No, actually they don’t — but they do have some proteins that are essential components of synapses, and it tells us something important about the evolution of the nervous system. A new paper by Sakarya et al. really isn’t particularly revolutionary, but it is very interesting, and it does confirm something many of us suspected.
The initial change from camouflaged to conspicuous takes only milliseconds due to direct neural control of the skin. Full expression of the threat display (right) is two seconds. Video frame rate is 30 frames per second. Watch the video clip.
Everyone here is familiar with the incredible ability of cephalopods to change their appearance, right? If you aren’t, review your cuttlefish anatomy and watch this video. A few frames from the video are shown on the right.
This is an amazing ability, and the question is how do they do it? Roger Hanlon has been spending years tinkering with cephalopods, trying to puzzle it out and come up with an explanation. There are a couple of things a master of disguise needs.
A good visual system. To match the background, you need to be able to see the background at least as well as the predator trying to see you.
Fast connections to the effector organs. Cephalopods have motor nerves that go straight from their brains to the chromatophore organs with no synaptic delays along the way.
The hard part: cutaneous chromatophore organs that can change intensity and texture with a fair amount of spatial resolution. Cephalopods have tiny, discrete sacs of pigment scattered all over their body, each one ringed with muscles that can iris shut to conceal the pigment, or expand the sac to expose the pigment. There are also muscular papillae that work hydrostatically to change the texture of the skin from smooth to rough to spiny/spiky.
An algorithm. A set of rules that translate a visual field into an effective skin pattern that hides the animal.
One of the minor surprises of this work is that that last item, the algorithm for generating camouflage, may not be that complex. By studying many camouflaged organisms, they’ve categorized camouflage techniques into just three different strategies.
In chapter 14 of the Origin of Species, Darwin wondered about the whole process of metamorphosis. Some species undergo radical transformations from embryo to adult, passing through larval stages that are very different from the adult, while others proceed directly to the adult form. This process of metamorphosis is of great interest to both developmental and evolutionary biologists, because what we see are major transitions in form not over long periods of time, but within a single generation.
We are so much accustomed to see a difference in structure between
the embryo and the adult, that we are tempted to look at this
difference as in some necessary manner contingent on growth. But there
is no reason why, for instance, the wing of a bat, or the fin of a
porpoise, should not have been sketched out with all their parts in
proper proportion, as soon as any part became visible. In some whole
groups of animals and in certain members of other groups this is the
case, and the embryo does not at any period differ widely from the
adult: thus Owen has remarked in regard to cuttlefish, “There is no
metamorphosis; the cephalopodic character is manifested long before
the parts of the embryo are completed.” Landshells and fresh-water
crustaceans are born having their proper forms, whilst the marine
members of the same two great classes pass through considerable and
often great changes during their development. Spiders, again, barely
undergo any metamorphosis. The larvae of most insects pass through a
worm-like stage, whether they are active and adapted to diversified
habits, or are inactive from being placed in the midst of proper
nutriment or from being fed by their parents; but in some few cases,
as in that of Aphis, if we look to the admirable drawings of the
development of this insect, by Professor Huxley, we see hardly any
trace of the vermiform stage.
Why do some lineages undergo amazing processes of morphological change over their life histories, while others quickly settle on a single form and stick with it through their entire life? In some cases, we can even find closely related species where one goes through metamorphosis, and another doesn’t; this is clearly a relatively labile character in evolution. And one of the sharpest, clearest examples of this fascinating flexibility is found in the sea urchins.
(via ArteSub, where you can find a whole collection of underwater photography)
A good way to recover from the fra…fra…frammmm… that topic is to go watch the freaky frogs. If it’s late at night and dark where you are, though, don’t watch them. The first one will creep you out, and the second one will deliver the coup de grace; you won’t be able to get to sleep for fear of the amphibians outside your window.
It’s a friend with a face full of necrotizing venom, which just makes him a little more special, I think. Anyway, it’s a good story about a responsible, rational reaction to finding a brown recluse spider in the house, and the little guy is so darned cute, too.
Add hammerhead sharks to your list of animals that don’t need males. A captive bonnethead female in Nebraska gave birth in 2001, and genetic testing has revealed that it was produced by parthenogenesis. In a way, this isn’t a surprise: I could have told her that Nebraska is no place for a self-respecting shark to look for a boyfriend.
Parthenogenesis had been suspected, because the shark had been isolated from males for at least 3 years, and because she lacked the obvious bite marks that result from shark sex (which is another reason a lady shark might not want to have anything to do with sexual reproduction), and now the tests have shown it for sure. Nifty!
Leave it to Susie Bright to connect a review of a spectacular book about deep sea organisms to sex toys.
I’m going to get the book myself, but now I’m going to have a whole ‘nother view of its contents. Oh, wait…actually, maybe not.
Here are three animals. If you had to classify them on the basis of this superficial glimpse, which two would you guess were most closely related to each other, and which one would be most distant from the others?
On the left is a urochordate, an ascidian, a sessile, filter-feeding blob that is anchored to rocks or pilings and sucks in sea water to extract microorganismal meals. In the middle is a cephalochordate, Amphioxus, also a filter feeder, but capable of free swimming. On the right are some fish larvae. All are members of the chordata, the deuterostomes with notochords. If you’d asked me some years ago, I would have said it’s obvious: vertebrates must be more closely related to the cephalochordates—they have such similar post-cranial anatomies—while the urochordates are the weirdos, the most distant cousins of the group. Recent developments in molecular phylogenies, though, strongly suggest that appearances are deceiving and we vertebrates are more closely related to the urochordates than to the cephalochordates, implying that some interesting evolutionary phenomena must have been going on in the urochordates. We’d expect to see some conservation of developmental mechanisms because of their common ancestry, but the radical reorganization of their morphology suggests that there ought also be some significant divergence at a deep level. That makes the urochordates a particularly interesting group to examine.
