible for the distinctively earthy taste in beets.)

Ozone—O_3, the molecule made up of three oxygen atoms bonded together—also plays a role in the smell, especially after thunderstorms. A lightning bolt’s electrical charge can split oxygen and nitrogen molecules in the atmosphere, and they often recombine into nitric oxide (NO), which then interacts with other chemicals in the atmosphere to produce ozone. Sometimes, you can even smell ozone in the air (it has a sharp scent reminiscent of chlorine) before a storm arrives because it can be carried over long distances from high altitudes.

But apart from the specific chemicals responsible, there’s also the deeper question of why we find the smell of rain pleasant in the first place. Some scientists have speculated that it’s a product of evolution.

Anthropologist Diana Young of the University of Queensland in Australia, for example, who studied the culture of Western Australia’s Pitjantjatjara people, has observed that they associate the smell of rain with the color green, hinting at the deep-seated link between a season’s first rain and the expectation of growth and associated game animals, both crucial for their diet. She calls this “cultural synesthesia”—the blending of different sensory experiences on a society-wide scale due to evolutionary history.

It’s not a major leap to imagine how other cultures might similarly have positive associations of rain embedded in their collective consciousness—humans around the world, after all, require either plants or animals to eat, and both are more plentiful in rainy times than during drought. If this hypothesis is correct, then the next time you relish the scent of fresh rain, think of it as a cultural imprint, derived from your ancestors.

A handsome tokay gecko. Photo: Ethan Knapp and Alyssa Stark

Anyone who lives in or has visited a tropical country is likely familiar with the chipper chirping of the gecko. These friendly little lizards inhabit homes and jungles stretching from Indonesia to Tanzania to the Dominican Republic. They emerge after sunset, taking advantage of their night vision eyesight—which is 350 times more powerful than a human’s—and are welcome guests in homes and hotels since they gobble up mosquitoes and other insect pests.

In addition to the locals, scientists also love these colorful lizards. Geckos possess the unique ability among lizards to run up flat walls and scamper across ceilings, even if the surface is very smooth. Researchers have been puzzling over this ability for years, and dozens of labs have tested gecko adhesion in the hopes of harnessing this superpower for potential use in everything from robotics to space technology to medicine to “gecko tape.”

Gecko toes, it turns out, contain hair-like structures that form a multicontact interface, meaning geckos grip with thousands of tiny adhesive structures rather than what appears to be a single uniform foot.

Gaps remain, however, in researchers’ understanding of how gecko feet interact with surfaces in their natural environment, especially in dry versus wet conditions. Scientists know that gecko toe pads are superhydrophobic, or water repelling, yet geckos lose their ability to cling to glass when it becomes wet. Why don’t they just repel the water and cling to the glass surface below? Similarly, scientists wonder how geckos deal with wet leaves in the forest during rain storms.

A new paper published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences investigates these mysteries. The authors decided to test gecko grip on a range of wet and dry materials that both attract and repel water. To perform their experiments, they outfitted six tokay geckos with gecko-sized harnesses. They placed the geckos onto four different types of materials, such as glass, plastic and a substance designed to mimic waxy tropical leaves. After giving the lizards some time to adjust to their new surroundings, the researchers applied a uniform tugging pressure onto the geckos’ harnesses, pulling in the opposite direction of where the animals were walking. Eventually, the geckos could cling no longer and lost their grip. This allowed the team to measure the adhesive force required to displace the animals. They repeated the same experiments under very wet conditions, too.

The authors found that materials that are more “wettable”—an indication of the degree to which a surface attracts water molecules—the less force it took to disrupt the clinging geckos’ grips. Glass had the highest wettability of the surfaces the researchers tested, and geckos easily slipped from wet glass compared to dry glass. When that material gets wet, water forms a thin, attractive film that prevents the gecko’s tiny toe hairs from coming into contact with the surface.

