Sunday 29 January 2012

Goats


I briefly mentioned goats in my last post, in their capacity as surrogate spiders. (Researchers have genetically engineered goats to produce spider silk protein in their milk.) I thought I would develop the topic a bit, since they seem to crop up in all sorts of unlikely places.


GOAT FACTS
A male goat is called a billy or a buck. A female is called a nanny or a doe.

A buck will urinate on his forelegs and face during mating season. Does find this irresistible.

Apparently, goats are “sensitive and intelligent” animals, for a given value of sensitive and intelligent. According to this article, animal intelligence is very hard to define, but abstract thinking, problem-solving, reasoning, language, and the capacity for complex emotion appear to play important roles.

Goats, in common with many other hoofed animals, kangaroos, and, curiously, octopuses, have eyes with horizontal, rectangular pupils. This gives them a visual field of almost 360 degrees.


Life expectancy for breeding does is 11-12 years. However, they can live up to 18 years if they are retired from breeding when they are about 10.
Bucks only live around 8-10 years, because going into rut (the crazed mating period – not a uniquely human phenomenon) takes a lot out of them.

They have no upper front teeth.

People who are sensitive to cow’s milk can often tolerate goat’s milk.

GOATS ON BUSES
Anyone who has ever spent any amount of time in Africa will be familiar with sights like this:



Well, how would you get your goats from A to B?

MEN WHO STARE AT GOATS
A wacky film about the “Jedi Knight” branch of the US army. (The film stars Ewan McGregor – you may spot the unsubtle but funny in-joke there.) The Jedi Knights – George Clooney and his buddies – develop their psychic abilities for military use, and the definitive test is being able to kill a goat by staring at it. The scene where a goat actually drops down dead is, I am sorry to say, hilarious.



GOATS’ NAMES
From Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett:
Goats did have names for themselves, she well knew; there was "goat who is my kid", "goat who is my mother", "goat who is herd leader", and half a dozen other names, not least of which was "goat who is this goat." They had a complicated herd system and four stomachs and a digestive system that sounded very busy on still nights, and Granny had always felt that calling all this names like Buttercup was an insult to a noble animal.

SEPARATING THE SHEEP FROM THE GOATS
This website gives a very helpful guide. Among its top tips are:
-          The most obvious indication of whether an animal is a sheep or a goat is that is that a sheep’s tail hangs down while a goat’s tail goes up, unless it is sick or in distress. (I have to say this suprises me somewhat, since I always thought the most obvious indication was that sheep look like clouds with legs, while goats look like goats.)
-          Sheep (Ovis Aries) have 54 chromosomes while goats (Capra Hircus) have 60.
-          Occasionally (but only very occasionally), they interbreed. The offspring are not generally fertile.
-          Sheep have a groove on their upper lip. Goats do not.
-          Goats generally have horns. Sheep tend not to, but when they do, the horns are curlier than sheep’s.

GRATUITOUS CUTE PICURE OF BABY SHEEP AND BABY GOAT

PET NANNY GOATS
When I was little, I had a book called The Children’s Encyclopedia, which used to belong to my grandmother. I remember two things from it:

(1)    Short picture stories, captioned in French, with word-for-word English translations and then the translations rephrased into proper English. (At the time, I didn’t quite understand the point of the exercise, and smirked at what I thought was the outdatedness of “We see some droll of beds” and “The cakes are good but I like better the ices”.)
(2)    How to keep a nanny goat as a pet. Apparently, you have to build her a house and give her lots of grass to eat, and she will reward you with milk and affection.


GOATS IN TREES
I had the fortune recently to see a calendar full of pictures like this:


FAINTING GOATS
This breed of goat suffers from Thomsen’s Disease, meaning the goat’s muscles tense up and it keels over when startled. In the wild, this characteristic would have been done away with long ago – survival of the fittest, and all that – but in the agricultural context, it is actively bred in. Why?

1)      Because the constant tensing up makes the muscles bulkier and results in a higher meat-to-fat ratio, which makes for better meat.
2)      Because it stops the goats escaping, because every time they try to climb or jump over the fence, they faint.
3)      Because in the past, fainting goats accompanied herds of sheep. If a wolf or coyote attacked, the goat would keel over and get eaten, while the sheep escaped.
4)      Because it’s funny. It really is. Look at this video:

SO, WHAT HAVE WE LEARNT?
1)      Urinating on your legs and face makes you irresistible.

