Categories
Cottage Life

Do dogs really descend from wolves?

Curled up on the sofa, you watch your dog snoozing nearby. Is he dreaming of the bowl of biscuits he gobbled down? Or could he be picturing the great odyssey of his forbearers, who roamed in packs across the vast steppes during the last Ice Age in search for reindeer?

The story of the ancestral ties between the dog and the wolf is one of the most exciting evolutionary sagas in humanity’s history. Not only does it invite us to examine our relationship with nature, but it also brings us back to the question of who we are as humans.

Meet the grey wolf

Recent advances in genetics are starting to provide key details that can help us map out the interconnected history of our loyal pets and the proud canine predators that have been gradually repopulating our countries’ hinterlands.

The science investigating the wolf-dog kinship

The timeline of the prehistoric wolf’s domestication is arguably one of the most hotly debated topics in evolutionary science. Palaeontology brings some important elements into this debate, but it is still tricky to identify the osteo-morphological analyses (i.e., the study of bone size and bone morphology) that would allow us to differentiate between proto-dog species.

Ever since Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, we have known that a series of phenotypic changes (i.e., observable physical characteristics) can be seen in animals undergoing a process of domestication, with retained traits often favouring the more docile members of a species. Over the millennia, domestic canines have evolved shorter snouts and smaller teeth, as well as a smaller appendicular skeleton (referring to the bones of their front and hind legs).

However, the dog’s domestic nature cannot be proven by the isolated appearance of one trait in one specimen. Instead, either a series of significant variables must be observed in one individual, or a novel trait must be observed repeatedly in a population or under a given context. The problem is that full skeletons of Palaeolithic canines are extremely difficult to come by.

The field of archaeology complements this approach by gathering information on the first interactions between humans and canines. Such data points to the existence of a special link between these two types of large predators that may have begun emerging in the Upper Palaeolithic, the period broadly spanning from 50,000 to 12,000 years ago. It has been noted, for instance, that canines were used to help make jewellery; they are also present in cave art. Again, the real significance of these clues remains unclear.

Are wolves the ancestors of dogs?

Thanks to major strides in genetics in recent years, many studies of ancient DNA can help palaeontologists and archaeologists track down mysterious origins of the “first dog”. Samples from both ancient and modern canines have been taken from every continent, enabling scientists to analyse the diversity of their gene pool. The method also has the advantage of merely relying on bone fragments, rather than whole and fully preserved skeletons.

While the majority of this research focuses on mitochondrial DNA (i.e., DNA inherited solely from the maternal line, but which is less prone to degradation), a handful of studies also look at the complete genome (i.e., chromosomes inherited from the maternal and paternal lines, but which are preserved much more poorly during fossilisation).

These results help sketch a blueprint for the overall phylogenetic history of canines. Unsurprisingly, such analyses reveal a highly complex demographic and phylogenetic history of the grey wolf down through the ages. In particular, they indicate lupine populations in the Palaeolithic (c. 3.3 million years to 11,700 years ago) were able to adapt to a changing geography caused by successive glacial events in Eurasia as well as human presence.

It is now estimated that the separation of the population into several distinct lines of modern Eurasian wolves occurred approximately 40,000 to 20,000 years ago. This would mean that the Palaeolithic wolf population may have become deeply fragmented during this period, which, incidentally, matches up with the Last Glacial Maximum (also known as the “peak” of the Ice Age).

This period is all the more interesting when we consider how it coincides with Homo sapiens’ period of migration from the East and colonisation of Western Europe, as well as a sharp increase in competition between large predators.

Even more intriguingly, several studies agree on a claim that all modern Eurasian wolves descend from a single small ancient population, which is thought to have become isolated in Beringia (north-eastern Siberia) during the Last Glacial Maximum some 20,000 years ago, notably in order to flee the major climatic instabilities that had been affecting the rest of Eurasia.

But the plot thickens when we consider the question of how domestic dogs appeared. Thanks to a study into the complete genome sequences of primitive dogs from Asia and Africa, combined with a collection of samples from nineteen diverse dog breeds from across the globe, researchers have managed to ascertain that dogs from East Asia are significantly more genetically diverse than others. This model may indicate that dogs first appeared in this region following a divergence between the grey wolf and the domestic dog some 33,000 years ago. However, a 2013 study asserts that Europe was a likelier site of domestication, and that the domestication process occurred somewhere between 32,000 and 19,000 years ago.

