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Freaks of Nature Posting Date: Aug 18 2008 1:43AM Let’s think seriously for a moment about digestion, one of nature’s true miracles. It’s a process by which certain substances move slowly through certain organisms and come out the other side as certain other substances. I think we all understand the basics; the nuances, however, make digestion interesting.
Take dogs, for example. Their digestion is an incomprehensible miracle. My dog Duncan can eat a golf glove – and by “eat” I suppose I mean “swallow” because it comes out the other side less than twenty-four hour later with all its leather, Lycra and Velcro intact, all rolled up into a tube-like creation that, if I was really desperate, I could probably rinse off, soap up, dry and wear for my next round.
A friend’s dog actually ate a can, a whole can, and passed it.
I couldn’t do that. Not that I’ve tried. I just know that any activity that starts with me putting a whole can of tuna in my mouth is not going to end well.
I shouldn’t be surprised at the difference between the abilities of canine digestion and human. After all, any one of my dogs could eat a three-week old Big Mac, with the wrapper and two packets of ketchup after it has been run over six times and covered in sand and the pooch would not feel a thing. If I just smell a Big Mac fresh from the drive-through, I’m not right for three days.
William Shakespeare, who was well known for his knowledge of digestion, wrote, “A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.” So true. Back in the day, a Big Mac was nothing, gastronomically speaking. Now, I’m fragile. I think my digestive abilities are devolving.
Shouldn’t the laws of natural selection mean that my digestive efficiency improves over time? I always thought I was superior to dogs in most ways that matter, but this digestive imbalance has me thinking that things are the other way around. Clearly, a dog is a better digestor. That’s a skill that really comes in handy.
It makes you wonder about other things. Take biting for example. Biting is a potentially useful skill. A good biter can survive many things a weak biter cannot, yet humans are soft biters compared to say pit bulls and badgers. How about jumping? Jumping can come in handy, yet fleas and bunny rabbits kick our asses in the jumping game. Night vision? We suck, raccoons rule. Climbing ability? Every insect on the planet makes us look like chumps. I can’t go straight up my bathroom wall, can you?
Ability to squeeze through small spaces, ability to go outside in the cold without a coat, ability to suffer pain without rolling around on the ground and moaning … all skills that show the great divide between the abilities of we supposedly superior human beings and the supposedly inferior animal kingdom.
In fact, the only clear-cut advantage we have over animals is the size of our heads. Our heads are the giant spherical calling-cards that define our species. Nice thing to hang your hat on, so to speak. I can just hear the conversation around the water cooler at the old Annual Evolution Symposium and Jamboree.
Monkey: He cockroach, what’s new?
Roach: For the last couple of months, I have had the ability to be crushed under a falling armored car, but walk about unscathed.
Monkey: Nice one.
Roach: You’re telling me. You’d think it wouldn’t come in handy much, but it does. I’m always getting crushed under falling armored cars. Feels good to just walk away after that one, I tell you. Can’t wait to pass the ability along to my four billion children.
Monkey: Nice.
Roach: Speaking of nice ones, you hear about the humans?
Monkey: Those creatures with the giant craniums?
Roach: That’s them. Anyway, turns out last year, they evolved something called hi-def television.
Monkey: What the hell’s that?
Roach: Got me, but all I know is that if you locked me in a steel cage match to the death, I’d rather fight a human than a badger.
Humans ... when you think about it, it’s really a miracle we’ve survived this long. |