2)      I have just read the above sentence again, and I’m sure something is wrong with it, but I can’t work out what.
3)      Goats have a high IQ and rectangular pupils.
4)      A goat will never walk when it can take the bus.
5)      Goats keeling over are, unfortunately, a very funny sight.
6)      Both sheep and goats have more chromosomes than you.
7)      Never name a goat Buttercup.
8)      There is no reason to stand on the ground when you can stand on a tree.
9)      Never underestimate a goat.


SOURCES
(As previously, feel free to click on some of these links. They are very interesting.)

Saturday 21 January 2012

Spiders



The other day, I walked into a dark room, holding a pair of shoes, and switched on the light as I went through the doorway. I then proceeded to leap a metre into the air and emit a bloodcurdling shriek, because hanging from the shoes, swinging alarmingly close to my body, was an amused-looking spider. It had obviously been hanging in the darkened doorway, waiting to ambush me as I walked through.

I mention this not because it was an unusual occurrence, but precisely because it was not. For several months now, I have been haunted by spiders. It seems that I cannot go into a room without coming face-to-face with one or nearly stepping on one. I was rollerblading recently, and a millisecond before I whizzed past a tree, I suddenly realised I was about to whizz right through a vast, sticky spiderweb, with a big, fat, yellow-and-black spider crouching in the middle of it. Too late. I had whizzed through, and I was trailing a line of spiderweb from my hand, with this monster marching up it towards me. I flapped and flailed, I thrashed and twisted and writhed, and I very nearly lost my balance and ended having my second rollerblading accident. (The first one left me with a broken ankle – but I was a teenager then, and such silliness was pardonable.)

There is a spider that lives in my bedroom. Its station is the corner where the wall meets the ceiling,  and for a long time, I thought it was dead, because it never moved. Then one day, I was rather surprised to find it suspended several centimetres from the ceiling. The next time I looked, it was back at its station. Once in a while, it does that – just hangs for a while, and then goes back – and on rare occasions, it even goes for a walk. I’ll come in to find it thirty centimetres or so to the left. But it always returns to its perch.

I don’t mind its living there. It’s been there for long enough to reassure me that it doesn’t plan to try and crawl into my mouth while I am asleep. (Not that it would. That statistic about eating eight spiders a year in your sleep is a myth. Quite apart from the fact that a spider crawling into your mouth would almost certainly wake you, and you can’t swallow while you’re asleep in any case, why would a spider even try to do that? Would you crawl into a predator’s mouth?)  

My spider-haunting isn’t confined to home territory. They follow me on holiday too. I had a recent holiday disturbed by two spiders – one small and innocuous but clearly looking to get itself dispatched to the big spiderweb in the sky by promenading around the floor in a fearless manner, and one big, ugly one which had in fact managed to get itself thoroughly squashed.

I wish they would leave me alone, but I acknowledge that they need a place to walk around and spin their webs, and if that place happens to be where I’m trying to get on with my life, it’s not their fault. So I don’t kill them. I just cajole them into climbing onto a piece of paper, and then, as they are marching across it, thinking what a very fine surface it is to be walking on, whoops! they find themselves being tossed out a window. I sometimes wonder what they do when they discover that they are outside. Do they go into a blind panic? Do they grieve for their lost home? Do they go looking for friends? Do they just take it in their stride, and accept wherever they are as their new home, and go off to build a new web?

Time for some Spider Facts. (They all come from that great junk heap that is the internet, so feel free to take them as seriously or as lightly as you wish.) I’ll spare you pictures, in case you’re one of those sensitive souls.

1) SPIDER SILK

A)   TYPES
All spiders produce silk, although not all of them weave webs. They can produce up to seven different types of silk, using seven different glands:
1)    Swathing silk, for wrapping and immobilising prey
2)    Egg sac silk, for protecting eggs
3)    Dragline silk (strong), a non-sticky silk, used for parts of the web (so the spider can walk on its web without getting stuck) and as a safety line, in case the spider falls
4)    Dragline silk (weaker) – as above
5)    Attaching silk, used to glue a thread to a surface or to another thread
6)    Sticky silk – core fibres
7)    Sticky silk – outer casing for the parts of the web which will catch prey

B)   REMARKABLE PROPERTIES

Spider silk is extremely tough. Some types of silk are five times stronger than steel of the same diameter – almost as strong as Kevlar, the toughest man-made polymer. It has been suggested that a Boeing 747 could be stopped in flight by a strand of silk as wide as a pencil.