The low wettability properties of waxy leaves, on the other hand, allow geckos to establish a sturdy grip, even in rain storms, because leaves actively repel water. Geckos performed equally well in wet and dry conditions on the leaf-mimicking surface, the researchers found. 

How the geckos interact with surfaces depends upon a thermodynamic theory of adhesion, the authors conclude. These features are dictated by Van der Waals force, or the sum of attractive and repulsive interactions between gecko toes and the characteristics of the surfaces they come into contact with. So long as those attractive forces jibe, geckos are in luck for getting a grip on whatever surface they come into contact with, regardless of whether it’s wet or dry.

Using our whole-animal adhesion results, we found that wet surfaces that are even weakly [water repulsive] allow the gecko adhesive system to remain functional for clinging and likely locomotion as well.

Our findings suggest a level of versatility in the gecko adhesive system that previously was not accounted for and calls into question interesting evolutionary, ecological, and behavioral predictions.

In addition to shedding light on how gecko adaptations help the lizards cope with their natural environment, the authors think their findings may contribute to designing new synthetic gecko robots that may overcome real-life geckos’ wet glass Achilles’ heel, useful perhaps for cleaning skyscraper windows, spying on suspected terrorists, or simply changing a hard-to-reach light bulb.

Polar bear-brown bear hybrids like this pair at Germany’s Osnabrück Zoo are becoming more common as melting sea ice forces the two species to cross paths. Photo by Corradox/Wikimedia Commons

Scientists and science writers have created catchy monikers for hybrid species, much the way tabloid writers merge the names of celebrity couples (Kimye, Brangelina, anyone?). Lions and tigers make ligers. Narwhals meet beluga whales in the form of narlugas. And pizzlies and grolar bears are a cross between polar bears and grizzlies. In coming years, their creativity may get maxed out to meet an expected spike in the number of hybrids. A driving force? Climate change. 

A new study published in the journal PLOS Genetics showed that there’s a historic precedent for cross-breeding among polar bears and brown bears–we’ll jump on the bandwagon and call them brolar bears. The researchers also asserted that such hybridization is currently occurring at an accelerated clip. As sea ice melts, polar bears are forced ashore to an Arctic habitat that’s increasingly hospitable to brown bears. There have been recent sightings in Canada of the resulting mixed-breed animals, which have coloring anomalies such as muddy-looking snouts and dark stripes down their backs, along with the big heads and humped backs typical of brown bears.

As it turns out, climate-change-induced hybridization extends well beyond bears. A 2010 study published in the journal Nature listed 34 possible and actual climate-change-induced hybridizations (PDF) of Arctic and near-Arctic marine mammals–a group that has maintained a relatively consistent number of chromosomes over time, making them particularly primed for hybridization. Here are some highlights from this list, along with some more recent discoveries. 

In 2009, a bowhead-right-whale hybrid was spotted in the Bering Sea by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) National Marine Mammal Laboratory. Right whales, which typically hail from the North Pacific and North Atlantic, will increasingly be migrating north into the Arctic Ocean, the domain of bowheads, as a result of climate change–and co-mingling their DNA. The authors of the Nature study determined that “[d]iminishing ice will encourage species overlap.”

The narluga has a very big head, according to the scientists who found one in West Greenland. Its snout and lower jaw were particularly burly, and its teeth shared some similarities with both narwhals and belugas. Both species, which form a whale family called monodontidae, live in the Arctic Ocean and hunters have reported seeing more whales of similar stature in the region.

Harbor and Dall’s porpoises have already been mixing it up off the coast of British Columbia, and given that harbor porpoises are likely to keep moving north from the temperate seas of the North Atlantic and North Pacific into the home waters of the Dall’s, the trend is expected to continue. (Click here to see rare photos of the hybrid porpoise.)

Scientists in Ontario, Canada, are investigating inter-breeding between southern and northern flying squirrels as the southern rodents push into northern habitats. The hybrid squirrels have the stature of the southern species and the belly coloring of the northern one. The video below details the research.

