paleoarchaeology

dogs-came-in-a-wide-range-of-sizes-and-shapes-long-before-modern-breeds

Dogs came in a wide range of sizes and shapes long before modern breeds

“The concept of ‘breed’ is very recent and does not apply to the archaeological record,” Evin said. People have, of course, been breeding dogs for particular traits for as long as we’ve had dogs, and tiny lap dogs existed even in ancient Rome. However, it’s unlikely that a Neolithic herder would have described his dog as being a distinct “breed” from his neighbor’s hunting partner, even if they looked quite different. Which, apparently, they did.

A big yellow dog, a little gray dog, and a little white dog

Dogs had about half of their modern diversity (at least in skull shapes and sizes) by the Neolithic. Credit: Kiona Smith

Bones only tell part of the story

“We know from genetic models that domestication should have started during the late Pleistocene,” Evin told Ars. A 2021 study suggested that domestic dogs have been a separate species from wolves for more than 23,000 years. But it took a while for differences to build up.

Evin and her colleagues had access to 17 canine skulls that ranged from 12,700 to 50,000 years old—prior to the end of the ice age—and they all looked enough like modern wolves that, as Evin put it, “for now, we have no evidence to suggest that any of the wolf-like skulls did not belong to wolves or looked different from them.” In other words, if you’re just looking at the skull, it’s hard to tell the earliest dogs from wild wolves.

We have no way to know, of course, what the living dog might have looked like. It’s worth mentioning that Evin and her colleagues found a modern Saint Bernard’s skull that, according to their statistical analysis, looked more wolf-like than dog-like. But even if it’s not offering you a brandy keg, there’s no mistaking a live Saint Bernard, with its droopy jowls and floppy ears, for a wolf.

“Skull shape tells us a lot about function and evolutionary history, but it represents only one aspect of the animal’s appearance. This means that two dogs with very similar skulls could have looked quite different in life,” Evin told Ars. “It’s an important reminder that the archaeological record captures just part of the biological and cultural story.”

And with only bones—and sparse ones, at that—to go on, we may be missing some of the early chapters of dogs’ biological and cultural story. Domestication tends to select the friendliest animals to produce the next generation, and apparently that comes with a particular set of evolutionary side effects, whether you’re studying wolves, foxes, cattle, or pigs. Spots, floppy ears, and curved tails all seem to be part of the genetic package that comes with inter-species friendliness. But none of those traits is visible in the skull.

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10,000-generations-of-hominins-used-the-same-stone-tools-to-weather-a-changing-world

10,000 generations of hominins used the same stone tools to weather a changing world

“This site reveals an extraordinary story of cultural continuity,” said Braun in a recent press release.

When the going gets tough, the tough make tools

Nomorotukunan’s layers of stone tools span the transition from the Pliocene to the Pleistocene, during which Earth’s climate turned gradually cooler and drier after a 2 to 3 million-year warm spell. Pollen and other microscopic traces of plants in the sediment at Nomorotukunan tell the tale: the lakeshore marsh gradually dried up, giving way to arid grassland dotted with shrubs. On a shorter timescale, hominins at Nomorotukunan faced wildfires (based on microcharcoal in the sediments), droughts, and rivers drying up or changing course.

“As vegetation shifted, the toolmaking remained steady,” said National University of Kenya archaeologist Rahab N. Kinyanjui in a recent press release. “This is resilience.”

Making sharp stone tools may have helped generations of hominins survive their changing, drying world. In the warm, humid Pliocene, finding food would have been relatively easy, but as conditions got tougher, hominins probably had to scavenge or dig for their meals. At least one animal bone at Nomorotukunan bears cut marks where long-ago hominins carved up the carcass for meat—something our lineage isn’t really equipped to do with its bare hands and teeth. Tools also would have enabled early hominins to dig up and cut tubers or roots.

It’s fair to assume that sharpened wood sticks probably also played a role in that particular work, but wood doesn’t tend to last as long as stone in the archaeological record, so we can’t say for sure. What is certain are the stone tools and cut bones, which hint at what Utrecht University archaeologist Dan Rolier, a coauthor of the paper, calls “one of our oldest habits: using technology to steady ourselves against change.”

A tale as old as time

Nomorotukunan may hint that Oldowan technology is even older than the earliest tools archaeologists have unearthed so far. The oldest tools unearthed from the deepest layer at Nomorotukunan are the work of skilled flint-knappers who understood where to strike a stone, and at exactly which angle, to flake off the right shape. They also clearly knew how to select the right stones for the job (fine-grained chalcedony for the win, in this case). In other words, these tools weren’t the work of a bunch of hominins who were just figuring out, for the first time, how to bang the rocks together.

