Eocene (Pt 4): Ancient Beasts of the European Archipelago

Propalaeotherium

The story of the evolution of the horse is one of the most commonly cited examples of evolutionary trends, often illustrated by a series of increasingly horse-like animals with an ever-reducing number of toes. The animal typically shown at the start of that series is, depending partly on the age of the picture, either Hyracotherium or Eohippus.

Hyracotherium was long regarded as the earliest known member of the horse family. In recent decades, it has become apparent that it wasn't really a horse, in the sense that modern horses don't descend from it or its relatives, and today we call the family it belonged to the palaeotheres. The North American Eohippus, on the other hand, despite long being thought to be identical to Hyracotherium, probably is a horse. The confusion between the two means that it's often difficult to tell which is being referred to in older sources. 

Splitting the Troop

Primates are, for the most part, social, group-living animals. This underlies many aspects of human behaviour and likely played a role in our development of intelligence. Often, these groups have a fission-fusion structure, where new members come and go, but, in other species, they can be long-lasting and stable. Either way, just as with nation-states or tribal societies among humans, nothing lasts forever. Groups die and new groups form.

This can be due to disaster or misfortune, but it can equally well be due to success. If a group becomes too large, there may no longer be enough food in the local area to keep it healthy, or parasites or disease may spread too rapidly within it. Or it may simply become too large for dominant individuals to control. In fission-fusion societies, this may lead to a temporary break-up into local subgroups that otherwise remain in contact. Sometimes, however, the pressure is too great and the only solution is for a new group to form.

Oligocene (Pt 11): Early Monkeys and Two-Ton Herbivores

Arsinoitherium

Because the Oligocene is so much further back in time than the later epochs, especially the Pliocene and Pleistocene, there are more gaps in our knowledge of it. That it's also much shorter than the epochs to either side of it means that those gaps can, proportionately speaking, occupy far more of its length. One of the places where such a gap is particularly noticeable is the history of primates.

Monkeys first appeared in Africa in the latter half of the preceding epoch, but their early record is patchy. This is likely because many of the earliest monkeys lived in areas that simply weren't conducive to forming fossils - although the fact that many parts of Africa have not had the same detailed paleontological surveys that other continents have may also be a factor. Much of the history of the primates during the epoch is a blank... but not entirely.

Oligocene (Pt 8): The First Tapir and the Last Hoofless Horse

Miohippus

A close look at the evolutionary history of horses reveals that it's more complicated than sometimes presented, with numerous side branches forming a bushy tree of different species, many of which ultimately died out without descendants. This applies both to the origins of the group in its early days and its period of great diversification through the Miocene and Pliocene epochs. In the Oligocene, however, the picture, at least so far as we can tell, was rather simpler.

We know of two genera of horse that made it into the Oligocene from the preceding epoch. Mesohippus had been around for a while, Miohippus was a relative newcomer, appearing towards the very end of the Eocene. The two are rather similar, to the point that it has been argued they should be treated as different species of the same genus (which would be Miohippus, as that was named first) and they are both found in fossil beds across the United States and southern Canada, with Miohippus being known from Washington state to Florida and Mesohippus primarily in the west. The similarity also led to proposals early on that the one directly evolved into the other, but it's now clear that they lived alongside one another for millions of years, which scuppers that idea.

Defending the Troops

A few weeks ago, I talked about how group-living mammals decide when and where to move, and how their decision-making leadership is structured. But there are other aspects to how animals living in a herd or pack might travel, or, indeed, position themselves when they are not travelling. One of these is the perceived risk of predation. 

It's well-known that predators will tend to pick off weaker individuals if they can, largely to save themselves the effort of capturing something that's more able to escape or fight back. But it's also likely that some positions within a herd are going to be inherently safer than others, and merely being fit may not help much if you're an obvious target. The question then arises as to whether certain sorts of individual are likely to occupy safer or more dangerous positions and as to how the group as a whole arranges itself.

Tree-Dwelling Almost-Lemurs of the Canadian Arctic

Northern Canada, it has sometimes been noted, can get a bit cold. The northern coasts, and the islands beyond them, are covered in treeless tundra, the permanently frozen subsoil preventing anything that needs deep roots from growing there. The interiors of the more northerly islands don't even have that much, just permanent fields of ice and snow. 

