By Jake Buehler All eight arms of an octopus can be used for whatever their cephalopod owner wishes, but some arms are favored for certain tasks. A new, detailed analysis of how octopuses wield their famously flexible appendages suggests that all eight arms share a skill set, but the front four spend more time on exploration and the back four on movement. The findings, published September 11 in Scientific Reports, provide a comprehensive accounting of how subtle arm movements coordinate the clever invertebrates’ repertoire of behaviors. Octopuses live their lives through their sucker-lined arms, which make up the bulk of their body mass and contain most of their nervous system. Marine biologist Chelsea Bennice wanted to understand how octopuses use the extreme flexibility of their boneless limbs to move, hunt and investigate their environment. Her colleagues had examined some of these behaviors in laboratory settings, but not in the wild. Bennice and her colleagues watched 25 videos, filmed from 2007 to 2015, of multiple species of wild octopuses in Spain and the Caribbean, cataloging their behaviors and arm movements. In all, the researchers logged nearly 4,000 arm actions, which could be broken down into 12 types, including raising, reaching and grasping. The arms could deform in four distinct ways: elongating, shortening, bending and twisting. The team found that the octopuses were exceptionally ambidextrous. “Octopuses are ultimate multitaskers,” says Bennice, of Florida Atlantic University in Boca Raton. “All arms are capable of all arm behaviors and all arm deformations. They can even use multiple arm actions on a single arm and on several arms at the same time.” © Society for Science & the Public 2000–2025.

Keyword: Laterality; Evolution
Link ID: 29926 - Posted: 09.13.2025

By Rachel E. Gross The first thing Debra McVean did when she woke up at the hospital in March 2024 was try to get to the bathroom. But her left arm wouldn’t move; neither would her left leg. She was paralyzed all along her left side. She had suffered a stroke, her doctor soon explained. A few nights before, a blood clot had lodged in an artery in her neck, choking off oxygen to her brain cells. Now an M.R.I. showed a dark spot in her brain, an eerie absence directly behind her right eye. What that meant for her prognosis, however, the doctor couldn’t say. “Something’s missing there, but you don’t know what,” Ms. McVean’s husband, Ian, recalled recently. “And you don’t know how that will affect her recovery. It’s that uncertainty, it eats away at you.” With a brain injury, unlike a broken bone, there is no clear road to recovery. Nor are there medical tools or therapies to help guide the brain toward healing. All doctors can do is encourage patients to work hard in rehab, and hope. That is why, for decades, the medical attitude toward survivors of brain injury has been largely one of neurological “nihilism,” said Dr. Fernando Testai, a neurologist at the University of Illinois, Chicago, and the editor in chief of the Journal of Stroke and Cerebrovascular Diseases. Stroke, he said, “was often seen as a disease of ‘diagnose and adios.’” That may be about to change. A few days after Ms. McVean woke up in the Foothills Medical Center in Calgary, she was told about a clinical trial for a pill that could help the brain recover from a stroke or traumatic injury, called Maraviroc. Given her level of physical disability, she was a good candidate for the study. She hesitated. The pills were large — horse pills, she called them. But she knew the study could help others, and there was a 50 percent chance that she would get a drug that could help her, too. © 2025 The New York Times Company