A third study reconciles these two theories, asserting that the wolf became domesticated independently both in East Asia and in Europe before primitive Asian dogs travelled to the west, found the human populations there and replaced the indigenous dog population, some 14,000 to 6,400 years ago.

Regardless of the chosen hypothesis, we can safely deduce that when the first settlements and the first methods related to agriculture began appearing around 11,000 years ago, the dog already had at least five distinct evolutionary lines. This tells us that human societies had caused profound changes to canine populations before the end of the Palaeolithic.

As well as this, far from becoming compartmentalised, co-evolution among canines has never ceased. To this day, the wolf continues to hybridise with other canines, such as the dog and the coyote (Canis latrans). It has also interbred with the latter.

In conclusion, although question marks still hover over the geographic origin of the domestic dog and the circumstances and timeline of its domestication, developments in the study of ancient DNA now allow us to disentangle the links that bind the canines of past and present.

So, in response to the question “Do dogs descend from wolves?”, we can indeed say they do, but genetics now give us the tools to clarify which ones. Modern dogs, irrespective of their variety, all stem from a now-extinct line of prehistoric wolves that are only very distantly linked to modern wolves.


Translated from the French by Enda Boorman for Fast ForWord.The Conversation

Elodie-Laure Jimenez, Chercheure en archéologie préhistorique et paléoécologie, University of Aberdeen

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

 

The wolf cull isn’t killing caribou

Categories
Cottage Life

New attraction at Timmins, Ont. resort will allow guests to sleep next to wolves

It was the late-night howls of sled dogs that gave Richard Lafleur the idea for his latest attraction. Lafleur, who owns Cedar Meadows Resort and Spa in Timmins, Ont., used to offer dog sledding trips to guests around his 100-acre property. But at night, the dogs howled, keeping guests awake. After receiving complaints over the noise, Lafleur spun the story. He started telling guests that the dogs were part wolf. It was in their nature to howl. Suddenly, guests wanted rooms close to the enclosure. They wanted to hear the wolves howl at night. It became an attraction.

That was 10 years ago, but Lafleur has held onto the idea. With the sled dogs no longer around, Lafleur plans to bring real wolves to the resort. After receiving a $300,000 grant from the provincial government intended to stimulate business in Northern Ontario, Cedar Meadows has started building five “wolf chalets”.

These accommodations will include a bedroom with a glass viewing wall that looks out onto a 10-acre enclosure, housing between five to eight wolves, which Lafleur will buy from a zoo. “The enclosure’s fairly big. And considering these wolves will be from a zoo already, there’s not too many zoos that have a 10-acre park. They might have a one- or two-acre park. I’ve also added a big half-acre pond in there and there’s a creek running through it, so it’ll be very natural,” Lafleur says.

Is the wolf the most Canadian animal?

Legally, Lafleur could fit 22 wolves in the 10-acre enclosure, but to avoid any in-fighting, he plans to keep the group to a small pack of wolves. These wolves will be kept in a secure enclosure as the rest of the 100-acre property houses 43 elk, 18 fallow deer, and 16 bison, which can be viewed on wildlife tours.

Lafleur doesn’t have a date for when the chalets will open, but he expects it to be some time in the summer of 2023, with average nightly prices going for about $500 to $600.

The wolf chalets have drawn some criticism, though. Lafleur says some locals aren’t crazy about the idea of living next door to an apex predator. And there are questions around the ethics of housing wild animals for people’s entertainment.

Meet the grey wolf

Simon Gadbois, a psychology and neuroscience professor at Dalhousie University who studies wolves, says that these types of attractions are popular in Europe but most of the sites in North America have closed down.

“It seems that in North America, we moved on from the concept of captive wolves. Especially, I would say, if it’s in the context of entertainment,” Gadbois says.

Nowadays, for wild animals to be held in captivity in North America, the public expects there to be a clear conservation and educational mission, Gadbois says. It needs to go beyond being an attraction.

The other concern about captive wolves is how much space they need. Gadbois says it depends on the type of wolf. “Canadian Siberian wolves are sometimes nomadic. You can’t even put a number on how far they travel because they will follow caribou wherever they go,” he says.

Wolves that have grown up in zoos, however, won’t have as expansive a range. Ten acres—while on the small side, Gadbois says—should be enough to accommodate five to eight wolves that have grown up in captivity.