Spider silk is also very elastic, and some types can be stretched to 2-4 times their original length before breaking. 

2) WEB-BUILDING

You know when you walk between two trees, only to find that a spider has spun a web across the gap and you are now swaddled in sticky threads? And then you find yourself wondering how the spider manages to  get from one tree to the other – to lay the foundations, as it were? Well, wonder no more.

The spider does not leap, Spiderman-style, from Tree A to Tree B. Rather, being a resourceful and patient creature, it sits on Tree A and lets down a sticky thread, then waits for the gentle breeze to blow this thread gracefully across to Tree B, where it sticks.

For the rest of the web-building process, I recommend this excellent David Attenborough video.

The spider has to carry out constant maintenance work on its web, because the sticky threads lose their stickiness after a day or so. The spider eats the old threads, so it can recycle the protein.

3) SPIDERGOATS

Researchers have genetically engineered goats to produce silk proteins in their milk. The protein is then extracted and made into a material ten times as strong as steel. Scientists hope one day to develop a way of replacing the keratin in human skin with spider’s silk, which will make the skin bulletproof.
  
4) HUNTING METHODS

a) Fishing
Fishing spiders can walk on water. (Courtesy of surface tension. Don’t bother to try – you’re too heavy.) Video

b) Ant-mimicking
Some spiders take on the appearance and behaviour of ants, so they can move among their prey unnoticed. Video

c) Jumping
Jumping spiders leap at their prey. Video
(I love this introduction to “Jumping Spiders” from About.com:
Can you imagine what it's like to have eight eyes, eight legs, and the ability to jump fifty times your height in distance? If so, then you might have an idea of what it's like to be a jumping spider.

Jumping spiders are charming creatures, which when approached will turn and look at you. If you move, they often follow you with their gaze, changing body angles so as to always keep you well within the sight angle of one of their eight eyes.)

d) Hunting on the ground
Wolf spiders stalk their prey on the ground.

e) Building trapdoors
Trapdoor spiders dig a hole and cover it with a silken lid camouflaged with debris. They lay silken tripwires and sit waiting in the hole, then when lunch walks by, they leap out and grab it. Video

f) Ambushing other spiders in their webs
Portias eat other spiders. They hang around the prey’s web and lure it out either by pretending to be a dead leaf (they look a bit like leaves, and spiders don’t have very good eyesight) or by drumming on the web to create vibrations which mimic those of trapped prey or courting males

g) Camouflaging
Some spiders are coloured to coordinate perfectly with certain flowers. They sit on the petals and wait for some unsuspecting insect to come along. Picture 1 Picture 2

h) Casting silk
Gladiator spiders hang head down, dangling a net. When lunch walks by, they throw the net over it. Video 

Spitting spiders squirt a double thread of silk at their prey, immobilising it.

Bolas spiders release pheromones to attract moths, then hurl sticky silk at them. Video 

5) LUNCH

Once a spider has captured its prey, it injects enzymes into the unfortunate creature’s body, then leaves it to marinade for a while. The enzymes turn the prey’s insides liquid, and the spider then sucks the liquid out, much in the manner of a small child hoovering up a milkshake.

If you are a gentleman spider, you may, to your great chagrin, find yourself becoming lunch for your lady friend after you have seduced her – or even, in a show of shocking bad manners, while you are seducing her. It’s a mutually beneficial business (if not necessarily a whole load of fun) - you’re an excellent source of protein, and by feeding her, you prolong the romance, upping your chances of fatherhood.  

6) THE BIGGEST LOAD OF BS ABOUT SPIDERS I HAVE EVER SEEN

which includes such gems as:
“Most household spiders come from the fact that most people don't properly wash their new clothing after purchase. 90% of clothing purchased at retail stores contain spider eggs laid during shipment”

and

“The most valuable spider is the Kenyan Applecrosser. These elegant spiders actually grow beautiful, near-flawless emeralds on their abdomens.”