Keyword: Stroke; Regeneration
Link ID: 29921 - Posted: 09.06.2025

By Marta Hill Most people flinch when a rat scurries into their path, but not one New York City-based research team: These researchers actively seek out urban rats to study their day-to-day behaviors and interactions. The work is part of a growing trend of neuroscientists studying animals in their natural environments rather than in the lab. “It’s a classic neuroscience model organism, but we don’t really know that much about their natural ecology,” says team member Emily Mackevicius, senior research scientist at Basis Research Institute. The fact that urban rats are ubiquitous presents a convenient opportunity for naturalistic study, adds Ralph Peterson, a postdoctoral fellow at the institute, who is also part of the team. Last year, Peterson, Mackevicius and their colleagues held a series of rat behavior stakeouts around New York City—in the Union Square subway station, in a wooded area of Central Park and on a street corner in Harlem. The team used thermal cameras to track the animals as they foraged in the dark and ultrasonic audio recorders to eavesdrop on rat vocalizations. Rats in the wild vocalize differently than laboratory rats, the team found. For example, lab rats typically emit calls at 22 kilohertz in negative contexts, such as when they sense danger, according to a 2021 review article. By contrast, the city rats used that frequency across more varied scenarios, including while they were foraging. The team posted their results on bioRxiv last month. “This creature that we see out at night all the time, running around, is actually vocalizing all the while, and we can’t hear it,” Peterson says. © 2025 Simons Foundation

Keyword: Animal Communication; Evolution
Link ID: 29893 - Posted: 08.20.2025

By Carl Zimmer For decades, neuroengineers have dreamed of helping people who have been cut off from the world of language. A disease like amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or A.L.S., weakens the muscles in the airway. A stroke can kill neurons that normally relay commands for speaking. Perhaps, by implanting electrodes, scientists could instead record the brain’s electric activity and translate that into spoken words. Now a team of researchers has made an important advance toward that goal. Previously they succeeded in decoding the signals produced when people tried to speak. In the new study, published on Thursday in the journal Cell, their computer often made correct guesses when the subjects simply imagined saying words. Christian Herff, a neuroscientist at Maastricht University in the Netherlands who was not involved in the research, said the result went beyond the merely technological and shed light on the mystery of language. “It’s a fantastic advance,” Dr. Herff said. The new study is the latest result in a long-running clinical trial, called BrainGate2, that has already seen some remarkable successes. One participant, Casey Harrell, now uses his brain-machine interface to hold conversations with his family and friends. In 2023, after A.L.S. had made his voice unintelligible, Mr. Harrell agreed to have electrodes implanted in his brain. Surgeons placed four arrays of tiny needles on the left side, in a patch of tissue called the motor cortex. The region becomes active when the brain creates commands for muscles to produce speech. A computer recorded the electrical activity from the implants as Mr. Harrell attempted to say different words. Over time, with the help of artificial intelligence, the computer accurately predicted almost 6,000 words, with an accuracy of 97.5 percent. It could then synthesize those words using Mr. Harrell’s voice, based on recordings made before he developed A.L.S. © 2025 The New York Times Company

Keyword: Language; Robotics
Link ID: 29892 - Posted: 08.16.2025

James Doubek Researchers have some new evidence about what makes birds make so much noise early in the morning, and it's not for some of the reasons they previously thought. For decades, a dominant theory about why birds sing at dawn — called the "dawn chorus" — has been that they can be heard farther and more clearly at that time. Sound travels faster in humid air and it's more humid early in the morning. It's less windy, too, which is thought to lessen any distortion of their vocalizations. But scientists from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's K. Lisa Yang Center for Conservation Bioacoustics and Project Dhvani in India combed through audio recordings of birds in the rainforest. They say they didn't find evidence to back up this "acoustic transmission hypothesis." It was among the hypotheses involving environmental factors. Another is that birds spend their time singing at dawn because there's low light and it's a bad time to look for food. "We basically didn't find much support for some of these environmental cues which have been purported in literature as hypotheses" for why birds sing more at dawn, says Vijay Ramesh, a postdoctoral research associate at Cornell and the study's lead author. The study, called "Why is the early bird early? An evaluation of hypotheses for avian dawn-biased vocal activity," was published this month in the peer-reviewed journal Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B. The researchers didn't definitively point to one reason for why the dawn chorus is happening, but they found support for ideas that the early morning racket relates to birds marking their territory after being inactive at night, and communicating about finding food. © 2025 npr