Hybrid species often suffer from infertility, but some of these cross-breeds are having success at procreating. For example, researchers recently discovered the offspring of a female pizzly and a male grizzly bear (a subspecies of the brown bear) in Canada’s Northwest Territories. Despite cases like these, scientists are debating whether all of this hybridization is healthy. “Is this going to be a problem for the long-term existence of parental species? Are they going to merge into one big hybrid population?” asked University of California, Berkeley evolutionary biologist Jim Patton in an interview.

In the case of inter-bred polar bears, the concern is that the changing climate will be more welcoming to brown bears, and that while inter-species mating at first might appear to be an adaptive technique for polar bears, it could end up spelling their demise in all ways except cellular structure–much the way Neanderthals were folded into the human gene pool thanks to early humans in Europe more than 47,000 years ago.

Rare and endangered species are particularly vulnerable to the pitfalls of hybridization, according to the authors of the Nature study. “As more isolated populations and species come into contact, they will mate, hybrids will form and rare species are likely to go extinct,” they wrote. “As the genomes of species become mixed, adaptive gene combinations will be lost.”

Such is likely the case with the narluga. Scientists determined the animal’s lack of a tusk is a liability because the tusk is a measure of the narwhal’s breeding prowess. And a pizzly living at a German zoo showed seal-hunting tendencies, but lacked the swimming prowess of polar bears.

As Patton pointed out, it will be many years until we know the full consequences of hybridization. “We’re only going to find out in hindsight,” he said. But that’s not a reason to be complacent, according to the Nature authors, who called for the monitoring of at-risk species. “The rapid disappearance of sea ice,” they wrote, “leaves little time to lose.”

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A model of a giant squid versus sperm whale. Photo taken at the American Museum of Natural History by Mike Goren from New York

For centuries, monsters of the deep sea captivated the imagination of the public and terrified explorers–none more so than the many-tentacled kraken. In 13th century Icelandic sagas, the Vikings wrote of a terrifying monster that “swallows both men and ships and whales and everything that it can reach.” Eighteenth century accounts from Europe describe arms emerging from the ocean that could pull down the mightiest ships, attached to bodies the size of floating islands.

Today, we’re fairly confident that a tentacled beast will not emerge from the depths to swallow up a cruise ship, but the enduring allure of such creatures lingers. None of the ocean’s massive animals, perhaps, are as intriguing as the giant squid.

Now, scientists have come one step closer to unraveling the mysteries behind this rare animal. As it turns out, contrary to some squid enthusiasts’ former hypothesis, all giant squid belong to a single species. What’s more, those animals are extremely similar genetically.

To arrive at these findings, researchers from the University of Copenhagen’s Natural History Museum of Denmark along with collaborators from 7 other countries genetically analyzed bits and pieces of 43 of the animals–which can grow more than 40 feet long and weigh nearly 2,000 pounds–recovered from all over the world.

Photo by Winkelmann et. al.

Their results indicated that, unlike most marine animals, giant squid harbor almost no genetic diversity. Remarkably, individuals as far apart as Florida and Japan, from a statistical standpoint, shared almost the same DNA. The giant squid’s genetic diversity turned out to be 44 times lower than the Humboldt squid, another large species, and seven times lower than the diversity of a population of oval squids living in a restricted area and thus prone to inbreeding. In fact, the giant squid’s diversity was lower than all other measured oceanic species, save the basking shark, which scientists believe recently underwent a severe population bottleneck in which most animals died and only a few individuals survived and repopulated the species.

The researchers can only speculate about this finding’s underlying reasons–the giant squid’s genetic data alone cannot provide a plausible explanation. Perhaps something about the giant squid makes it advantageous to cull mutations from its genome? Alternatively, the animals may have undergone a recent bottleneck, similar to what happened to the basking sharks, meaning that all giant squid following that event are closely related. Or perhaps a few foundered squid somehow wandered in new stretches of ocean, so when they populated these new habitats their offspring shared the same squid family tree. The short answer, however, is that the researchers simply do not know.

