Huxley

• Psychological Adaptations: A Model and It's Relevance by James Brody, 4/24/97
  
  

Huxley

I found him on my rear porch, cowering and emitting low pitched chatters. He was very young, his snout barely protruding much past his eyes. Like a typical primate, I "had" to pick him up; like many female primates and like my grandfather, I "had" to take care of him instead of emptying the cats' litter or repairing my tractor's carburetor, or cleaning out Huxley's parents from the nest they had made in my eaves, about 20 feet above where I found him.

One of my clients, although depressed and unable to discipline her daughter consistently, immediately noticed that Huxley favored his right paw. She saw the possible injury; I missed it. Otherwise, Huxley appeared to have independent tracking for his paws; I could aim him carefully for the slot to return to his cage and a left or right rear paw unerringly grabbed the top rim. Stop, back up, control the wandering limb, reinsert, and a different paw latched on. His injury passed in a few days.

Huxley, once in his cage, growled and lunged at me or at the cat. But, only in his cage and the lunges became less frequent as we passed time together. Emmy began to ignore him when she shared the kitchen table to eat. Ever watch a cat and a squirrel chow down together? Unusual and fun even though peace was kept by the glass barrier between them. (1)

He emitted high frequency shrieks when left alone in the evening. As with human infants who make similar cries, I picked him up and/or left him a night light just as I do for myself.

Huxley's short nose, large eyes, small ears, large hands and feet, long limbs, and short body -- all made him look human. Ignore his tail and move him upright -- his limbs, posture, and proportions were strong reminders that we shared a mother somewhere in time. Her physical and psychological traits guide both of us; his adaptations fit with my own even though our parents said good bye to each other perhaps 50 million years ago.

Anyhow, there are some guilt twinges. Dan Quinn (Ishmael) argues that we are the only creature to control the life and death of other species. That we consciously view such decisions as our natural domain, transmitted by one deity or another.

My own thoughts are that I'm extending my own hierarchy by "having" ducks and cats and a juvenile squirrel. A good Darwinian would accuse me of drooling about the prospects of tender, naked squirrel meat.

Still, I think I'm being a "good guy," that my morality serves my survival needs including those for grooming and companionship. Huxley (and Emmy) have comparable needs -- she sleeps on my arm in the evening, Huxley doesn't squeal if I'm in the room at night and he goes to sleep immediately in my palm -- and the three of us function inside our own cell walls, protected from buzzards, dogs, and adolescent hominids, and steered by our psychological adaptations.

NOTE

1) There are recent postings on the Paleopsych List_Serve about the need for cell walls to protect competing interests. Good fences make good neighbors? Are cell walls a functional equivalent to our preferring to ride in separate automobiles?

No Replies