Keyword: Animal Communication; Evolution
Link ID: 29839 - Posted: 06.21.2025

Associated Press Prairie dogs bark to alert each other to the presence of predators, with different cries depending on whether the threat is airborne or approaching by land. But their warnings also seem to help a vulnerable grassland bird. Curlews have figured out that if they eavesdrop on alarms from US prairie dog colonies they may get a jump on predators coming for them, too, according to research published on Thursday in the journal Animal Behavior. “Prairie dogs are on the menu for just about every predator you can think of – golden eagles, red-tailed hawks, foxes, badgers, even large snakes,” said Andy Boyce, a research ecologist in Montana at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. Such animals also gladly snack on grassland nesting birds such as the long-billed curlew, so the birds have adapted. Previous research has shown birds frequently eavesdrop on other bird species to glean information about food sources or danger, said Georgetown University ornithologist Emily Williams, who was not involved in the study. But, so far, scientists have documented only a few instances of birds eavesdropping on mammals. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s rare in the wild,” she said, “it just means we haven’t studied it yet.” Prairie dogs, a type of ground squirrel, live in large colonies with a series of burrows that may stretch for miles underground, especially on the vast US plains. When they hear each other’s barks, they either stand alert watching or dive into their burrows. “Those little barks are very loud; they can carry quite a long way,” said research co-author Andrew Dreelin, who also works for the Smithsonian. © 2025 Guardian News & Media Limited

Keyword: Animal Communication; Language
Link ID: 29832 - Posted: 06.18.2025

David Farrier Charles Darwin suggested that humans learned to speak by mimicking birdsong: our ancestors’ first words may have been a kind of interspecies exchange. Perhaps it won’t be long before we join the conversation once again. The race to translate what animals are saying is heating up, with riches as well as a place in history at stake. The Jeremy Coller Foundation has promised $10m to whichever researchers can crack the code. This is a race fuelled by generative AI; large language models can sort through millions of recorded animal vocalisations to find their hidden grammars. Most projects focus on cetaceans because, like us, they learn through vocal imitation and, also like us, they communicate via complex arrangements of sound that appear to have structure and hierarchy. Sperm whales communicate in codas – rapid sequences of clicks, each as brief as 1,000th of a second. Project Ceti (the Cetacean Translation Initiative) is using AI to analyse codas in order to reveal the mysteries of sperm whale speech. There is evidence the animals take turns, use specific clicks to refer to one another, and even have distinct dialects. Ceti has already isolated a click that may be a form of punctuation, and they hope to speak whaleish as soon as 2026. The linguistic barrier between species is already looking porous. Last month, Google released DolphinGemma, an AI program to translate dolphins, trained on 40 years of data. In 2013, scientists using an AI algorithm to sort dolphin communication identified a new click in the animals’ interactions with one another, which they recognised as a sound they had previously trained the pod to associate with sargassum seaweed – the first recorded instance of a word passing from one species into another’s native vocabulary. The prospect of speaking dolphin or whale is irresistible. And it seems that they are just as enthusiastic. In November last year, scientists in Alaska recorded an acoustic “conversation” with a humpback whale called Twain, in which they exchanged a call-and-response form known as “whup/throp” with the animal over a 20-minute period. In Florida, a dolphin named Zeus was found to have learned to mimic the vowel sounds, A, E, O, and U. © 2025 Guardian News & Media Limited