“We cannot offer a satisfactory explanation for the low diversity, and this requires future studies to resolve,” they write in a paper published this week in Proceedings of the Royal Society B.

This has been a big year for giant squid. In January, a Japanese team released the first footage of a giant squid interacting in its natural environment. Yet much still remains to be learned about these enigmatic creatures. For example, researchers still have no idea how large of a range the adult squid patrol, how long they live, how quickly they grow and whether problems such as climate change affect their populations.

For the imagination’s sake, however, perhaps it’s best if some mysteries endure.

“Despite our findings, I have no doubt that these myths and legends will continue to get today’s children to open their eyes up–so they will be just as big as the real giant squid is equipped with to navigate the depths,” said lead researcher Tom Gilbert in a statement. 

The hole in the top of this 100,000-year-old skull from China, researchers say, reflects genetic mutations that result from inbreeding. Image via PLOS ONE/Wu et. al.

In 2010, the surprising discovery that Neanderthals likely crossbred with our ancestors tens of thousands of years ago generated headlines around the world.

Now, we have a new finding about the sex lives of early Homo sapiens: It looks like they engaged in some inbreeding as well.

That is the conclusion of anthropologist Erik Trinkhaus of Washington University in St. Louis and Xiu-Jie Wu and Song Xing of the Chinese Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology, based on a fractured 100,000-year-old skull excavated from China’s Nihewan Basin. Their finding, published yesterday in PLOS ONE, is that the skull shows evidence of an unusual genetic mutation that is likely the result of high levels of inbreeding.

The researchers used CT scanning and 3D modeling to join together for the first time the 5 pieces of the fractured skull—known as Xujiayao 11, named for the site where it was found back in 1977—and realized that it exhibited an unusual deformity. When the pieces are combined, they leave a hole on the crown of the skull, but there is no evidence that the fracture was caused by a traumatic injury or disease. As a result, they consider it most likely that the hole is a defect known as an enlarged parietal foramen.

The researchers use CT scans and 3D modeling to piece together the fractured skull for the first time. Image via PLOS ONE/Wu et. al.

Nowadays, this hole is mostly found in people with a particular pair of genetic mutations on chromosomes 5 and 11—most often a consequence of inbreeding—and occurs in about 1 of 25,000 live births. The mutation interferes with bone formation in the skull over the first five months of an infant’s life, when the pieces of the skull are supposed to fuse together to cover up the “soft spot.”

Given the tiny sample size of human skulls this old and the fact that similar kinds of genetic abnormalities have been seen so often in other prehistoric skulls—the researchers count 22 individuals with skull deformities discovered from this era—Trinkhaus thinks the simplest explanation is that small and unstable human populations forced our ancestors to inbreed.

If no inbreeding occurred, “the probability of finding one of these abnormalities in the small available sample of human fossils is very low, and the cumulative probability of finding so many is exceedingly small,” he said in a press statement. “The presence of the Xujiayao and other Pleistocene [2.6 million to 12,000 years ago] human abnormalities therefore suggests unusual population dynamics, most likely from high levels of inbreeding and local population instability.”

Such inbreeding was likely inevitable, given that most of humanity likely lived in small, isolated populations for most of our species’ evolution. For example, some scientists believe that an earlier population bottleneck that predated this skull may have driven the worldwide human population to as low as 2,000 individuals, at times making inbreeding a necessity. Our ancestors certainly didn’t understand the importance of genetic diversity and the dangerous consequences of inbreeding. But with such a scant population, the survival of our species might actually have depended on our ancient grandmothers procreating with their male relatives.

The good news? The researchers say that the genetic deformity preserved in this skull as a result of inbreeding may not have been too detrimental for this individual. Normally, it’s linked with major cognitive problems, but that’s doubtful in this case, given the demanding conditions of surviving in the Pleistocene. This prehistoric human appears to have survived to a ripe old age—which, in those days, probably means the individual lived into his or her thirties.

