A dog that sniffed out survivors after 9/11 has won a contest to be cloned. From the story:
Trakr, a German shepherd who lives with his owner James Symington in Los Angeles, was picked by BioArts International as the most “clone-worthy” canine in a competition offering an owner a free chance to replicate their pet. Symington said he and Trakr were among the first search and rescue teams to arrive at Ground Zero after the September 11 attacks, and were responsible for locating the last human survivor under about 30 feet (nine meters) of debris.
Now aged 15, the dog no longer has use of his back legs due to a degenerative neurological disorder. According to BioArts, experts believe the condition may be linked to exposure to toxic smoke at the World Trade Center site. “Trakr means the world to me,” Symington said. “To know that part of him is going to live on is just beyond words. It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”
But the clone will not be the same dog that he so deeply loves. It may not even look like his dog, much less exhibit the same personality, since we are not merely the product of our genes. Not to mention that the cloned animal could very well have very bad genetic defects from the cloning process.
Don’t get me wrong, if it makes Symington happy I am fine with it. But this story adds inadvertent heft to the idea that reproductive cloning could somehow replace our dead loved ones. Indeed, whilst debating human cloning at the University of Alabama, Huntsville, I heard Brigitte Boisselier of the Raelians promise grieving parents that Clonaid could bring back their dead children. It was disgraceful.
Cloning can’t do that. Nothing can. It is urgent that we keep that in mind, which is why I decided to bring this matter up.
Lift My Chin, Lord
Lift my chin, Lord,Say to me,“You are not whoYou feared to be,Not Hecate, quite,With howling sound,Torch held…
Letters
Two delightful essays in the March issue, by Nikolas Prassas (“Large Language Poetry,” March 2025) and Gary…
Spring Twilight After Penance
Let’s say you’ve just comeFrom confession. Late sunPours through the budding treesThat mark the brown creek washing Itself…