Whose Little Clone Are You?Aw, what a cute little rexy!By Ian Shoales According to a feature in the premier issue of Dinosaur Magazine, Jack Horner, a Montana paleontologist who's excavated eight Tyrannosaurus rexes, believes that T. rex was a scavenger, not a hunter. He posits that T. rex couldn't see very well, had teeth made for grinding bones rather than rending flesh, and had a good sense of smell. Factor in the stubby little arms, and Horner says it's obvious that T. rex wasn't a predator; he was a scavenger. In essence, he was an overgrown vulture, without the wingspan. Waiting for Kibbles and BitsI also read in the San Francisco Chronicle that new research at Stanford University, using computer models and muscle mass ratios, indicates that T. rex couldn't have outrun a chicken, and in fact may not have been able to run at all ("Mighty T. rex Didn't Sprint, Study Says," Feb. 28, 2002). So if somebody were to pull a Jurassic Park, and really clone a T. rex, he wouldn't be loping after Land Rovers and gulping down lawyers. He'd be hanging back in the alley with his worthless friends, sniffing the air, waiting for something to die. Even then he wouldn't get the first crack at it! He'd have to wait for the faster hyenas to have a go at the carcass before grabbing a bite. And, thus, do our mighty icons tumble, or lumber, as the case may be. Flights of WhimsySpeaking of the dark side of cloning, an outfit in Texas called Genetic Savings and Clone, in cooperation with scientists at Texas A&M University, has successfully cloned a cat, named CopyCat, or CC, for short. Anonymous donors, who apparently want to clone their dog — a 12-year old mutt named Missy — funded the effort, and cloning a cat is step one in the process. This whole cloning shebang is called the Missyplicity Project. Now, I'm not one of those people who are overly alarmed about cloning, but I'm not sure that whimsy should be a part of it. And, if I may be blunt, calling a cloned cat CopyCat is whimsical. The name Genetic Savings and Clone reeks of whimsy. The very notion of cloning a calico cat or a lovable mutt is rife with whimsicality. I hate whimsy. So to recap: T. rex wasn't the king of beasts we so feared and admired, but rather a big, lazy lug with stubby arms, who survived on other's castoffs. If we cloned T. rex, we'd just have an overgrown flightless bird, who'd spend all day on the couch watching Oprah and consuming whatever kibble we toss his way. And would he be grateful? No. No Need to WorrySo there's one cloning fear we don't have to worry about. What about the Boys From Brazil scenario? Dozens of little Hitlers sprouting up surreptitiously? With today's diversity programs, counselor networks, and top-notch educational systems, this danger seems extremely unlikely. There's always the chance, of course, that Bill Gates could clone himself. But then again, by the time he achieves adulthood, chances are good that the whole software/PC thing will be history, and he'd wind up cadging money on street corners with T. rex and the sullen Hitler boys. But the point is moot. We haven't cloned dinosaurs, tyrants, or billionaires, have we? No, there are no evil cackles of mad scientists in the millennial lab. Our modern scientists are chipper and fit, and have their tongue permanently embedded in their cheeks. They clone mice, sheep, and kitty cats. So why are we so afraid of this brave new world? It sure looks like a petting zoo to me. Ian Shoales successfully cloned himself; but now he's unsure which one he is. They live in San Francisco.
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