A fossil of a prehistoric bird from the enantiornithine genus shows feathers on its hind legs—evidence of an extra pair of wings. Courtesy of Xiaoting Zheng et al/Science

Roughly 150 million years ago, birds began to evolve. The winged creatures we see in the skies today descended from a group of dinosaurs called theropods, which included tyrannosaurs, during a 54-million-year chunk of time known as the Jurassic period. Why the ability to fly evolved in some species is a difficult question to answer, but scientists agree that wings came to be because they must have been useful: they might have helped land-based animals leap into the air, or helped gliding creatures who flapped their arms produce thrust.

As researchers continue to probe the origin of flight, studies of fossils have shown that theropods–particularly coelurosaurian dinosaurs, which closely resemble modern birds—had large feathers on both their fore limbs and hind limbs. However, extensive evidence for these leg feathers didn’t exist in the earliest birds. But now, a new examination of fossils reported today in the journal Science reveals several examples of this four-winged anatomy in modern birds’ oldest common ancestors.

Modern birds have two types of feathers: vaned feathers that cover the outside of the body, and the down feathers that grow underneath them. Researchers studying the approximately 120 million-year-old fossils of 11 primitive birds from the Shandong Tianyu Museum of Natural History in China found that one type of vaned plumage, also known as pennaceous feathers, was neatly preserved in skeletal fossils of these specimens, along each creatures’ hind limbs. After this find, the researchers must have been flying high: The feathers of birds’ wings, known as flight feathers, are long, stiff and asymmetrically shaped pennaceous feathers, similar to those found in the fossils. When fanned together, pennaceous feathers form the broad surfaces of birds’ wingspans—without these surfaces, birds cannot stay aloft.

Pennaceous feathers, which are composed of many flattened barbs, existed in some winged dinosaurs. Finding them on the hind legs of early birds suggests that before birds used two wings to fly, they may have depended on four. Over millions of years, however, birds gradually lost the feathers on this extra set of wings.

The study adds to existing theories that suggest the first birds flew with four wings. Examination of a primitive bird fossil from the Archaeopteryx genus in 2004 revealed long feathers on the animal’s back and legs, which would have aided its gliding ability. Two years later, another study of the crow-sized animal, which lived about 150 million years ago, reported that the prehistoric bird’s feathers resembled those on modern birds’ flight wings.

One of the more complete skeletons examined in today’s study actually showed hind-limb pennaceous feathers along the bone of each leg. The longest feather stretched almost two inches, which is remarkable considering that the legs they covered were between one inch and two and a half inches long. In fact, specimens from a group of birds called Enantiornithes, which externally resemble modern birds, showed symmetrically paired large feathers preserved along their hind leg bones. Such feather arrangement is present in modern birds’ wings.

Researchers speculate that the second set of wings might have provided extra lift or created drag in the air. They might also have helped birds maneuver their airborne bodies.

If these hind wings indeed served a functional purpose in fight, they will earn an important place in bird evolution. Bird movement is characterized by a combination of feathered arms for flight and legs for walking on land. This study suggests that if walking legs, present in birds today, developed after these feathered hind legs, then the loss of feathers on the back legs—and thus an extra pair of wings—reflects a period of change during which the arms became specialized for flight and the legs, for locomotion.

Today, leg feathers are less well developed than wing feathers—they are usually much smaller and fluffy—and they serve as protection and insulation for the leg. These fluffy bits are sparse too—instead, the legs are covered in scales, which form only if feather growth is inhibited. Studies of modern birds show how this works. As chicks develop from embryos and grow into adults, feathered legs can be transformed into scaled legs, or vice versa, by altering how certain genes are expressed.

The recent revelation about feathers on birds’ hind legs suggest that a similar genetic, and more permanent, change might have occurred early in bird evolution, according to lead researchers. This shift triggered the loss of birds’ hind wings, pushing the creatures down an evolutionary path that would allow them to fly with just two.