The most northerly island in Canada is Ellesmere Island, whose most northerly point is not far from being the most northerly piece of solid land on the planet, only beaten by parts of Greenland. Midsummer temperatures reach a daily high of about 9°C (49°F) in midsummer, and it often snows in July. Winter temperatures regularly drop below -35°C (-31°F) on January nights. So, yeah, that's uncomfortable.

Food for Thought

The word "primate" means "of the first order" and the group of mammals is so-named because, even in the days before evolutionary theory, it was recognised that this is the group that includes our own species. I've previously discussed how primates are distinguished from other mammals, and one of our identifying features is that we tend to have larger brains in proportion to our bodies. (Not uniquely so, of course, given the existence of dolphins and their kin, but certainly well above the average).

But why? What is it about the primate lifestyle that, over the last 60 million years or more, has resulted in them growing larger brains than other, similarly sized, mammals? This is obviously a significant question, since it relates to what is undeniably the key defining feature of our own species and might explain why our planet is inhabited by sapient urbanised monkeys rather than, say, sapient city-building cats. 

Mouse Lemurs in the Mangroves

Well over 6,000 species of mammal have currently been described, many of which have only been confirmed as distinct species in the last few decades. There is undeniably a trend in the 21st century towards "splitting" of species along comparatively fine dividing lines, but it's also the case that this has been supported by advances in genetics and the like that have made it easier to tell when two groups of animals really are different, and not interbreeding.

But the corollary to this is that many of these species look extremely similar. It's often the case that, once a new species has been described on the basis of genetics, we can point to physical differences between it and whichever species we split it off from. But these are necessarily minor differences, perhaps previously thought sufficient to justify a designation as a subspecies, but more likely not noticed at all. Given the physical similarities, we'd expect that their diet, behaviour, and so on would also be similar - they are, after all, very close relatives.

Before the Monkeys: Primates in North America

Anaptomorphus,
an omomyid from Wyoming

The primates are one of the larger groups of mammals, with literally hundreds of living species known. Naturally, there is a great deal of diversity across the primates but, at the highest level, we can divide them into two main suborders. These used to be referred to as the "lower" and "higher" primates, but that's misleading because the so-called lower primates have been evolving for just as long as the higher ones. It isn't as if they gave up one day and stopped evolving towards some ultimate goal of becoming human. 

So, instead, when we aren't using the technical terms strepsirrhine and haplorrhine, today we tend to call them "wet-nosed" and "dry-nosed" primates, based on whether their nose is moist like that of a dog or not. When most people think of primates, however, it's likely the haplorrhine, or "dry-nosed" primates that they think of first, since this is the group that includes all the monkeys and apes - as opposed to lemurs and the like.

Miocene (Pt 27): Rise of the Apes

Proconsul

From a human perspective, one of the most significant evolutionary developments of the Miocene epoch was the appearance of the first apes. Exactly when the group first arose isn't entirely clear, but it's either very early in the Miocene or very late in the preceding, Oligocene epoch. Part of the reason for the lack of clarity is, as so often, dispute as to where exactly the dividing line is between apes and monkeys when we go this far back in time. But there also seems to be some evidence that the earliest apes evolved in African jungle habitats, which weren't the best for forming fossils.

An example of this early confusion comes from Dendropithecus, from the Early Miocene of Kenya. Comparatively small, at only around 60 cm (2 feet) in length, and with arms that seem to be adapted to swinging from trees, when it was first named as a distinct genus in 1977, it was thought to be an ancestor of modern gibbons. Despite having a somewhat similar lifestyle and diet, this no longer thought to be likely, and one recent analysis places it as belonging to a very early branch in the ape family tree - just early enough that one could legitimately argue as to whether it really counts as an 'ape' or just a very close relative.

Miocene (Pt 26): Planet of the Monkeys

Victoriapithecus

The primates are one of the major mammalian orders alive today, with a great many species spread across three continents: Africa, Eurasia, and South America. They have an ancient history, and, even by the dawn of the Miocene, were already divided into the two main groups we have today: the prosimians and the anthropoid primates (most of which are monkeys, or 'simians').