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29821 - Posted: 06.04.2025

Danielle Wilhour Cerebrospinal fluid, or CSF, is a clear, colorless liquid that plays a crucial role in maintaining the health and function of your central nervous system. It cushions the brain and spinal cord, provides nutrients and removes waste products. Despite its importance, problems related to CSF often go unnoticed until something goes wrong. Recently, cerebrospinal fluid disorders drew public attention with the announcement that musician Billy Joel had been diagnosed with normal pressure hydrocephalus. In this condition, excess CSF accumulates in the brain’s cavities, enlarging them and putting pressure on surrounding brain tissue even though diagnostic readings appear normal. Because normal pressure hydrocephalus typically develops gradually and can mimic symptoms of other neurodegenerative diseases, such as Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease, it is often misdiagnosed. I am a neurologist and headache specialist. In my work treating patients with CSF pressure disorders, I have seen these conditions present in many different ways. Here’s what happens when your cerebrospinal fluid stops working. What is cerebrospinal fluid? CSF is made of water, proteins, sugars, ions and neurotransmitters. It is primarily produced by a network of cells called the choroid plexus, which is located in the brain’s ventricles, or cavities. The choroid plexus produces approximately 500 milliliters (17 ounces) of CSF daily, but only about 150 milliliters (5 ounces) are present within the central nervous system at any given time due to constant absorption and replenishment in the brain. This fluid circulates through the ventricles of the brain, the central canal of the spinal cord and the subarachnoid space surrounding the brain and spinal cord. © 2010–2025, The Conversation US, Inc.

Keyword: Biomechanics; Stroke
Link ID: 29812 - Posted: 05.31.2025

By Paula Span & KFF Health News Kristin Kramer woke up early on a Tuesday morning 10 years ago because one of her dogs needed to go out. Then, a couple of odd things happened. When she tried to call her other dog, “I couldn’t speak,” she said. As she walked downstairs to let them into the yard, “I noticed that my right hand wasn’t working.” But she went back to bed, “which was totally stupid,” said Kramer, now 54, an office manager in Muncie, Indiana. “It didn’t register that something major was happening,” especially because, reawakening an hour later, “I was perfectly fine.” So she “just kind of blew it off” and went to work. It’s a common response to the neurological symptoms that signal a TIA, a transient ischemic attack or ministroke. At least 240,000 Americans experience one each year, with the incidence increasing sharply with age. Because the symptoms disappear quickly, usually within minutes, people don’t seek immediate treatment, putting them at high risk for a bigger stroke. Kramer felt some arm tingling over the next couple of days and saw her doctor, who found nothing alarming on a CT scan. But then she started “jumbling” her words and finally had a relative drive her to an emergency room. By then, she could not sign her name. After an MRI, she recalled, “my doctor came in and said, ‘You’ve had a small stroke.’” Did those early-morning aberrations constitute a TIA? Might a 911 call and an earlier start on anticlotting drugs have prevented her stroke? “We don’t know,” Kramer said. She’s doing well now, but faced with such symptoms again, “I would seek medical attention.” © 2025 SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN,

Keyword: Stroke
Link ID: 29808 - Posted: 05.28.2025

Sofia Marie Haley I approach a flock of mountain chickadees feasting on pine nuts. A cacophony of sounds, coming from the many different bird species that rely on the Sierra Nevada’s diverse pine cone crop, fill the crisp mountain air. The strong “chick-a-dee” call sticks out among the bird vocalizations. The chickadees are communicating to each other about food sources – and my approach. Mountain chickadees are a member of the family Paridae, which is known for its complex vocal communication systems and cognitive abilities. Along with my advisers, behavioral ecologists Vladimir Pravosudov and Carrie Branch, I’m studying mountain chickadees at our study site in Sagehen Experimental Forest, outside of Truckee, California, for my doctoral research. I am focusing on how these birds convey a variety of information with their calls. The chilly autumn air on top of the mountain reminds me that it will soon be winter. It is time for the mountain chickadees to leave the socially monogamous partnerships they had while raising their chicks to form larger flocks. Forming social groups is not always simple; young chickadees are joining new flocks, and social dynamics need to be established before the winter storms arrive. I can hear them working this out vocally. There’s an unusual variety of complex calls, with melodic “gargle calls” at the forefront, coming from individuals announcing their dominance over other flock members. Examining and decoding bird calls is becoming an increasingly popular field of study, as scientists like me are discovering that many birds – including mountain chickadees – follow systematic rules to share important information, stringing together syllables like words in a sentence. © 2010–2025, The Conversation US, Inc.