A Neanderthal’s skull (right) was larger than a human’s (left) and had a similar inner volume for mental capacity, but new research indicates less of it was devoted to higher-order thinking. Image via Wikimedia Commons/DrMikeBaxter

Neanderthals never invented written language, developed agriculture or progressed past the Stone Age. At the same time, they had brains just as big in volume as modern humans’. The question of why we Homo sapiens are significantly more intelligent than the similarly big-brained Neanderthals—and why we survived and proliferated while they went extinct—has puzzled scientists for some time.

Now, a new study by Oxford researchers provides evidence for a novel explanation. As they detail in a paper published today in the Proceedings of the Royal Society B, a greater percentage of the Neanderthal brain seems to have been devoted to vision and control of their larger bodies, leaving less mental real estate for higher thinking and social interactions.

The research team, led by Eiluned Pearce, came to the finding by comparing the skulls of 13 Neanderthals who lived 27,000 to 75,000 years ago to 32 human skulls from the same era. In contrast to previous studies, which merely measured the interior of Neanderthal skulls to arrive at a brain volume, the researchers attempted to come to a “corrected” volume, which would account for the fact that the Neanderthals’ brains were in control of rather differently-proportioned bodies than ours ancestors’ brains were.

A replica of the La Ferrassie 1 Neanderthal skull, the largest and most complete Neanderthal skull ever found. Image via the Natural History Museum London

One of the easiest differences to quantify, they found, was the size of the visual cortex—the part of the brain responsible for interpreting visual information. In primates, the volume of this area is roughly proportional to the size of the animal’s eyes, so by measuring the Neanderthals’ eye sockets, they could get a decent approximation of their the visual cortex as well. The Neanderthals, it turns out, had much larger eyes than ancient humans. The researchers speculate that this could be because they evolved exclusively in Europe, which is of higher latitude (and thus has poorer light conditions) than Africa, where H. sapiens evolved.

Along with eyes, Neanderthals had significantly larger bodies than humans, with wider shoulders, thicker bones and a more robust build overall. To account for this difference, the researchers drew upon previous research into the estimated body masses of the skeletons found with these skulls and of other Neanderthals. In primates, the amount of brain capacity devoted to body control is also proportionate to body size, so the scientists were able to calculate roughly how much of the Neanderthals’ brains were assigned to this task.

After correcting for these differences, the research team found that the amount of brain volume left over for other tasks—in other words, the mental capacity not devoted to seeing the world or moving the body—was significantly smaller for Neanderthals than for ancient H. sapiens. Although the average raw brain volumes of the two groups studied were practically identical (1473.84 cubic centimeters for humans versus 1473.46 for Neanderthals), the average “corrected” Neanderthal brain volume was just 1133.98 cubic centimeters, compared to 1332.41 for the humans.

This divergence in mental capacity for higher cognition and social networking, the researcher argue, could have led to the wildly different fates of H. sapiens and Neanderthals. “Having less brain available to manage the social world has profound implications for the Neanderthals’ ability to maintain extended trading networks,” Robin Dunbar, one of the co-authors, said in a press statement. “[They] are likely also to have resulted in less well developed material culture—which, between them, may have left them more exposed than modern humans when facing the ecological challenges of the Ice Ages.”

Previous studies have also suggested that the internal organization of Neanderthal brains differed significantly from ours. For example, a 2010 project used computerized 3D modeling and Neanderthal skulls of varying ages to find that their brains developed at different rates over the course of an individual’s adolescence as compared to human brains despite comparable brain volumes.

The overall explanation for why Neanderthals went extinct while we survived, of course, is more complicated. Emerging evidence points to the idea that Neaderthals were smarter than previously thought, though perhaps not smart enough to outmaneuver humans for resources. But not all of them had to—in another major 2010 discovery,a team of researchers compared human and Neanderthal genomes and found evidence that our ancestors in Eurasia may have interbred with Neanderthals, preserving a few of their genes amidst our present-day DNA.

