Mice sing for love. They croon very specific warbles to attract females, and the sounds are highly seductive, especially if the female mouse has dipped into a glass of wine.
OK, that last part was of my own making, but research has shown that male mice emit ultrasonic chirps to let females know they are interested. Given that millions of advertising dollars are spent to persuade both men and women that a specific product will help attract a partner, this tidbit of information piqued my interest. Perhaps when researchers use the word "love" they really mean "lust," but let's give the little furballs the benefit of the doubt and assume that some emotional attachment is connected after the singing has stopped.
This finding is significant to humans because mice, in their genetic makeup, are extremely close to man. That is why they are used so frequently in research.
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It is not that I am in any way enamored of mice; in fact, the mere image of a mouse on television sends me scurrying. The presence of one running across my kitchen floor a few years ago is singularly responsible for my aging 10 years.
Rather, it is the concept of "love" that is still such a mystery to me that I truly would like to believe that there is some specific way to trigger its existence, even if it comes from a mouse's lips.
Being a high-school teacher, I am awash in romance on a daily basis. The teenage crushes that slam like a tsunami through campus are enough to knock even the uninvolved off their feet. Heaven forbid if two students who are madly in love actually are in the same class period. The exchange of puppy-dog looks, the sighs of contentment when one or the other is called upon to perform in class, the not-so-subtle touchings and jostlings as students move around the room scream out: "Hormones! Hormones on patrol!"
Another reason I am more attuned to the concept of love and what actions attract a mate right now is that my 19-year-old daughter is a sophomore in Flagstaff. That I first fell into love my sophomore year in college aroused my sensors to the possibility that such a propensity could be inherited.
My own experience with romantic love, as opposed to the platonic love I have for chocolate, has left me a bit skeptical about just how either mice or men respond once they have attracted a female. I was a student worker in a University of Arizona biochemistry lab, and he was a graduate student. We socialized a few times, usually with other grad students, and once we had a private dinner together. I know I was in love because I could not even taste the food, and for someone like me, that meant I was hopelessly enamored or else had a terrible cold that neutralized my taste buds. Since I was not coughing or wiping my nose constantly, I am positive it was love.
Nothing came of my infatuation. Later I found out the guy was gay. But whenever I am asked to think about the first man I truly loved, his name still pops into my mind.
Over the next five years I came dangerously close to marriage on two separate occasions to two very different men. Both were fellow teachers, and some of the attraction lay in the fact that we had vacation time together and lived in small towns without much entertainment. Gratefully, that proved not to be enough to cement our hearts into entering a contract — even though one of the men was a good singer.
My limited experiences with both love and mice have not prepared me for understanding just what all the fuss is about. Watching a few episodes of "Desperate Housewives" has not reduced my confusion.
I am admittedly envious that mice have found a way to express love with just a few chirps interpreted as songs while I, who really appreciates a man with a good singing voice, have not had a single musical note directed my way for decades.
Maybe I should get over my aversion to mice and keep some as pets. Perhaps they could teach an old skeptic a thing or two about love.
