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What Spitting Cobras are Aiming For

Make most cobras angry, and they’ll bite you and inject the bite with a dose of venom. Frighten or tick off a spitting cobra, though, and it will contract the muscles around its venom glands and “spit” it out through holes in the tips of its fangs. Right into your face. 

Spitting cobras are no slouches when it comes to marksmanship. Neurobiologist Bruce Young found this out when he put on a plastic face mask a few years ago and taunted cobras into taking more than a hundred shots at him. When he analyzed the snakes’ movements, he found that they always spit right after he made a jerky movement with his head. The snakes would turn their heads in the same direction that he’d started to move his and then start spitting. Tracking the target like this, Young wrote in his study, “gives cobras a distinct geometric advantage; even relatively large linear movements on the part of the target can be accommodated by rather modest angular movements of the cobra's head.” A burst of speed when turning their heads also lets the snakes “lead” the target a little and compensate for the time it takes for their muscles to send the venom flying. 

It’s a cool tactic, but not as easy as just biting whatever it is that needs biting. You see, spitting cobra’s venom doesn’t do anything if it just hits you on the skin or even gets in your mouth. To be of any use, the venom has to get in your eye, where it causes searing pain and can scar the corneas and leave you blind.

This has had many biologists wondering if the cobras know to shoot for the eyes and are aiming at them. Given the snakes’ accuracy when spitting and the limited targets that their venom is effective on, scientists, zookeepers and others who study and work with spitting cobras assumed they were. In 2005, researchers from the University of Bonn in Germany backed these assumptions up with an experiment. They put undergrad student Katja Tzschätzsch face-to-face with 10 different cobras and got them to spit at her hands, her face and life-sized photos of faces. Hands and still faces and photos didn’t get a rise out of the snakes, but a moving face (real and fake) did—less so when the eyes were digitally removed from the photos than when they were left intact. When the researchers looked at the traces of venom on the photos and Tzschätzsch’s facemask, they found that the different cobras hit the eyes anywhere from 80 percent to 100 percent of the time.

Now a newer study suggests that maybe the cobras aren’t so picky when choosing their targets. Guido Westhoff, a neurobiologist who worked with Young and Tzschätzsch on the previous research, revisited the question last year with another round of experiments. He and his team presented cobras with life-size, human face-shaped boards with and without different kinds of glass eyes, as well as larger and smaller fake faces and triangular boards that didn’t resemble faces. 

In 324 spitting tests, the snakes didn’t spit at the boards with eyes any more than the ones without. Also, when the eyes on the targets were moved closer together or farther apart, the snakes didn’t adjust their aim to account for the distance between them. Given a choice between a face with eyes and an eyeless one, the snakes spit at the larger target most of the time, whether it had eyes or not. 

Westhoff now thinks that cobras don’t specifically aim for the eyes, but for the center of whatever body part their tormenter puts closest to them. Often, this just happens to be the face—and it seems the snakes prefer more face-like round targets than pointy ones; they spit at those almost four times as much—and at least one eye gets hit by chance. 

What’s more, he thinks that aiming for the eyes is both unnecessary and even a bad strategy for the snakes. Cobras can spray their venom over a wider area by moving their head as they spit and spitting several times in a row, increasing their chances of hitting the eye and without requiring them to aim right at them. Shooting for eyes instead of just a face also puts a cobra at a disadvantage if it can’t clearly see or recognize eyes, like when their own eyes become cloudy while they shed their skins, or in the dark. 

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Slow Motion Is the Only Way to Appreciate a Chameleon’s Lightning-Fast Tongue
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From the unusual way they walk, to their ability to change color, the evolutionary adaptations of chameleons are pretty bizarre, and some of them remain mysterious even to scientists. Their super-powered tongues, for instance, can dart out so quickly that the movement can barely be seen with the naked eye. But modern high-speed cameras have enabled researchers at the University of South Dakota to observe this appendage at work like never before. The video below, shared over at The Kid Should See This, includes some of that groundbreaking footage, and it's pretty amazing to watch.

Shooting at 3000 frames per second, the camera was able to capture every split-second aspect of the chameleon's tongue strike. Slowed down, the video allows you to see how every component of the process works in harmony: First, muscles in the lizard’s tongue contract like the string of a bow. Then, when that tension is released, the bony base of the tongue shoots forward, pushing the sticky, elastic part toward the chameleon’s prey.

According to Christopher Anderson, one of the scientists who conducted the high-speed camera research, larger chameleons can catapult their tongues forward at distances of one to two times their body length. For smaller chameleons, this distance can reach up to two and a half times their body length. “Small chameleons need to be able to eat more food for their body size than large chameleons,” he tells bioGraphic in the video, “and so by being able to project their tongues proportionately further than these large species, they basically are opening up additional feeding opportunities to themselves that they wouldn’t have if they had a shorter tongue.”

To see one of nature’s greatest hunting tools in action, check out the full video below.

[h/t The Kid Should See This]

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There May Be an Ancient Reason Why Your Dog Eats Poop
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Dogs aren't known for their picky taste in food, but some pups go beyond the normal trash hunting and start rooting around in poop, whether it be their own or a friend's. Just why dogs exhibit this behavior is a scientific mystery. Only some dogs do it, and researchers aren't quite sure where the impulse comes from. But if your dog is a poop eater, it's nearly impossible to steer them away from their favorite feces.

A new study in the journal Veterinary Medicine and Science, spotted by The Washington Post, presents a new theory for what scientists call "canine conspecific coprophagy," or dogs eating dog poop.

In online surveys about domestic dogs' poop-eating habits completed by thousands of pet owners, the researchers found no link between eating poop and a dog's sex, house training, compulsive behavior, or the style of mothering they received as puppies. However, they did find one common link between the poop eaters. Most tended to eat only poop that was less than two days old. According to their data, 85 percent of poop-eaters only go for the fresh stuff.

That timeline is important because it tracks with the lifespan of parasites. And this led the researchers to the following hypothesis: that eating poop is a holdover behavior from domestic dogs' ancestors, who may have had a decent reason to tuck into their friends' poop.

Since their poop has a high chance of containing intestinal parasites, wolves poop far from their dens. But if a sick wolf doesn't quite make it out of the den in time, they might do their business too close to home. A healthier wolf might eat this poop, but the parasite eggs wouldn't have hatched within the first day or two of the feces being dropped. Thus, the healthy wolf would carry the risk of infection away from the den, depositing the eggs they had consumed away in their own, subsequent bowel movements at an appropriate distance before the eggs had the chance to hatch into larvae and transmit the parasite to the pack.

Domestic dogs may just be enacting this behavior instinctively—only for them, there isn't as much danger of them picking up a parasite at home. However, the theory isn't foolproof. The surveys also found that so-called "greedy eaters" were more likely to eat feces than dogs who aren't quite so intense about food. So yes, it could still be about a poop-loving palate.

But really, it's much more pleasant to think about the behavior as a parasite-protection measure than our best pals foraging for a delicious fecal snack. 

[h/t The Washington Post]

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