Apart from the offspring of a small number of rare interbreeding events, though, the Neanderthals did die out. Their brains might have been just as big as ours, but ours might have been better at a few key tasks–those involved in building social bonds in particular—allowing us to survive the most recent glacial period while the Neanderthals expired.

A new DNA analysis confirms that this ancient skull, found in a Siberian cave, was an early ancestor of man’s best friend. Image via PLOS ONE/Ovodov et. al.

In 1975, a team of Russian archaeologists announced that they’d made a remarkable find: From a cave in the Altai Mountains of Siberia, they’d unearthed a 33,000-year-old fossil skull that resembled a wolf. In 2011, an anatomical analysis suggested that the fossil was a hybrid of a wolf (with its large teeth) and a dog (with its shortened snout), raising the possibility that it was a partly domesticated wolf—in other words, one of the oldest ancestors of the modern dog ever discovered.

At the time, though, DNA analysis was needed to make certain that the fossil came from an ancestor of man’s best friend. A paper published today in the journal PLOS ONE confirms that fact, indicating that the creature was more closely related to modern dogs than wolves, and forcing scientists to reconsider the dog’s evolutionary family tree.

A top view of the skull. Image via PLOS ONE/Ovodov et. al.

A bottom view of the skull. Image via PLOS ONE/Ovodov et. al.

To come to the finding, a team led by Anna Druzhkova of the Russian Academy of Sciences sequenced mitochondrial DNA taken from one of the skull’s teeth. This type of genetic material comes from an organelle inside each cell called the mitochondria, which has a distinct type of DNA that’s separate from the cell’s normal chromosomes. For each individual, mitochondrial DNA is inherited directly from one’s mother without any modifications and thus remains relatively constant over generations, except for the gradual effect of mutations. Similarities found in such DNA collected from various animals helps scientists understand the evolutionary relationships between species.

The research team compared their sample of mitochondrial DNA from the ancient skull with samples from 70 different modern breeds of dog, along with 30 different wolf and 4 different coyote DNA samples. Their analysis found that the fossil’s DNA didn’t match any of the other samples perfectly, but most closely resembled the modern dog breeds, sharing the most similarities with Tibetian Mastiffs, Newfoundlands and Siberian Huskies in particular.

Scientists know that dogs evolved as a result of the domestication of wolves, but the specific time and location of this domestication is still poorly understood—and this discovery further complicates that picture. Most experts agree that dogs predate the invention of agriculture (which happened roughly 10,000 years ago), but some say that domestication may have occurred as long as 100,000 years ago.

This finding—and the previous radiocarbon dating of the skull which established its age—set that event to at least 33,000 years ago. However, dogs may have been domesticated from wolves multiple times, and this breed of Siberian dog may have actually gone extinct, rather than serving as an ancestor for modern dogs. Archaeological evidence indicates that, with the onset of the last glacial maximum (around 26,000 years ago), humans in this area of Siberia may have stopped domesticating dogs, maybe due to food scarcity. In that case, an independent domestication elsewhere may have led to the dogs of today.

On the other hand, domestication in the vicinity of the Altai Mountains, as evidenced by this finding, may have led to the geographic spread of dogs elsewhere in Asia and Europe, even if they died out in Siberia. Previously, many have suggested that the first domestication occurred in the Middle East or East Asia, but this skull could force scientists to rethink their theories. The research team behind the analysis notes that finding more ancient dog remains will help us in putting together the puzzle.

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A male human head louse. Photo by Flickr user Gilles San Martin

Parasites have been around for more than 270 million years. Around 25 million years ago, lice joined the blood-sucking party and invaded the hair of ancient primates. When the first members of Homo arrived on the scene around 2.5 million years ago, lice took advantage of the new great ape on the block for better satisfying its digestive needs. As a new genetic analysis published today in PLoS One shows, mining these parasites’ genomes can lend clues for understanding the migration patterns of these early humans.

