In a castaway test setup, groups of young honeybees figuring out how to forage on their own start waggle dancing spontaneously — but badly.

Waggling matters. A honeybee’s rump-shimmy runs and turning loops encode clues that help her colony mates fly to food she has found, sometimes kilometers away. However, five  colonies in the new test had no older sisters or half-sisters around as role models for getting the dance moves right.

Still, dances improved in some ways as the youngsters wiggled and looped day after day, reports behavioral ecologist James Nieh of the University of California, San Diego. But when waggling the clues for distance information, Apis mellifera without role models never did match the timing and coding in normal colonies where young bees practiced with older foragers before doing the main waggle themselves.

The youngsters-only colonies thus show that social learning, or the lack of it, matters for communicating by dance among honeybees, Nieh and an international team of colleagues say in the March 10 Science. Bee waggle dancing, a sort of language, turns out to be both innate and learned, like songbird or human communication.

The dance may appear simple in a diagram, but executing it on expanses of honeycomb cells gets challenging. Bees are “running forward at over one body length per second in the pitch black trying to keep the correct angle, surrounded by hundreds of bees that are crowding them,” Nieh says.

Beekeepers and biologists know that some kinds of bees can learn from others of their kind — some bumblebees even tried soccer (SN: 2/23/17). But when it comes to waggle dancing, “I think people have assumed it’s genetic,” Nieh says. That would make this fancy footwork more like the chatty but innate communications of cuttlefish color change, for instance. The lab bee-castaway experiments instead show a nonhuman example of “social learning for sophisticated communication,” Nieh says.

Testing for social learning took some elaborate beekeeping. At an apiary research center in Kunming, China, researchers put thousands of nearly grown-up honeybees (at what’s called the purple-eyed pupae stage) into incubators and then collected the brand-new winged adults when they emerged.

These youngsters went into five weirdly populated colonies of same-age worker newbies. Each colony got a queen, who would lay eggs but not leave the colony to forage. Food had to come from the young workforce, with no older, experienced foragers buzzing in and dancing the locations of flowers.

In waggle dancing, foraging bees have to master not only the moves but the obstacles of the honeycomb dance floor. A cell may be empty. “It’s just the edges to hang on to…. It would be easy to stumble,” Nieh says. Unlike commercial hives with manufactured uniform honeycomb cells, natural combs “are very irregular,” he says. “Along the edges, they get a bit crazy and rough.”

Dances on these treacherous surfaces encode the food’s direction in the angle a dancer waggles across the comb (measured relative to gravity). Duration of waggling bout gives a clue on how far away the bonanza is.

The five colonies of castaways were left to figure out dancing on their own, in contrast to five other colonies in the apiary with a natural mix. Early in the experiments, researchers recorded and analyzed the first dances of five bees from each hive.

Even in the mixed-age hives, the dancers didn’t get the angle perfect every time. The extremes in a set of six waggle runs might differ by a bit more than 30 degrees. The castaway hives, though, had far more trouble at first. Two of the five castaway dancers’ angles veered more than 50 degrees apart, and one poor bee strayed more than 60 degrees in six repeats.

As the castaways got more experience, they got better though. Repeating the test with the same marked bees a few weeks later near the end of their lives found them angling about as well as dancers in a normal hive.

What the castaways didn’t change much were dance features that encode distance to food. Researchers had set up the hives so that all would have the same experience of flying the distance to a feeder. Yet castaway bees persisted in dancing as if it were farther.

They gave more rump wags per waggle run (closer to five wags) than bees from mixed-age hives (more like 3.5 wags). The youngsters also took longer on each run.

Evidence like this foraging study is “indeed accumulating for the importance of learning (whether individual or social) in the complex behaviors of bees,” insect ecophysiologist Tamar Keasar of the University of Haifa in Israel says in an email. In her own work, she sees bees learning to extract food from complicated flowers. Bees aren’t, after all, just little automatons with wings.

An uncomfortable truth is that there is another influenza pandemic in humankind’s future. Whether it will be a relative of the lethal avian flu strain currently wreaking havoc in bird populations around the globe is anyone’s guess.

Because the virus, called H5N1, can be deadly to birds, mammals and people, researchers closely monitor reports of new cases. Worryingly, a new variant of H5N1 that emerged in 2020 has not only spread farther than ever before among birds, but has also spilled over into other animals, raising the specter of a human outbreak (SN: 12/12/22).

The variant was linked to a seal die-off in Maine last summer. In October, there was an H5N1 outbreak on a mink farm in Spain, researchers reported in January in Eurosurveillance. (It’s unclear how the mink were exposed, but the animals were fed poultry by-products.) Sea lions off the coast of Peru and wild bears, foxes and skunks, which prey upon or scavenge birds, in the United States and Europe have also tested positive for the virus.

Globally, hundreds of millions of domestic poultry have been culled or died from the new variant. It’s also likely that millions of wild birds have died, though few governmental agencies are counting, says Michelle Wille a viral ecologist at the University of Sydney who studies avian influenza. “This virus is catastrophic for bird populations.”

