Your statement that creating a new purebred breed would take fifty years leads me to wonder if they'll even be doing it that way then. Perhaps by the middle of the next century someone who wants a particular kind of dog would be interviewed in depth by a computer which would then figure out the DNA sequences required and have an embryo cloned therefrom.
Kennels like yours will probably still be around for two reasons: (1) The cheapest way to bring an embryo to puppyhood may still be by implanting it into a bitch and letting nature do the rest, and (2) Some people are still going to want the traditional breeds bred the traditional way, no matter how much it costs. But the traditional breeds may no longer be the norm.
Since I personally prefer cats, I imagine similar services will be available for them also. And I suppose some species not now domesticated could also be modified to be suitable pets, although this may be a slower process since each species is likely to need different modifications.
Some cigarette company has been running magazine ads showing people sitting out on the wing of an airliner because they aren't allowed to smoke inside. And some airline is calling itself something like "EVA Airlines". Leads those of us who know what "EVA" means in the context of space missions to wonder ...
THE SEA ANEMONE
She never found out how her name had gotten entered,
But she had won a free sex-change.
Full of vague dissatisfactions she'd never really acknowledged
She thought she'd at least check it out.
The shop was one of those places you read about in old books
That hint of things beyond our rational world.
And when she wasn't sure about taking the obvious type of sex-change
They handed her a 200-page catalog.
She finally decided to put in a sea anemone.
When she returned to the singles-bar scene
Reactions were, you might say,
Interesting.
Many a Casanova followed her home,
Interested in only one thing
And that one thing
Was not a sea anemone.
More than one had run screaming into the night.
She got quite adept at finding out which insane asylum
To deliver the left-behind clothing to.
Others, made of sterner stuff,
Plunged ahead anyway
But soon learned that sea anemone tentacles
Have little stingers, like jellyfish,
For hauling in prey.
And if that didn't stop them
Their manhood would go numb
Until they couldn't be sure
It hadn't already been digested.
Since she swung both ways
She brought home some singles-bar women.
"Can't do much with that," they'd say
And take their leave.
Then through the grapevine
She began to hear of other anemone people.
They'd lie together in the night
Feeding each other sardines down there
And thrilling to a sensation
Others had no words for.
But even this lacked something.
She drifted away from the singles bars
And began putting more of herself
Into other parts of her life.
Then once in a great while
She'd meet someone special,
Sometimes man, sometimes woman,
Or sometimes someone with another anemone
Or flowers or something.
Exactly what didn't seem to matter.
"Can't do much with that," they'd say,
Looking between her legs,
But then they'd find plenty of possibilities
With the rest of her
And with the rest of themselves.
These were the ones she treasured.
They soon learned how that part of her liked sardines
And how other parts of her liked other physical pleasures.
But they also knew that the most important parts
Were not between the legs,
But between the ears
And in the heart.
Tom Digby
bubbles@well.sf.ca.us
written Feb 27, 1995 23:20
edited Mar 1, 1995 22:05
About the Author
(40k GIF) This page was created by Tom Digby and is copyrighted with a fairly liberal "fair use" policy.
Email = bubbles@well.sf.ca.us
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