Monday, January 16, 2012
Last night I happened on the show, "Cloning Your Pet," and of course I could not look away.
The premise was simple. Sad wealthy people paying to have the DNA of their beloved pet return to them by way of science. Somewhere, I think it might have been Korea, scientists spliced, diced, and mixed up deceased dog genes in a lab until years later (ten years in one case!) some sweet surrogate female boxer dog gave birth to a Doberman Pinscher. In other words, not her genetic offspring but instead the serial code of Eccentric Rich American's Beloved Late Pet.
What the who?
Who the what?
This really happens now?!?!?!
Where do I sign up?
Forget university Kids, there's a chance I could have my Sweet Sadie back in my arms when she passes!
Sorry Honey, you can't have the commuter car we have been saving up for because !hallelujah! we can someday have a puppy Sadie to generally never stop touching whenever she's within arm's reach.
(She's fine by the way, I'm just planning.)
Would you, could you?
(I could, I would, I would indeed. Remake a Sadie if we had money. Not with a fox, that would be mean. Nor in a box, that would be unclean.)
The whole show was outrageous yet compelling.
Sixty minutes were spent watching owners wring their hands over their broken hearts in prayer (?) the cloning procedure worked this time. It was heartbreaking to see the grief, the hope, the insanity, the overall boundless love these people had for their pets who had passed on.
But, I had to ask myself, is it right to synthesize an exact replica of a spirit who may not want to come back through the porthole of puppydom?
I don't know but let me tell you...
Only fifty THOUSAND dollars would be keeping me from doing it myself.