“If you had said they were captured around the Mackenzie River and brought into that enclosure, then I would have said, that’s not good,” Gadbois says. “But if they’re coming from a zoo. I’m going to assume that they’re moving to better conditions. That makes me feel a lot better about this.”

Categories
Cottage Life

Is the wolf the most Canadian animal?

This essay about the wolf was originally published as part of “The Great Canadian Creature Feature” appeared in the June/July 2021 issue of Cottage Life.

Growing up as a ‘90s kid in the United Arab Emirates, I was often glued to the television screen in my living room. Along with subtitled reruns of Full House and ER, a smattering of Canadian shows had somehow made it all the way to the Middle East. I didn’t know much about Canada, a country nearly 11,000 kilometres away. But television taught me a lot about it, both fact and fiction.

My favourite shows were North of 60, a CBC drama about a First Nations town in the Northwest Territories, and Due South, a quirky police procedural about an impossibly polite Canadian Mountie, played by Paul Gross. The Mountie’s constant companion was Diefenbaker, a majestic, white part-wolf that also happened to read lips—in several languages. 

Living as I did in a country where 40-degree summers and sand storms are the norm, Canada’s cold winters, endless snow, and wide expanses of forest became the stuff of fantasy. For me, nothing evoked “Canada” more than an imperious wolf calling to its pack with a piercing howl that resonated across the snowy pines of the wilderness. Ever since those formative years, the wolf has been prominent in my conception of Canada—even after fantasies became different realities when I immigrated to Toronto in 2006. 

I arrived in Canada as a shy, inexperienced 17-year-old university student, separated from my family for the first time. Those early days were exciting, but also terrifying—I was in a strange city in an inconceivably large country where no one really knew or cared about me. And I can definitively say that my first-hand experiences of Canada’s frigid winter temperatures and deluges of snow were the furthest thing from my romanticized fantasies. Those first few years in Canada were tough. In many ways, I identified with the lone wolf, continents and oceans away from my pack. I had to learn to rely on myself to forge a life and career here. I became stronger and more resilient.

Those traits are what I admire the most about wolves—about all of Canada’s wolf species. They’re survivors. Wolves lead harsh lives. While some can live up to 13 years in the wild, most die far earlier through disease, starvation, or from human hunting rifles. They’re shy like I once was, but behind their skittish elusiveness is a dogged desire to live. This desire is what makes them so terrifying to their prey, but it’s also why they’re revered by many First Nations as fearless and patient hunters. While I flew on a plane to leave my family behind, wolves that depart from their pack are known to take solo treks for hundreds of kilometres in search of food and a new home. And in an incredible testament to their endurance and resolve, they can go a week or longer without eating.

Tiny wolf pups practice howling together

But as much as I developed my independence in Canada, I learned that being alone is a limiting way to live. Similarly, while wolves can fend for themselves if they have to, they’re also social animals that will work together. The entire pack assumes responsibility for each pup, and a female wolf will adopt the pups of another mother who starves or fails to return from a hunt. I respect how wolves take this balanced approach to life—depending on the situation, they rely on themselves or the collective.

After my initial isolation in Canada, I made university friendships that have grown into lifelong bonds. Those friends are my brothers today. My new pack. They were the ones who introduced me to a version of Canada that I’d only experienced on television.

Wolves were once vilified by European settlers and hunted to extinction in certain regions of our country. But the Canadian perception has transformed in the last half-century. The 1963 book Never Cry Wolf, author Farley Mowat’s intimate first-hand account of his observations of wolves in the Canadian arctic, is considered a landmark work in shifting public opinion. We now understand that all the wolves that live within our borders are an incredibly integral part of the ecosystem. 

This inclusive shift in our country’s attitude towards all its wildlife is also echoed by the experiences of many Canadian newcomers. The fact that I was welcomed in by people from a vastly different background and the fact that we are building new roots together is because of this inclusive spirit.

Facts and figures

They like to move it, move it:  Wolf packs can really crank up the speed, sprinting as swiftly as 70 km/hr to take down big prey.

Cold, uh, comfort? In winter, wolves will eat the frozen carcasses of moose or deer that have died from hypothermia. 

Scent and sensibility: Like dogs, wolves have a sophisticated sense of smell. They can track scents from two kilometres away.

Read more about the grey wolf

Read more essays from “The Great Canadian Creature Feature” to read more of our favourite writers making the case for their pick for the most Canadian animal in the June/July 2021 issue of Cottage Life.