The human louse, Pediculus humanus, is a single species yet members fall into two distinct camps: head and clothing lice–the invention of clothing likely put this divide into motion. Hundreds of millions of head lice infestations occur each year around the world, most of them plaguing school-aged children. Each year in the United States alone, lice invade the braids and ponytails of an esimtated 6 to 12 million kids between the ages of 3 to 11. Clothing lice, on the other hand, usually infect the homeless or people confined to refugee camps. Clothing lice–also referred to as body lice–are less prevalent but potentially more serious because they can serve as vectors for diseases such as typhus, trench fever and relapsing fever.

Researchers have studied the genetic diversity of head and clothing lice in the past, but scientists from the Florida Museum of Natural History at the University of Florida decided to tap even deeper into the parasites’ genome, identifing new sequences of DNA that could be used as targets for tracking lice evolution through time and space. From these efforts, they found 15 new molecular markers, called microsatellite loci, which could help uncover the genetic structure and breeding history behind different lice populations–and potentially their corresponding humans of choice.

Using those genetic signals, they analyzed the genotypes of 93 human lice taken for 11 different sites around the globe, including North America, Cambodia, Norway, Honduras, the UK and Nepal, among others. They collected lice from homeless shelters, orphanages and lice eradication facilities.

Inbreeding, it turned out, is common in human lice around the world. Lice in New York City shared the most genetic similarities, pointing to the highest levels on inbreeding from the study samples. Clothing lice tended to have more diversity than head lice, perhaps due to an inadvertent bottlenecking of the head lice population due to high levels of insecticides those parasites are regularly exposed to. As a result of repeated run-ins with anti-lice shampoos and sprays, only the heartiest pests would survive, restraining the overall diversity of the population. Insecticide resistance is a common problem in head lice, but less of an issue with clothing lice. The authors identified one possible gene that may be responsible for much of the head louse’s drug resistance, though further studies will be needed to confirm that hunch. 

The researchers also analyzed lice diversity to see how it relates to human migration. They found four distinct genetic clusters of lice: in clothing lice from Canada, in head lice from North America and Europe, in head lice from Honduras and in all Asian lice.

Here’s the authors present a map of lice genetic diversity. The colored circles indicate sampling sites, with the different colors referring to the major genetic clusters the researchers identified. The grey flowing arrows indicate proposed migrations of modern humans throughout history, and the colored arrows represent the hypothetical co-migration of humans and lice.

Photo from Ascunce et al., PLoS One

How this geographic structure reflects human migration, they write, will require more sampling. For now, they can only speculate about the implications:

Although preliminary, our study suggests that the Central America-Asian cluster is mirroring the (human host) colonization of the New World if Central American lice were of Native American origin and Asia was the source population for the first people of the Americas as has been suggested. The USA head louse population might be of European decent, explaining its clustering with lice from Europe. Within the New World, the major difference between USA and Honduras may reflect the history of the two major human settlements of the New World: the first peopling of America and the European colonization after Columbus.

Eventually, genetic markers in lice could help us understand interactions between archaic hominids and our modern human ancestors, perhaps answering questions such as whether or not Homo sapiens met with ancient relatives in Asia or Africa besides Homo neanderthalensis. Several kinds of louse haplotypes, or groups of DNA sequences that are transmitted together, exist. The first type originated in Africa, where its genetic signature is strongest. A second type turns up in the New World, Europe and Australia, but not in Africa, suggesting that it may have evolved first in a different Homo species whose base was in Eurasia rather than Africa. If true, then genetic analysis may give us a time period for when humans and other Homo groups for came into contact. And if they interacted close enough to exchange lice, perhaps they even mated, the researchers speculate.

So not only can the genetic structure of parasite populations help us predict how infections spread and where humans migrated, it may give insight into the sex-lives of our most ancient ancestors.