SO, WHAT HAVE WE LEARNT?

1) You probably haven’t eaten a spider in your sleep, so stop that tiresome fretting.
2) Jumping spiders are charming creatures. Seriously. And they watch you, which is just unbearably cute.
3) Spider meals are a diverse but always complicated affair, which may be why spiders are not known for their convivial dinner parties.
4) Spider silk, in collaboration with goats, may one day make you bulletproof.
5) David Attenborough is the closest thing to a walking encyclopaedia that you are likely to find.

SOURCES
(I do recommend following some of these links. They are incredibly interesting.)

Wednesday 11 January 2012

The last conundrum

And when all the rest has been negotiated and put to bed, just one question remains. Why did the chicken cross the road? 




More Arabian tales


My first post on this blog was about my experiences with my Saudi Arabian students. I had a lot more to say on the matter, but I was reluctant to let the post grow too long. So here is the second instalment: a collection of anecdotes from the classroom.

THE INDIGNANT GENTLEMAN
I asked the students what differences had particularly struck them between their countries and the UK. Apart from the usual food and weather gripes, there was one very interesting one from a young Saudi man.
“In my country,” he said, “you have to respect women. But here, I was on a bus the other day, and a pregnant woman got on, and nobody let her sit down.”
The British gentleman, it seems, has been relegated to legend. 

THE ADORING SON
We did an exercise (I was going to say a game, but I would never permit something so frivolous in a serious learning environment) in which students had to think of “things which…” [use electricity, are bigger than you, are black and white, etc.]. One of the items was “things which make a noise”, and one guy wrinkled his forehead, put his hands to his ears, and declared, “Children! They make a lot of noise!” He had an 18-month-old daughter and another child on its way, and arrived looking bleary-eyed and vacant most mornings.

As the class finished and everyone was leaving, he informed me, “I have eight brothers and sisters. And my mother is always tired! In the morning, she has to get my little brother ready for school – is he dressed, does he have his bag…? Then my sisters come round with their children, and my mother has to cook for everyone and run around. She is always tired!” 

THE OVERENTHUSIASTIC ITALIAN
As everyone was starting to leave at the end of the class, I heard a commotion and looked up.  The Saudi men were laughing and shouting and wagging their fingers at a 20-year-old Italian boy, who was waving a pack of condoms around.
“You never know with the life!” he was insisting. “You must to be preparred!”

He was the last to leave, and when everyone else had gone, I said to him, “You should be careful what you wave around. These men are very religious.”
“Oh!” he said. “They don’t…?”
“Only if they’re married,” I said.
“You know,” he mused, “once I was in a class with an Egyptian girl, and I do this action to her.” (He mimed hugging someone.) “And she run in bathroom and she cry for half hour! Then my friend say to me, you must not touch the Arabic girls! But I not know!”


THE FATHER WITH THE CREDIT CARD
The first Saudi students I ever had were two young brothers.
“Is there anything I need to know?” I asked the teacher I was inheriting them from. “Anything cultural?”
“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “They’re just kids.”
And they really were. They could have been two little boys from anywhere in the world.

Apparently, a few days earlier, their father had come to pay the fees. He strode in, with an authoritative air, and handed over a glinting credit card.
“Put it all on this,” he instructed. “It has a £10,000 credit limit.”
Hmm. Maybe not from anywhere in the world, on reflection.

In the first lesson with the two boys, we did “family” vocabulary, and I got them to make a string of paper people to represent their family.

“So how many people do we need?” I asked, wanting to know how many times we needed to fold the paper.
They paused and started counting on their fingers.
“Nineteen,” they answered.
Nineteen???” I repeated. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Eight,” they replied.
“And sisters?”
“Six.”
I wondered briefly if perhaps they had not quite got a handle on English numbers yet. Just as I was about to sidetrack into an incidental counting lesson, they explained,  “Our father has two wives”.

JACK SPARROW
I was under the impression that films are not in wide circulation in Saudi Arabia. Certainly, there are no cinemas there, and there are many Saudis who don’t watch films on principle. So imagine my surprise when, under this impression, I was showing flashcards of people to the class, and as I raised a picture of Johnny Depp, one Saudi guy immediately exclaimed, “Oh! Jack Sparrow!” (Jack Sparrow was the character Johnny Depp played in Pirates of the Caribbean.)