A handful of human cases have also been reported, though there’s no evidence that the virus is spreading among people. Of seven cases, six people recovered and one person from China died. In February, health officials in China reported an eighth case in a woman whose current condition is unknown.

What’s more, four of the reported human cases — including a U.S. case from Colorado and two workers linked to the Spanish mink farm — were in people who didn’t have any respiratory symptoms. That leaves open the possibility that those people were not truly infected. Instead, tests may have picked up viral contamination, say in the nose, that the people breathed in while handling infected birds.

The impossibility of predicting which avian influenza viruses might make the jump to people and spark an outbreak is in part related to knowledge gaps. These bird pathogens don’t typically easily infect or circulate among mammals including humans. And scientists don’t have a full grasp on how these viruses might need to change for human transmission to occur.

For now, it’s encouraging that so few people have gotten infected amid such a large outbreak among birds and other animals, says Marie Culhane, a food animal veterinarian at the University of Minnesota in St. Paul. Still, experts around the globe are diligently watching for any signs the virus may be evolving to spread more easily between people.

The good news is that flu drugs and vaccines that work against the virus already exist, Wille says. Compared with where the world was when the coronavirus behind the COVID-19 pandemic came on the scene, “we are already ahead of the game.”

How the virus would need to change to spread among people is a big unknown

This new iteration of bird flu is what’s called a highly pathogenic avian influenza, one that is particularly lethal for both domestic and wild birds. Aquatic birds such as ducks naturally carry avian flus with no or minor signs of infection. But when influenza viruses shuffle between poultry and waterfowl, variants with changes that make them lethal to birds can emerge and spread.

Avian viruses can be severe or even deadly for people. Since 2003, there have been 873 human cases of H5N1 infections reported to the World Health Organization. A little less than half of those people died. In February, an 11-year-old girl in Cambodia died after she developed severe pneumonia from an avian flu virus, the country’s first reported infection since 2014. Her father was also infected with the virus — a different variant than the one behind the widespread outbreak in birds —though he has not developed symptoms. It’s unknown how the two people were exposed.

Some of what scientists know about H5N1’s pandemic potential comes from controversial research on ferrets done more than a decade ago (SN: 6/21/13). Experiments showed that some changes to proteins that help the virus break into cells and make more copies of itself could help the virus travel through the air to infect ferrets, a common laboratory stand-in for humans in influenza research.    

While researchers know these mutations are important in lab settings, it’s still unclear how crucial those changes are in the real world, says Jonathan Runstadler, a disease ecologist and virologist at Tufts University’s Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine in North Grafton, Mass.

Infected mammals

A variety of mammal species have tested positive for avian influenza across the United States. Each symbol represents the counties that have reported cases. States colors indicate the routes birds take, called flyways, as they migrate south for the winter or north for the summer. 

Detections of the new H5N1 bird flu variant in U.S. mammals, 2022–2023

Viruses change constantly, but not all genetic tweaks work together. A change may help one version of the virus transmit better, while also hurting another variant and making it less likely to spread.

“We’re not sure how critical or how big a difference or how much to worry about those mutations when they happen in the wild,” Runstadler says. “Or when they happen five years down the road when there are other changes in the virus’s genetic background that are impacting those [original] mutations.”

That doesn’t stop researchers from trying to pinpoint specific changes. Runstadler and his team look for viruses in nature that have jumped into new animals and work backward to figure out which mutations were crucial. And virologist Louise Moncla says her lab is trying to develop ways to scan entire genetic blueprints of viruses from past outbreaks to look for signatures of a virus that can jump between different animal species.

“There’s a ton that we don’t know about avian influenza viruses and host switching,” says Moncla, of the University of Pennsylvania.

Genetic analyses of H5N1 circulating on the mink farm in Spain, for instance, revealed a change known to help the virus infect mice and mammalian cells grown in the lab. Such a change could make it easier for the virus to spread among mammals, including people. There could have been mink-to-mink transmission on the farm, the researchers concluded, but it remains unclear how much of a role that specific mutation played in the outbreak. 

It’s a numbers game for when influenza viruses with the ability to transmit among mammals might make the jump from birds, Runstadler says. “The more chances you give the virus to spill over and adapt, the higher the risk will be that one of those adaptations will be effective [at helping the virus spread among other animals] or take root and be a real problem.”

The ongoing outbreak is still a big problem for birds

Irrespective of our inability to forecast human’s future with H5N1, it’s clear that many species of birds — and some other animals that eat them — are dying now. And more species of birds are dying in this outbreak than previous ones, Culhane and Wille say.

“We have seen huge outbreaks in raptors and seabirds, which were never really affected before,” Wille says. It’s possible that genetic changes have helped the virus to spread more efficiently among birds than previous versions of H5N1, but that’s unknown. “There are a number of studies underway to try and figure it out,” Wille says.

