The long-raging debate over evolution versus creationism is finally at an end, now that it has been confirmed humans did not descend from apes, no matter how hairy my shoulders are alleged to be.
The bad news is that we are actually descended from cows. (Editor’s note: moo.)
According to a recent news item written by a national science reporter who, like me, has learned to type with two hooves, humans share many genetic characteristics with cattle.
This startling conclusion was the result of six years of work conducted by hundreds of scientists in more than two-dozen countries, including Canada.
“There are over 300 types of genes that are shared between humans and cattle that are not found in mice,” said Dr. Fiona Brinkman, of Simon Fraser University.
Our five-year-old daughter, who does not have a fancy degree in genetics but does have an ironclad grasp of animal mannerisms as chronicled in a song about a farmer named Old MacDonald, arrived at the same conclusion weeks ago.
We were midway through dinner when Colleen the Younger stopped twirling her spaghetti and trained her eyes on yours truly, who, according to an account published in Terrifying Tales of the Supper Table, was exhibiting behaviour that could only be described as “cow-like.”
“My teacher says you should eat with your mouth closed,” Colleen declared sternly. “I can see your food. That isn’t appropriate.”
Much like a cow approached by nosey interlopers midway through a delicious serving of cud, I feigned ignorance and slipped on my best poker face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colleen,” I replied feebly.
Silently I was pleading guilty to the charges against me.
As an enthusiastic eater, my mouth frequently alternates between open and gaping – essential to ensuring the maximum and efficient transfer of food from the plate to the bottomless pit known as my tummy.
Noises are made, and include the smacking of lips, grinding of teeth and an odd but joyful humming when meals are especially delicious.
“Frank’s really enjoying those ribs,” a dinner host will often say. “I can tell because he’s making that sound again.”
This style of eating – which was developed by early man (women were never this uncouth) – is depicted on many cave-wall drawings and is highly sophisticated as it requires a specialized form of breathing through the ears so as not to interrupt the all important job of chewing and swallowing.
My wife, seated at the opposite end of the dinner table, did not rise to my defence despite our wedding vows, confirming that my unsavoury display was more the norm than the exception.
Suddenly I began to feel like the farm animal at the petting zoo, nudging its wet nose through the slats in the fence for a helping of edible pellets offered by visiting children.
“Always eat with your mouth closed,” Colleen advised a second time. “Then no one can see the food.”
I said I would try my best, and meant it.
So far, though, I’m an udder failure.
(My apologies to cows everywhere.)