DRIVING
This story comes from a colleague who had a Saudi man and a Spanish girl in his class. A fairly heated debate erupted, with the girl decrying ,in a colourful, Latinate sort of way, the injustice of the ban on women’s driving in Saudi Arabia. The man cowered in a slightly terrified fashion behind the desk until the onslaught abated enough for him to plead, “I can explain! I can explain! Please let me explain!”
“Go!” the girl spat. “Explain!”
“We’re not sexist,” the man insisted. “It’s just… It’s just… We can’t let our women drive. It’s not safe.”
“Why not?“ the Spanish girl screeched. “Why is it ‘not safe’?”
“Because,” he explained hesitatingly, “because they can’t see properly. Their vision is restricted by their burqas.”


PARACETEMOL VS. ANTIBIOTICS
We were discussing parts of the body and the various problems that can develop with them, and the word Paracetemol came up.
“When I take my children to the doctor here,” said one man, “he always prescribes Paracetemol. When I take them to the doctor in Saudi Arabia, he prescribes antibiotics.”

I am trying to think for which conditions painkillers and antibiotics might be considered equally valid treatments.



SO, WHAT HAVE WE LEARNT? 
1)      There is a fine line between learning and teaching, and sometimes it gets smudged into oblivion, leaving all parties concerned sitting open-mouthed.
2)      You would do well to give up your seat to a pregnant woman.
3)      Having nine children makes you tired.
4)      You never know with the life. You must to be preparred.
5)      If you have two wives and fourteen children, a £10 000 credit limit can come in handy.
6)      Johnny Depp gets everywhere.
7)      You can’t drive in a burqa.
8)      Paracetemol and antibiotics are interchangeable. 

Tuesday 3 January 2012

Amoebae


This post was originally going to be a two-line account about an amoeba trying to negotiate an obstacle, part of a collection of tales from the natural world. However, within minutes of my starting to write, it had become clear that the humble amoeba deserved considerably more attention than a mere two-line anecdote. So here you go:

WHAT IS AN AMOEBA?

An amoeba (plural amoebae) is a single-celled “shape-shifting” organism.  It moves using temporary projections which it grows, called pseudopods (which literally means “false feet”). It eats by means of phagocytosis, meaning that projections from the cell wrap round the food, sealing it in a bubble called a vacuole, where it is digested. It reproduces via mitosis (cell division).
Phagocytosis

INTELLIGENT AMOEBAE

These little creatures are astonishingly intelligent for a single-celled animal. One study showed that an amoeba was more likely to turn left when its last turn was right, which suggests some sort of memory.

Further evidence of memory was shown in another study. Normally, amoebae slow down when it becomes cold. In the experiment, they started anticipating cold periods by slowing down in advance. When the experimenters stopped the cold snaps, the amoebae still slowed down in each experiment, expecting it to get cold. After a few rounds, they learned that the cold snaps had stopped coming, and they went back to their normal speed.

It seems that slime moulds (which some types of amoeba colonies form) can also find the shortest route through a maze. It is inordinately hard to find videos of this happening from beginning to end, but the following clip is amusing enough. In it, a slime mould goes looking round the maze for food. As it happens, it doesn’t find the food, but if it did, it would eliminate all useless or inefficient paths and just grow along the optimum route.  
Slime mould looking for food in a maze

SLIME MOULDS

Certain types of amoebae form slime moulds. Here is a slime mould story:

THE AMOEBAE’S ODYSSEY

It was a dank, dark day on the forest floor. The amoeba colony had spent weeks frequenting the roots of a magnificent elder tree, doing the things that amoebae do: eating, oozing around, dividing, and deciding whether to turn left or right. But times were hard, and the bacteria, yeasts and protozoa on which the amoebae loved to feast were in short supply.

The hungry amoebae grew more and more miserable, until one day, one amoeba, whom we will call Bill, could stand it no longer.
“I’m hungry!” he wailed, in the wispy amoebic wail of cAMP (cyclic adenosine monophosphate), a chemical signal which his neighbours, whom we will call Alice and Rupert, heard immediately.

Alice and Rupert looked at the starving Bill, pityingly and empathetically. Then they looked at each other. And in unison, they opened let out their own wail: “I'm hungry!”