It's probably fair to say that most scientific attention has been paid to the latter of those groups, but we do have a number of fossil prosimians from the Miocene. Madagascar, where most prosimian species are found today, was already an island, and had been since the time of the dinosaurs, but there are few known fossils of the relevant age there to tell us much about the early history of lemurs and their kin. Nonetheless, during the Miocene, prosimians were more widely spread than they are today. 

The Mammal That Lived Like a Woodpecker

Plesiadapis

The time since the extinction of the non-avian dinosaurs is traditionally divided into seven "epochs". Unsurprisingly, the more recent the epoch, the more familiar the animals that inhabited the Earth at the time. In my current long-running series on the animals of the Miocene (the fourth of these epochs, and also the second-longest) I have been able to talk about a number of mammals that can at least be placed into groups we understand. Horses may have had three toes, elephants may have had four tusks, and so forth, but at least we can tell, without any great difficulty, that they are, in fact, horses and elephants.

As you'd probably expect, this gets harder the further back you go. Firstly, even animals belonging to familiar groups are getting further away from their present-day forms. There comes a point where whales still walked on land, for instance. Secondly, the further we go back, the more animals we find that didn't leave any modern descendants, and, indeed, weren't even closely related to anything that did (Smilodon, for instance, has no living descendants, but it's still pretty obviously a cat). That can sometimes make it harder to say where such animals fit into the mammalian family tree or, perhaps more importantly, how they lived and behaved.

Why Males Are More Muscular

There's a general rule in the animal kingdom that females tend to be larger than males. This is likely because of the extra demands of producing and laying eggs, or of spawning by whatever other method they use. Clearly, it's not a rule that holds among mammals where, while there are some exceptions (especially among bats), it's usually the male that's the larger and more physically imposing sex.

I discussed this a few months ago, in the context of seals, where this size difference is especially noticeable. But it's true in other mammal groups, too, including the primates. In general, the reasons for this are much the same among primates as they are among other mammals; males compete with one another for access to mates, and the most successful ones have more mating opportunities, and hence more children, as a result. Genetic inheritance then carries the trait of "large males" down to future generations, amplifying it until other constraints get in the way.

Primate Penis Bones

At a certain level, the skeletons of all mammals follow a broadly similar pattern. Most of the bones that we see in the human skeleton are also found in the majority of mammals, and often in the same numbers. Famously, for example, a giraffe has exactly as many bones in the neck (seven) as humans do - they're just rather longer. Well, there's a reason giraffes can't bend their necks like swans.

Of course, when we get into detail, there are many exceptions to this. For instance, the default pattern for the paws of mammals is that they all have four digits with three bones each, and one with just two bones (the thumb and big toe in humans). But, obviously, this isn't true of all mammals. For instance, dogs have no big toe on their hind feet, and, while they do have a full set of ankle bones, the metatarsal that would normally connect to the big toe isn't there, either. There are rather more dramatic alterations in, say, horses and two-toed sloths, let alone dolphins.

Prehistoric Mammal Discoveries of 2018

Gordodon,
a new non-mammalian synapsid described this year

And so another year approaches its conclusion. As usual, I will wrap up here with a post looking at things from a slightly wider perspective. This time around, as I did last year, I am going to take a brief look at a range of scientific papers on fossil mammals that were published in 2018. There's not going to be any particular theme here beyond that, merely a list of things that caught my interest, and that were not, for various reasons, included in the blog proper. So, here we go:

Beginnings and Endings

In the modern day, it's pretty easy to tell mammals and reptiles apart. But, if we go far enough back in time, that eventually ceases to be so true. A common misunderstanding is that mammals evolved 'from' reptiles, but, in reality, mammals and reptiles are separate evolutionary lines that have lived alongside one another since long before there were dinosaurs. At least, that's true if we use the modern definition of 'reptile' since, of course, the animals that mammals really did evolve from would have looked an awful lot like reptiles if we'd been able to see them in the flesh.

Twilight of the Almost-Primates

The primates are one of the major groups within placental mammals, currently considered to contain at least fourteen different living 'families', and probably more. Given this, and the fact that they are fairly distinctive, it's not surprising to discover that they are also a very ancient group. Genetic studies, back by estimates of how frequently mutations ought to occur, imply that they may date all the way back to the extinction of the dinosaurs, or at least its immediate aftermath.

