101 YEARS OLD AND STILL WORRIED BY ANTS AND MICE...

WHAT a week this has been for receiving disturbing news about animals. No sooner had I read about the ability of wasps to recognise the faces of other wasps (see yesterday’s Beachcomber), than I discovered something very worrying about ants.

Specifically, this was the latest research about a parasitic fungus that affects ants, taking control of them in a way that results in their clinging to the underside of leaves through which the fungus then spreads. Infected insects, appropriately enough, as May is Zombie Awareness Month after all, are popularly known as “zombie ants” and it was one line in the report I read that I found particularly disturbing:

“In tropical areas,” one researcher was quoted as saying, “zombie ants bite onto leaves, but in temperate areas, they bite twigs or bark.”

I can scarcely think of anything more chilling when strolling through a temperate area than being barked at by a colony of zombie ants. Zombies in films normally just grunt and lurch, which is bad enough. The idea of them barking as well is terrifying.

I hastily turned to the latest issue of Nature journal to find something more harmless to read about and I found something about mice having their brains interfered with. Not, in this case, by a fungus turning them into zombies, but by scientists doing much the same in the cause of research.

Deep in the brains of both humans and mice are regions called the amygdala which have been shown to be responsible for pleasant and unpleasant emotions. Stimulating one side of the amygdala can induce pleasant feelings while the other side causes fear, sadness or distaste. More specifically, two regions of the mouse amygdala have been found to be associated respectively with sweet and bitter tastes.

With a bit of rewiring involving swapping these parts around, a mouse can be made to like food it previously avoided or dislike food it previously gorged on. They could still taste the difference between various foods, but their preferences completely changed. These findings, they say, “could inform treatments for eating disorders.”

Naturally I sought out an obese mouse to see what he thought about it. “Hey fatty,” I shouted at it. “How would you like to lose weight?”

He stopped, turned and glared at me, his whiskers twitching in an offended way. “It’s not my fault I’m large boned and have a healthy appetite,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” I said. “I just asked if you wanted to lose weight. A simple rewiring of your amygdala could stop you eating so much chocolate and peanut butter.”

“How did you know those were my favourites?” he asked, blushing.

“Just an informed guess,” I said. “All mice like those. We could easily make you like something less calorific.”

“What do you have in mind?” he asked suspiciously.

“How about wasps and zombie ants?” I suggested.

“No!” he screamed. “The wasps know my face and the ants bark at me, you know,” and he scurried off.