Their neighbours heard the cry too, and picked it up themselves, and within minutes, the wail was rising up from the entire colony (in waves, since the creatures had to alternate listening with crying, being unable to do both at once). “I'm hungry!” the heart-rending lament went up from a hundred thousand amoebae, frantic in their despair.

As if with a single mind, this profusion of individuals grew pseudopods (temporary legs, remember?) and started making their determined way towards little Bill, wailing all the way. As they reached Bill, they piled up on top of him and around him, more and more of them, until these microscopic creatures had unitedly formed a tower 2 millimetres tall. Unable to support itself any longer, the tower toppled over, and lay, an oblong blob, on the forest floor.
Spirals form in the colony as the amoebae migrate towards the cry

The amoebae, which had heretofore been identical to each other, now started to change, each taking on its own specialised function, and gradually, the oblong blob became a living, multicellular organism – a slug. And the slug moved. It set off on a journey. It left the tree roots, it ventured out across the forest floor, and it sought light.



The slug left a trail of slime in its wake. Some of its cells had taken on the role of sentinels – they patrolled through the slug’s body, looking for pathogens. When they found them, they phagocytised them (engulfed them, remember?), a self-sacrificial act indeed, for from time to time, the slug discarded these cells with the pathogens they contained, throwing them into the trail of slime and leaving them there to perish. There would always be more sentinels. Nobody is indispensable. Least of all you.

Finally, the slug reached a patch of forest floor where the dappled sunlight shone through the leaves high above. There, the slug came to a stop, and an extraordinary thing happened. Some of the cells – about one fifth of them – migrated to the top of the body and began to pile one on top of the other, making not so much a tower this time as a stalk. When the stalk was completed, the rest of the cells climbed up it, and when they reached the summit, they clumped together to form a ball called a fruiting body. In this fruiting body, they took on the form of spores, and from there, they were dispersed by a passing squirrel. They were transported by this unwittingly benevolent creature to their new station at the edge of a puddle. There, they transformed from spores back into amoebae and went on to build a comforting, welcoming home, where they lived a joyous and rewarding life, until the next time the food ran out.



AMOEBIC ALTRUISM

The altruism shown by the amoebae who volunteer themselves for stalk-building duty is very interesting. Hettie is one example of these amoebae. Poor Hettie will not become a spore and will not be whisked off to make a new home in greener pastures. She is destined to stay behind and die a slow, miserable death. But she doesn’t mind. Why? Because she is genetically identical to all the other amoebae in her colony. The only reason she might want to survive is to reproduce – but if her genetically identical colony-mates can escape to safer climes and they can reproduce, then Hettie’s genetic propagation is still ensured. So she sacrifices herself, in an apparently altruistic way, to a greater end.

That is not all there is to the matter of altruism, though. Because sometimes, the colony is not big enough to make a viable slug, and in that case, the “I’m hungry” call is sent out to other strains of amoeba too. Thus two or more colonies pool their resources to build a slug and the subsequent life-saving fruiting body.

What is the risk with this collaborative approach? Well, imagine that you are an amoeba in a neighbouring (and genetically different) colony, and you hear Bill’s “I’m hungry” cry. You and your colony-mates are also peckish, so you mobilise yourselves and go trundling off to your neighbour’s patch to join in the slug-building, food-seeking efforts.

Once stalk-building time arrives, you gather up some of your colony-mates into a huddle and tell them, “Listen. What say we sit back and let them build the stalk? Then, once the stalk is built, we’ll all just scamper up it and escape, and none of us has to get left behind and die.”  

It makes sense, doesn’t it? And yet, for some reason, it doesn’t seem to happen. Researchers managed to engineer some amoebas (called Doris and Arthur) which systematically refused recruitment to stalk-cell duty. As far as this first step to self-preservation went, they were playing their cards right. But then, for reasons known only to Doris and Arthur, they could not, or would not, climb the stalk to join the evacuation vessel that is the fruiting body.

Of course, a single experiment is not conclusive, but it did suggest that perhaps the self-sacrificial stalk-making mechanism has become genetically entangled with the self-preservatory stalk-climbing mechanism, with the result that only amoebae with altruistic tendencies ultimately produce offspring. 

SO, WHAT HAVE WE LEARNT?
Never underestimate an amoeba.


SOURCES