All hail the fruit fly

All hail the fruit fly

A fruit fly • Photo by Hannah Davis (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Originally published 5 September 1988

Like a New­ton, a Dar­win, or an Ein­stein, Drosophi­la, the fruit fly, begins life as a sin­gle cell. With­in that cell are the genes that will lead, in the full­ness of time, to a human of genius, or to an insect with…ah, shall we say, anoth­er sort of sci­en­tif­ic fame.

Among mul­ti-celled organ­isms, Drosophi­la is the sub­ject of choice in genet­ic research. In Bio­log­i­cal Abstracts, the index of bio­log­i­cal research, Drosophi­la has more entries than any oth­er ani­mal except the bac­teri­um Escherichia coli. The sci­ence of genet­ics owes more to this tiny insect than to any oth­er creature.

The fruit fly­’s pre­em­i­nence is most­ly due to its long use as a research ani­mal. Drosophi­la was adopt­ed by T. H. Mor­gan in his impor­tant stud­ies in genet­ics that began at Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty in the ear­ly years of the 20th cen­tu­ry. These stud­ies led to the clas­sic text­book of Mor­gan, Sturte­vant, Muller, and Bridges, Mech­a­nisms of Genet­ic Inher­i­tance, which in 1915 estab­lished the link between genes and chro­mo­somes. Since that time, much of what we know about muta­tion, spe­ci­a­tion, and oth­er genet­ic phe­nom­e­na has been dis­cov­ered with pop­u­la­tions of fruit flies in nature and in the lab.

Fame is spreading

Drosophi­la is small (about the size of a grain of rice) and has a short life cycle. Both cir­cum­stances make the insect an ide­al sub­ject for genet­ic exper­i­ments involv­ing large num­bers of indi­vid­u­als and many gen­er­a­tions. The fruit fly­’s full com­ple­ment of genes is 1/20th that of a white rat or a human, which sim­pli­fies genet­ic analy­sis. The genes are borne on only four pairs of chro­mo­somes, com­pared to 23 pairs in humans. But the main rea­son for Drosophi­la’s fame is this: As more and more exper­i­men­tal tech­niques were devel­oped for study­ing fruit flies, the more like­ly it became that future researchers would turn to the same sub­ject for their exper­i­ments. In bio­log­i­cal research, famil­iar­i­ty breeds not con­tempt but dependence.

So impor­tant a ser­vice has this lit­tle insect ren­dered to biol­o­gy that it behooves us to pay homage. Some­where in the hal­lowed halls of sci­ence a giant stat­ue of Drosophi­la should be erect­ed, but in lieu of that let me rehearse for a moment the fruit fly­’s short, sweet life.

Like our­selves, Drosophi­la begins life as a moth­er’s egg fer­til­ized by a father’s sperm. But from that point for­ward every­thing moves more quick­ly. With­in a day, the egg hatch­es to pro­duce a tiny lar­va, or mag­got. The lar­va typ­i­cal­ly feeds upon yeasts that it finds in rot­ting fruit. Six days (and a few molts) lat­er the lar­va seals itself up in a hard brown cap­sule, or pupal case. It remains in this enclo­sure for four days, dur­ing which time almost all of the lar­val organs dis­solve into a soupy mix from which the organs of the mature fly form. When the trans­for­ma­tion is com­plete, the adult fly inflates a lit­tle bag on its head which forces open a trap door in the pupal case.

The fruit fly gen­er­al­ly emerges from the pupal case in the ear­ly morn­ing (Drosophi­la means “lover of dew”). Good tim­ing is essen­tial. The ear­li­er out, the eas­i­er it is to be suc­cess­ful in the com­pe­ti­tion for mates. There is no point in emerg­ing in dark­ness when a mate can’t be seen, and fatal to emerge in the heat of mid­day with del­i­cate wet skin. A genet­i­cal­ly pro­grammed chem­i­cal “clock” ticks in Drosophi­la’s brain. The clock is set in the embry­on­ic stage by changes in tem­per­a­ture and light. When the “alarm clock” sig­nals that the time is right, out pops Drosophi­la.

Now comes the moment of truth. A male fruit fly fol­lows a prospec­tive mate and vibrates its wings to pro­duce an exot­ic love song of clicks and whirrs. The song is amaz­ing­ly species spe­cif­ic, and genet­i­cal­ly deter­mined. Even geneti­cists can’t tell some species of Drosophi­la apart except by their song. If the pitch or rhythm is not just right, the female imme­di­ate­ly ter­mi­nates the courtship.

Wonderfully prolific

If the female responds, then a lit­tle fore­play begins while the male con­tin­ues to vibrate. Cop­u­la­tion fol­lows, which can last as long as 15 min­utes. From then on it’s all down hill; the female lays her fer­til­ized eggs, hun­dreds at a time, and the cycle begins again.

Fruit flies are won­der­ful­ly pro­lif­ic. They can pro­duce 25 gen­er­a­tions in a year. Let’s assume that a female lays 100 eggs, half male and half female. These hatch, devel­op into mature adults, and mate, and each of the 50 new females lays 100 eggs, half male and half female. And so on. In the absence of any checks on the growth of pop­u­la­tion, with­in 25 gen­er­a­tions a sin­gle pair of fruit flies would give rise to enough prog­e­ny to fill a ball the size of the Earth­’s orbit. Obvi­ous­ly, in nature there are ample checks on pop­u­la­tion growth, but the point is clear. Fruit flies will rapid­ly fill racks of lab­o­ra­to­ry bot­tles with their descen­dants, and the action of hered­i­ty over many gen­er­a­tions can be read­i­ly observed.

Thou­sands of genet­ic muta­tions of Drosophi­la have been cat­a­loged. There is a project under­way to map the loca­tion of all genes on the insec­t’s four chro­mo­somes. And in addi­tion to genet­ic stud­ies, Drosophi­la is used in research on sen­so­ry mech­a­nisms, neur­al net­works, bio­log­i­cal rhythms, learn­ing and mem­o­ry, and var­i­ous behaviors.

Why so much effort devot­ed to a tiny fly? On the mol­e­c­u­lar lev­el humans and Drosophi­la have much in com­mon. Many of our pro­teins and their way of func­tion­ing are vir­tu­al­ly the same. It appears that much of the basic mol­e­c­u­lar machin­ery of life was in place before the evo­lu­tion­ary diver­gence of the ances­tors of insects and mam­mals 500 mil­lion years ago.

Cer­tain­ly, humans are more com­plex than fruit flies, but as biol­o­gist Ger­ald Rubin says in an arti­cle in Sci­ence on the cur­rent state of Drosophi­la research, “there is no com­pelling rea­son not to believe, and much cir­cum­stan­tial evi­dence to sup­port, the con­tention that most of this com­plex­i­ty is achieved by reit­er­a­tion and adap­tion of com­mon, evo­lu­tion­ar­i­ly ancient process­es.” In oth­er words, much of what we learn about Drosophi­la, with its quick life cycle, prodi­gious prog­e­ny, and sim­ple genes, applies to more com­plex ani­mals, includ­ing ourselves.

We salute you, Drosophi­la, singer of love songs, lover of dew, pro­lif­ic sol­dier in the quest for the secrets of life.

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