CSI ..... for dogs

from la times

Techno-pets, unleashed
By Eve Conant, EVE CONANT is a freelance writer in Sedona, Ariz.

THERE WAS THE llama abuse trial, the dog blood that solved the mystery of the murdered bartender and the mysterious elk poaching in Utah. The forensic experts at the Veterinary Genetics Laboratory at UC Davis, with the world's most extensive animal DNA database at their fingertips, had cracked all those cases. So they were happy to help the distraught owners convinced that a neighbor had dog-napped their Maltese named Missy.

Missy's owners needed hard evidence that the neighbor's new dog was, in fact, their own beloved pooch. So the lab's supervising forensic scientist, Elizabeth Wictum, performed "multiple extractions" from Missy's favorite hairbrushes to isolate her DNA profile.

With the help of police, investigators were able to take a swab of cells from the mouth of the dog in question. The doggie DNA was a match, and the fluffy pup was returned to her rightful owners. The fee: $500.

The Veterinary Genetics Laboratory started doing forensic DNA analysis of animals in criminal cases in the 1990s, but now half its clientele is pet lovers. The lab, however, is just one example of our increasingly expensive and technologically inspired relationship with our pets. These days, you can pay $10,000 for dog and cat kidney transplants, or put a down payment on a $3,500 kitten genetically engineered to be hypoallergenic. (The first litter is expected next year.) If you can't make your mortgage payment but you really want a patented animal, you can get a trademarked $5 fluorescent GloFish.

There are some great deals on cat cloning at Genetic Savings & Clone Inc. in Sausalito, Calif. (prices slashed to $32,000!). Dog cloning is under development. And because new research indicates that digital pets lower their owners' stress levels just like real animals, why not get a pet that doesn't pee on the rug? If your child owns a Nintendo DS ($129.99), you can shell out another $29.99 for the software to allow the kid to adopt a "Nintendog." Kids can train cyber Labradors to recognize their voice, tap on the screen to "pet" the hound and wirelessly sniff out and "play" with other "Nintendogs" nearby. No walking required.

If, however, you happen to be burdened with a real pet, the Veterinary Genetics Lab can offer biotech solutions to all manner of quandaries. Some owners want to know which neighborhood dog killed Fluffy, or if that pile of fur really was Fluffy. Others want to spare their beloved family predator from the long arm of the law and are willing to pony up as much as $1,000 for DNA experts to exonerate their cat, dog or ferret.

Call me old-fashioned. Like most people, my first introduction to the world of domestic animal husbandry was a goldfish. I was 5 and thrilled with my highly original and entertaining name for the fish, "Goldie." Goldie was a fish of unfathomable depths. I don't know what caused her demise a few months later. But I fed her microscopically thin flakes that clung to my fingertips, and she taught me the ABCs of life, love, unpredictability and death.

How retro. Now you can join 70 million others in the dander-free world of neopets.com, a website where you can genetically modify your adopted pet. (Though you are warned not to adopt too many "very demanding" beasties like Xweetok, a futuristic cross between a skunk and a hamster.) Media watchdogs report that Neopet fans spend an average of six hours a month on the site.

While most Neopet owners are under 18, I nevertheless decided to adopt an "Acara," a kittenish ram that I could modify with a few clicks. I wanted to name him Thunderjaws, but it turns out several hundred thousand others have thought of the name. Anton didn't work either, so I settled for the offered choice of Anton1137554860595.

But Missy, Anton and the cloned kitties raise the question: Have we grown more attached to our pets or more enchanted by technology? Which of these drives us to pay hundreds of dollars to solve misdemeanors like the Missy case, or to spend hours caring for fictitious beasts? Is a child's cyber-pet a healthy substitute for a real animal, or an Internet addiction fueled by the very human instinct to care for a vulnerable creature?

In the mid-1990s, the Japanese created a worldwide craze over Tamagotchi: a hand-held game with computerized eggs that owners would hatch and raise. There were Tamagotchi baby-sitters, and grief counselors to console owners who failed at cyber-rearing. "Nintendogs" are more advanced; they never die and break your heart. And if the real animals do, there are forensic scientists to offer answers, or at least closure.

All it takes is a little DNA — and a whole lot of cash. Bonus for kids: With a little DNA-drenched saliva, you can prove the dog really did eat your homework.