The oldest undisputed fossil primate we currently know of isn't quite that old, however, and dates back 'only' 55 million years to the dawn of the Eocene epoch. I have to add the word 'undisputed' to that, though, because it wasn't alone - a number of other very primate-like animals did live at the same time, and, indeed, somewhat earlier.

These animals are collectively called 'plesiadapiforms', and it would be fair to say that there is still some considerable debate as to what they actually were. Just as with the question as to how many families of living primate there are, this depends not on how the different groups are related, but on where we choose to draw the lines between them. In the case of living families, the question is whether we consider marmosets and night monkeys to belong to the broader capuchin family, or whether we consider them different enough to count as families in their own right. In the case of the plesiadapiforms, it's whether they're really weird early primates, or whether we consider them to be merely close relatives.

Monkeys, Apes, and Simians

Is this an ape or a monkey? Or both?
(Answer at the bottom)

There is, it seems to me, quite a lot of confusion among the general public about the term "monkey", and exactly which species of animal it might cover. Some people refer to chimpanzees as monkeys, while others reserve it for animals with tails, such as macaques and spider monkeys. And what about baboons or gibbons? Come to that, aren't there other kinds of primate? Where do they fit in?

Or us? Are we monkeys? Are we descended from monkeys? Or neither?

In short, what precisely is a "monkey" in scientific terms? About three-and-a-half years ago, I blogged about the definition of "primate", so perhaps now I'll look at some broad types of primate, and how they fit together.

Miocene (Pt 3): The Elephants Reach Europe

Gomphotherium angustidens

At the dawn of the Miocene, Europe was still relatively isolated from much of the rest of the world. The only other continent to which is was attached by land was Asia, and even with that, perhaps due to the higher sea levels and narrower land bridges of the day, there was less exchange of animals than one might expect. As a result, for a few million years at the dawn of the epoch, Europe remained a haven for animals that had died out elsewhere, or at least retreated. Tapirs, for example, were still common; today they are restricted to South East Asia and the Americas. The European rhinos of the day were also relatively small and primitive.

While the millions of years that they survived might actually have been quite notable, had we been talking about the much shorter, later epochs, in the grand sweep of the Miocene, we can say that they were quite rapidly replaced by immigrants from the east. The early tapirs were gone (although more modern forms did return for a while, much later), but the rhinos were instead replaced by larger and more sturdy, distinctly Miocene species.

Are Horses Self-Aware?

I'd imagine that the first response from anyone who regularly deals with horses to the above would be "well, of course they are!" Your horse shows not just awareness and recognition, and is clearly a fairly intelligent animal, but there seems to be something going on behind those eyes. Horses seem, for example, to be aware of the emotional state of their handlers, and respond appropriately. There is surely more to their actions than simple, pre-programmed instinct.

And, if that is your response, let's face it, you're not wrong.

But then, awareness isn't a simple "all or nothing" phenomenon. All living things respond to their environment in some way; it's part of the definition of being alive. But even once we exclude say, tomato plants, there's still a massive gulf between jellyfish and humans. Once we get specifically to mammals, there is clearly more going in their mental and emotional states than is the case for, say, starfish or parasitic worms. But even then, there is no sharp line between the full consciousness of an adult human and the awareness of every other sort of mammal.

Memory Tests for Mouse Lemurs

The ability to learn and remember things is a vital ability for just about any animal, albeit the sort of things that (say) monkeys are able to learn can be a good deal more complex than those flatworms can manage. There are, however, multiple different types of memory, rather than it being a single process that takes place in our brains and works the same way every time. There is the difference between short-term and long-term memory, for one thing (and there's actually more than two of those), but also between what are termed procedural and declarative memory.

Procedural memory is the ability to remember how to do something. Once you've learned whatever the task is, you don't need to think about it, it just comes automatically, like riding a bicycle. Exactly like riding a bicycle, in fact. Declarative memory, on the other hand, is the sort of thing you have to think about, such as remembering what happened to you the last time you were in a specific situation. If you're a human, this includes the ability to remember things like Vespertilio being a genus of bat (well, it is if you're me), but it also encompasses a much wider range of knowledge about the world and your own experiences in it.