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wear-marks-suggest-neanderthals-made-ocher-crayons

Wear marks suggest Neanderthals made ocher crayons

“The combination of shaping, wear, and resharpening indicates they were used to draw or mark on soft surfaces,” D’Errico told Ars in an email. “Although the material is too fragile to reveal the specific material on which they were used, such as hide, human skin, or stone, an experimental approach may, in the future, allow us at least to rule out their use on some materials.”

A 73,000-year-old drawing from Blombo Cave in South Africa looks like it was made with tools much like the ocher crayons from Crimea, which means that Neanderthals and Homo sapiens both invented crayons in their own little corners of the world at around the same time.

Image of a reddish-brown rock with a series of lines carved in its surface

The surface of this flat piece of orange ocher was carved over 47,000 years ago, then worn smooth, perhaps by carrying in a bag. Credit: D’Errico et al. 2025

Sometimes you’re the crayon, sometimes you’re the canvas

A third item from Zaskalnaya V is a flat piece of orange ocher. One side is covered with a thin layer of hard, dark rock. But more than 47,000 years ago, someone carefully cut several deep lines, regularly spaced and almost parallel, into its surface. The area of stone between the lines has been worn and polished smooth, suggesting that someone carried it and handled it for years.

“The polish smoothing the engraved lines suggest that the piece was curated, perhaps transported in a bag,” D’Errico told Ars. Whoever carved the lines into the piece of ocher also appears to have been right-handed, based on the angle of the incisions’ walls.

The finds join a host of other evidence of Neanderthal artwork and jewelry, from 57,000-year-old finger marks on a cave wall in France to 114,000-year-old ocher-painted shells in Spain.

“Traditionally viewed as lacking the cognitive flexibility and symbolic capacity of humans, the Neanderthals of Crimea demonstrate the opposite: They engaged in cultural practices that were not merely adaptive but deeply meaningful,” wrote D’Errico and his colleagues. “Their sophisticated use of ocher is one facet of their complex cultural life.”

photo of a reddish-brown pointed rock from four angles

The tip of this red ocher crayon was broken off. Credit: D’Errico et al. 2025

Coloring in some details of Neanderthal culture

It’s hard to say whether the rest of the ocher from the Zaskalnaya sites and other nearby rock shelters meant anything to the Neanderthals beyond the purely pragmatic. However, it’s unlikely that humans (of any stripe) could spend 70,000 years working with vividly colored pigment without developing a sense of aesthetics, assigning some meaning to the colors, or maybe doing both.

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local-cuisine-was-on-the-menu-at-cafe-neanderthal

Local cuisine was on the menu at Cafe Neanderthal

Gazelle prepared “a la Amud,” or “a la Kebara”?

Neanderthals at Kebara had pretty broad tastes in meat. The butchered bones found in the cave were mostly an even mix of small ungulates (largely gazelle) and medium-sized ones (red deer, fallow deer, wild goats, and boar), with just a few larger game animals thrown in. And it looks like the Kebara Neanderthals were “use the whole deer” sorts of hunters because the bones came from all parts of the animals’ bodies.

On the other hand (or hoof), at Amud, archaeologists found that the butchered bones were almost entirely long bone shafts—legs, in other words—from gazelle. Apparently, the Neanderthal hunters at Amud focused more on gazelle than on larger prey like red deer or boar, and they seemingly preferred meat from the legs.

And not too fresh, apparently—the bones at Kebara showed fewer cut marks, and the marks that were there tended to be straighter. Meanwhile, at Amud, the bones were practically cluttered with cut marks, which crisscrossed over each other and were often curved, not straight. According to Jallon and her colleagues, the difference probably wasn’t a skill issue. Instead, it may be a clue that Neanderthals at Amud liked their meat dried, boiled, or even slightly rotten.

That’s based on comparisons to what bones look like when modern hunter-gatherers butcher their game, along with archaeologists’ experiments with stone tool butchery. First, differences in skill between newbie butchers and advanced ones don’t produce the same pattern of cut marks Jallon and her colleagues saw at Amud. But “it has been shown that decaying carcasses tend to be more difficult to process, often resulting in the production of haphazard, deep, and sinuous cut marks,” as Jallon and her colleagues wrote in their recent paper.

So apparently, for reasons unknown to modern archaeologists, the meat on the menu at Amud was, shall we say, a bit less fresh than that at Kebara. Said menu was also considerably less varied. All of that meant that if you were a Neanderthal from Amud and stopped by Kebara for dinner (or vice versa) your meal might seem surprisingly foreign.

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