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29807 - Posted: 05.28.2025

By Maggie Astor Billy Joel has canceled his upcoming concerts because of a brain disorder affecting his hearing, vision and balance, the singer-songwriter announced on Friday. The condition, called normal pressure hydrocephalus, or N.P.H., is estimated to affect hundreds of thousands of older Americans. Here’s what to know about it. What is normal pressure hydrocephalus? N.P.H. occurs when excess cerebrospinal fluid accumulates in the brain, causing difficulty walking, trouble controlling one’s bladder and memory problems. Those symptoms together suggest the disorder. The bladder symptoms can include incontinence and waking up at night to urinate with increasing frequency, said Dr. Charles Matouk, a neurosurgeon at Yale University and director of the university’s Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus Program. A statement posted to Mr. Joel’s social media accounts on Friday said his condition had been “exacerbated by recent concert performances.” N.P.H. is rare, but risk increases with age. Dr. Matouk estimated that it might affect less than 1 percent of the population ages 65 to 80, but likely 5 percent or more of people over 80. Experts say the condition is likely underdiagnosed because its symptoms can easily be dismissed as normal effects of aging. Dr. Matouk urged people to see a doctor if they experienced trouble walking, controlling their bladder and remembering things. How is it diagnosed? When a patient shows up with gait, bladder and memory problems, the first test may be a CT scan or M.R.I. In patients with N.P.H., that imaging will show enlargement of the brain’s fluid-filled ventricles. But the conclusive test is a spinal tap: Because that procedure removes cerebrospinal fluid, patients with N.P.H. experience a temporary alleviation of symptoms, confirming the diagnosis, Dr. Matouk said. © 2025 The New York Times Company

Keyword: Brain imaging
Link ID: 29801 - Posted: 05.24.2025

By Sara Novak Just a few weeks after they hatch, baby male zebra finches begin to babble, spending much of the day testing their vocal chords. Dad helps out, singing to his hatchlings during feedings, so that the babies can internalize his tune, the same mating refrain shared by all male zebra finches. Soon, these tiny Australian birds begin to rehearse the song itself, repeating it up to 10,000 times a day, without any clear reward other than their increasing perfection of the melody. The baby birds’ painstaking devotion to mastering their song led Duke University neuroscientist Richard Mooney and his Duke colleague John Pearson to wonder whether the birds could help us better understand the nature of self-directed learning. In humans, language and musical expression are thought to be self-directed—spontaneous, adaptive and intrinsically reinforced. In a study recently published in Nature, the scientists tracked the brain signals and levels of dopamine, a neurotransmitter involved in reward and movement, in the brains of five male baby Zebra finches while they were singing. They also measured song quality for each rendition the birds sang, in terms of both pitch and vigor, as well as the quality of song performance relative to the bird’s age. What they found is that dopamine levels in the baby birds’ brains closely matched the birds’ performance of the song, suggesting it plays a central role in the learning process. Scientists have long known that learning that is powered by external rewards, such as grades, praise or sugary treats, is driven by dopamine—which is thought to chart the differences between expected and experienced rewards. But while they have suspected that self-directed learning is likewise guided by dopamine, it had been difficult to test that hypothesis until now. © 2025 NautilusNext Inc.,

