What tangled webs we weave

Caprinae appear to exert an extraordinary fascination on the imagination of genetic scientists. The lure of goaty DNA is too much to resist, it seems, and meddling in it is common. First to achieve international fame, of course, was the clone Dolly. Long since given over to the tender ministrations of the taxidermist, she stands now in mute, stuffed but proud immortality in a glass cage in the foyer of an Edinburgh museum, with a view of the koi pond. In our first post we alluded to the manipulations of goat mammery glands, whose altered emissions protect against nefarious chemical attack -- not the first instance of militarised goats. Our enthusiasm for this project is tempered only by a nagging sense of logistical practicality; surely some sort of “gas mask” would be easier and lighter to carry than a mature female goat strapped to your back probably in some sort of complex webbing which would enable swift teat-access?

Udder manipulation does not stop there. A story from last year reminds us of plans to develop the web-spinning goat, able to squirt strands of spider’s silk from their genetically enhanced glands. More progress, perhaps, and another example of the goat in the service of humanity.

Yet at times we are visited by a vague sense of unease. Is all this entirely wise? Given the tendency for goats to climb to the tops of trees, the addition of web-slinging abilities may be ill-thought through, creating a wholly unintentional sort of canopy-dwelling aerial über-goat whose motives and movements we could only guess at. Should these genetically-enhanced goats ever turn feral then we may have more on our hands than we bargained for. It is testimony indeed to the noble and selfless character of goats that this has not yet happened.