Historically, these deadly avian flus have not been a persistent problem in the Americas, Moncla says. Sporadic outbreaks of H5N1 variants are typically limited to places such as parts of Asia, where the virus has circulated in birds since its emergence in the late 1990s, and northern Africa.

North America’s last big avian flu outbreak was in 2015, when experts detected more than 200 cases of a different bird flu virus in commercial and backyard poultry across the United States. The poultry industry culled more than 45 million birds to stop that virus’s spread, Culhane says. “But it didn’t go away from the rest of the world.”

The latest version of H5N1 arrived on North American shores from Europe in late 2021, first popping up in Canada in Newfoundland and Labrador. From there, it spread south into the United States, where so far tens of millions of domestic poultry have been culled to prevent transmission on farms where the virus has been detected. By December 2022, the virus had made it to South America. In Peru, tens of thousands of pelicans and more than 700 sea lions have died since mid-January.

It’s important to understand exactly how nonbird animals are getting exposed, Culhane says. Highly pathogenic avian influenzas infect every organ of a bird’s body. So, a fox chowing down on an infected bird is exposing its own mouth, nose and stomach to a lot of virus as it eats its meal.  

For now, experts are keeping an eye on infected animals to raise the alarm early if H5N1 starts transmitting among mammals.

“I do think that the mink outbreak, and then the sea lion outbreak, is a wake-up call,” Moncla says. “We should be doing our very best to implement all the science we can to try and understand what’s happening with these viruses so that if the situation does change, we are better prepared.”

For generations of dogs, home is the radioactive remains of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

In the first genetic analysis of these animals, scientists have discovered that dogs living in the power plant industrial area are genetically distinct from dogs living farther away.

Though the team could distinguish between dog populations, the researchers did not pinpoint radiation as the reason for any genetic differences. But future studies that build on the findings, reported March 3 in Science Advances, may help uncover how radioactive environments leave their mark on animal genomes.

That could have implications for other nuclear disasters and even human space travel, says Timothy Mousseau, an evolutionary ecologist at the University of South Carolina in Columbia. “We have high hopes that what we learn from these dogs … will be of use for understanding human exposures in the future,” he says.

Since his first trip in 1999, Mousseau has stopped counting how many times he’s been to Chernobyl. “I lost track after we hit about 50 visits.”

He first encountered Chernobyl’s semi-feral dogs in 2017, on a trip with the Clean Futures Fund+, an organization that provides veterinary care to the animals. Not much is known about how local dogs survived after the nuclear accident. In 1986, an explosion at one of the power plant’s reactors kicked off a disaster that lofted vast amounts of radioactive isotopes into the air. Contamination from the plant’s radioactive cloud largely settled nearby, in a region now called the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

Dogs have lived in the area since the disaster, fed by Chernobyl cleanup workers and tourists. Some 250 strays were living in and around the power plant, among spent fuel-processing facilities and in the shadow of the ruined reactor. Hundreds more roam farther out in the exclusion zone, an area about the size of Yosemite National Park.

During Mousseau’s visits, his team collected blood samples from these dogs for DNA analysis, which let the researchers map out the dogs’ complex family structures. “We know who’s related to who,” says Elaine Ostrander, a geneticist at the National Human Genome Research Institute in Bethesda, Md. “We know their heritage.”

The canine packs are not just a hodgepodge of wild feral dogs, she says. “There are actually families of dogs breeding, living, existing in the power plant,” she says. “Who would have imagined?”

Dogs within the exclusion zone share ancestry with German shepherds and other shepherd breeds, like many other free-breeding dogs from Eastern Europe, the team reports. And though their work revealed that dogs in the power plant area look genetically different from dogs in Chernobyl City, about 15 kilometers away, the team does not know whether radiation caused these differences or not, Ostrander says. The dogs may be genetically distinct simply because they’re living in a relatively isolated area.

The new finding is not so surprising, says Jim Smith, an environmental scientist at the University of Portsmouth in England. He was not part of the new study but has worked in this field for decades. He’s concerned that people might assume “that the radiation has something to do with it,” he says. But “there’s no evidence of that.”

Scientists have been trying to pin down how radiation exposure at Chernobyl has affected wildlife for decades (SN: 5/2/14). “We’ve been looking at the consequences for birds and rodents and bacteria and plants,” Mousseau says. His team has found animals with elevated mutation rates, shortened life spans and early-onset cataracts.

It’s not easy to tease out the effects of low-dose radiation among other factors, Smith says. “[These studies] are so hard … there’s lots of other stuff going in the natural environment.” What’s more, animals can reap some benefits when humans leave contaminated zones, he says.

How, or if, radiation damage is piling up in dogs’ genomes is something the team is looking into now, Ostrander says. Knowing the dogs’ genetic backgrounds will make it easier to spot any radiation red flags, says Bridgett vonHoldt, an evolutionary geneticist at Princeton University, who was not involved in the work.

“I feel like it’s a cliffhanger,” she says. “I want to know more.”