Keyword: Attention; Sexual Behavior
Link ID: 29800 - Posted: 05.24.2025

By Gina Kolata Dr. Geoffrey Manley, a neurosurgeon at the University of California, San Francisco, wants the medical establishment to change the way it deals with brain injuries. His work is motivated in part by what happened to a police officer he treated in 2002, just after completing his medical training. The man arrived at the emergency room unconscious, in a coma. He had been in a terrible car crash while pursuing a criminal. Two days later, Dr. Manley’s mentor said it was time to tell the man’s family there was no hope. His life support should be withdrawn. He should be allowed to die. Dr. Manley resisted. The patient’s brain oxygen levels were encouraging. Seven days later the policeman was still in a coma. Dr. Manley’s mentor again pressed him to talk to the man’s family about withdrawing life support. Again, Dr. Manley resisted. Ten days after the accident, the policeman began to come out of his coma. Three years later he was back at work and was named San Francisco Police Officer of the Month. In 2010, he was Police Officer of the Year “That case, and another like it,” Dr. Manley said, “changed my practice.” But little has changed in the world of traumatic brain injuries since Dr. Manley’s patient woke up. Assessments of who will recover and how severely patients are injured are pretty much the same, which results in patients being told they “just” have a concussion, who then have trouble getting care for recurring symptoms like memory lapses or headaches. And it results in some patients in the position of that policemen, who have their life support withdrawn when they might have recovered. Now, though, Dr. Manley and 93 others from 14 countries are proposing a new way to evaluate patients. They published their classification system Tuesday in the journal Lancet Neurology. © 2025 The New York Times Company

Keyword: Brain Injury/Concussion; Consciousness
Link ID: 29798 - Posted: 05.21.2025

By Erin Wayman Barbara J. King remembers the first time she met Kanzi the bonobo. It was the late 1990s, and the ape was living in a research center in Georgia. King walked in and told Kanzi she had a present. A small, round object created a visible outline in the front pocket of her jeans. Kanzi picked up a board checkered with colorful symbols and pointed to the one meaning “egg” and then to “question.” An egg? No, not an egg. A ball. But “he asked an on-point question, and even an extremely simple conversation was just amazing,” says King, a biolog­ical anthropologist at William & Mary in Williamsburg, Va. Born in 1980, Kanzi began learn­ing to communicate with symbols as an infant. He ultimately mastered more than 300 symbols, combined them in novel ways and understood spoken English. Kanzi was arguably the most accomplished among a cohort of “talking” apes that scientists in­tensely studied to understand the origins of language and to probe the ape mind. He was also the last of his kind. In March, Kanzi died. “It’s not just Kanzi that is gone; it’s this whole field of inquiry,” says comparative psychologist Heidi Lyn of the University of South Alabama in Mobile. Lyn had worked with Kanzi on and off for 30 years. Kanzi’s death offers an opportu­nity to reflect on what decades of ape-language experiments taught us — and at what cost. A history of ape-language experiments Language — communication marked by using symbols, grammar and syntax — has long been consid­ered among the abilities that make humans unique. And when it comes to delineating the exact boundary separating us from other animals, scientists often turn to our closest living relatives, the great apes. © Society for Science & the Public 2000–2025.

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29797 - Posted: 05.21.2025

By Paula Span Kristin Kramer woke up early on a Tuesday morning 10 years ago because one of her dogs needed to go out. Then, a couple of odd things happened. When she tried to call her other dog, “I couldn’t speak,” she said. As she walked downstairs to let them into the yard, “I noticed that my right hand wasn’t working.” But she went back to bed, “which was totally stupid,” said Ms. Kramer, now 54, an office manager in Muncie, Ind. “It didn’t register that something major was happening,” especially because, reawakening an hour later, “I was perfectly fine.” So she “just kind of blew it off” and went to work. It’s a common response to the neurological symptoms that signal a T.I.A., a transient ischemic attack or ministroke. At least 240,000 Americans experience one each year, with the incidence increasing sharply with age. Because the symptoms disappear quickly, usually within minutes, people don’t seek immediate treatment, putting them at high risk for a bigger stroke. Ms. Kramer felt some arm tingling over the next couple of days and saw her doctor, who found nothing alarming on a CT scan. But then she started “jumbling” her words and finally had a relative drive her to an emergency room. By then, she could not sign her name.After an M.R.I., she recalled, “my doctor came in and said, ‘You’ve had a small stroke.’” Did those early-morning aberrations constitute a T.I.A.? Might a 911 call and an earlier start on anti-clotting drugs have prevented her stroke? “We don’t know,” Ms. Kramer said. She’s doing well now, but faced with such symptoms again, “I would seek medical attention.” Now, a large epidemiological study by researchers at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, published in JAMA Neurology, points to another reason to take T.I.A.s seriously: Over five years, study participants’ performance on cognitive tests after a T.I.A. drops as steeply as it does among victims of a full-on stroke. © 2025 The New York Times Company

Keyword: Stroke
Link ID: 29796 - Posted: 05.21.2025

By Mikael Angelo Francisco A comic explains the highs and lows of birdsong Mikael Angelo Francisco is a science journalist and illustrator from the Philippines who enjoys writing about paleontology, biodiversity, environment conservation, and science in pop culture. He has written and edited books about media literacy, Filipino scientists, and science trivia. © 2025 NautilusNext Inc.

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29794 - Posted: 05.21.2025

By Sheila Hale On the night before the accident, John and I and our son Jay, who was then 26, lingered in the garden drinking wine and enjoying the mid-summer scent of jasmine and lilies. We talked about the Manet exhibition we had just seen at the National Gallery. We probably talked about how the end of the cold war might affect the chances of Bill Clinton winning the presidential election against George HW Bush in November. I know what John thought about that. I only wish I could recall his words. The next morning, 30 July 1992, John got up before me as he always did. In the kitchen I found the contents of the dishwasher – knives, forks, spoons, plates, mugs – jumbled together on the table. This was odd because unloading the dishwasher was the one domestic ritual he willingly performed. It would be years before I learned the reason. At the time I put it down to absent-mindedness. It was a month since he had delivered a book to the publisher and he was already preoccupied by the next one, about art in the European Renaissance. Before I had time to be annoyed, I heard a crash from his study at the top of the house. I ran upstairs and found him lying on the floor next to his desk. He looked up at me with the radiant, witless smile of a baby. And he said: “Da walls.” The ambulance took us to the local hospital where they said that my husband had had cerebral accident – a stroke. The cause was probably years of uncontrolled high blood pressure, about which no doctor had warned him. They said he needed rest and reassurance. Unfortunately, because of the so-called efficiency savings introduced by John Major’s government, there was a shortage of beds and of nurses in all London hospitals. I was so grateful when they found a bed for him in a geriatric ward later in the day that I didn’t at first notice how filthy it was and how hot. The floor was covered in urine, blood and dust balls. (Later I brought in a mop to clean around John’s bed.) The plateglass window could not be opened: to prevent suicides, a passing nurse told me. It was a week before I managed to track down the doctor whose name was printed on a grimy card at the head of John’s bed. The doctor informed me that my husband’s case was hopeless. He would never walk again and must never be allowed to try to stand because the hospital insurance wouldn’t cover a fall. Physiotherapy, which the doctor considered “about as useful as peanut butter”, was out of the question. © 2025 Guardian News & Media Limited

Keyword: Stroke
Link ID: 29792 - Posted: 05.17.2025

By Christa Lesté-Lasserre Can a robot arm wave hello to a cuttlefish—and get a hello back? Could a dolphin’s whistle actually mean “Where are you?” And are monkeys quietly naming each other while we fail to notice? These are just a few of the questions tackled by the finalists for this year’s Dolittle prize, a $100,000 award recognizing early breakthroughs in artificial intelligence (AI)-powered interspecies communication. The winning project—announced today—explores how dolphins use shared, learned whistles that may carry specific meanings—possibly even warning each other about danger, or just expressing confusion. The other contending teams—working with marmosets, cuttlefish, and nightingales—are also pushing the boundaries of what human-animal communication might look like. The prize marks an important milestone in the Coller Dolittle Challenge, a 5-year competition offering up to $10 million to the first team that can achieve genuine two-way communication with animals. “Part of how this initiative was born came from my skepticism,” says Yossi Yovel, a neuroecologist at Tel Aviv University and one of the prize’s organizers. “But we really have much better tools now. So this is the time to revisit a lot of our previous assumptions about two-way communication within the animal’s own world.” Science caught up with the four finalists to hear how close we really are to cracking the animal code. This interview has been edited for clarity and length. Cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis and S. bandensis) lack ears and voices, but they apparently make up for this with a kind of sign language. When shown videos of comrades waving their arms, they wave back.

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29788 - Posted: 05.17.2025

By Jake Buehler Grunts, barks, screams and pants ring through Taï National Park in Cȏte d’Ivoire. Chimpanzees there combine these different calls like linguistic Legos to relay complex meanings when communicating, researchers report May 9 in Science Advances. Chimps can combine and flexibly rearrange pairs of sounds to convey different ideas or meanings, an ability that investigators have not documented in other nonhuman animals. This system may represent a key evolutionary transition between vocal communication strategies of other animals and the syntax rules that structure human languages. “The difference between human language and how other animals communicate is really about how we combine sounds to form words, and how we combine words to form sentences,” says Cédric Girard-Buttoz, an evolutionary biologist at CNRS in Lyon, France. Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) were known to have a particularly complicated vocal repertoire, with about a dozen single sounds that they can combine into hundreds of sequences. But it was unclear if the apes used multiple approaches when combining sounds to make new meanings, like in human language. In 2019 and 2020, Girard-Buttoz and his colleagues recorded 53 different adult chimpanzees living in the Taï forest. In all, the team analyzed over 4,300 sounds and described 16 different “bigrams” — short sequences of two sounds, like a grunt followed by a bark, or a panted hoo followed by a scream. The team then used statistical analyses to map those bigrams to behaviors to reveal some of the bigrams’ meanings. The result? Chimpanzees don’t combine sounds in a single, consistent way. They have at least four different methods — a first seen outside of humans. © Society for Science & the Public 2000–2025

Keyword: Language; Evolution
Link ID: 29781 - Posted: 05.11.2025

By Rachel Lehmann-Haupt On a brisk January evening this year, I was speeding down I–295 in northeast Florida, under a full moon, to visit my dad’s brain. As I drove past shadowy cypress swamps, sinewy river estuaries, and gaudy-hued billboards of condominiums with waterslides and red umbrellas boasting, “Best place to live in Florida,” I was aware of the strangeness of my visit. Most people pay respects to their loved ones at memorials and grave sites, but I was intensely driven to check in on the last remaining physical part of my dad, immortalized in what seemed like the world’s most macabre library. Michael DeTure, a professor of neuroscience, stepped out of a golf cart to meet me. “Welcome to the bunker. Just 8,000 of your quietest friends in here,” he said in a melodic southern drawl, grinning in a way that told me he’s made this joke before. The bunker is an indiscriminate warehouse, part of the Mayo Clinic’s Jacksonville, Florida campus that houses its brain bank. DeTure opened the warehouse door, and I was met with a blast of cold air. In the back of the warehouse sat rows of buzzing white freezers. DeTure pointed to the freezer where my dad’s brain sat in a drawer in a plastic bag with his name written on it in black Sharpie pen. I welled up with tears and a feeling of intense fear. The room suddenly felt too cold, too sterile, too bright, and my head started to spin. I wanted to run away from this place. And then my brain escaped for me. I saw my dad on a beach on Cape Cod in 1977. He was in a bathing suit, shirtless, lying on a towel. I was 7 years old and snuggled up to him to protect myself from the wind. He was reading aloud to my mom and me from Evelyn Waugh’s novel, A Handful of Dust, whose title is from T.S. Eliot’s poem, “The Wasteland”: “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” He was reading the part about Tony Last, an English gentleman, being imprisoned by an eccentric recluse who forces him to read Dickens endlessly. © 2025 NautilusNext Inc.,

Keyword: Language; Learning & Memory
Link ID: 29776 - Posted: 05.07.2025