In reality, however, it is a combination of both. For example, if you have inherited genes that give you vulnerability to a certain disease (nature), then you can choose behaviour that sees you having blood tests more frequently (nurture), which could well save you.
The boundary was blurred when I met my grandfather’s second cousin Earle about a decade ago.
Over the course of an afternoon, we discovered that only us, out of a family of maybe a hundred people, were known to have a taste for genealogy, Hans Heysen paintings, fly fishing and drinking scotch whisky neat.
What Earle thought was a quaint coincidence made me wonder how far genetics bleeds into behaviour — no-one had taught us to be drawn to those four unrelated tastes.
Which brings me, somehow, to dingoes.
When I once had a farm, I took no delight in arguing on social media with regional folk (not farmers) who wanted the best recipes for feeding wallabies, kookaburras and the like that had learned to visit them.
I was nearly run out of town with my insistence they search on the interwebs for even one ecologist in the world who would recommend feeding wild animals.
It’s the biggest no-no, especially in rural areas closer to native habitats, to ever feed wild native animals.
Period. Ever. Nix. Nyet. Nada. Ei (Finnish, that one). Nope. Do not.
There are plenty of obvious reasons with respect to disease or imbalanced populations that will affect the ecosystems on the edge of their habitat.
But I am reminded of the threat to genetic diversity (that keeps a population nicely evolving along to natural selection) that has the potential to wipe out a species.
Wildlife ecology expert Laura Griffin and her team at University College Dublin studied wild fallow deer that had become emboldened enough to approach humans and seek food.
They found that such deer gave birth to heavier fawns, which gave them a significant advantage back in the wild.
To quote Dr Griffin: “If only a subset of a population takes advantage of human‐wildlife feeding interactions, and if this results in different fitness advantages for these individuals, then artificial selection may be at work.”
Artificial selection can be harmful to a species’ entire gene pool.
If — and it may be plausible but untestable — Earle’s and my liking for a lesser-known South Australian artist, fly-fishing, family trees and straight drams were all genetically linked (think asthma/eczema, blonde hair/blue eyes, red hair/Scottish accent), then it is not a long bow to draw with an endangered species, such as the dingo.
The ability of dingoes living along the boundary of their natural habitat to get a free feed, at will, from an obliging paddock, can put their entire population at risk.
Environmentalists should take note.
It is too huge a risk to allow dingoes to an easy meal if their boldness is genetic, which I dare say it is.
If it is linked to another genetic tendency, e.g. disposition to not chase native animals, or susceptibility to a disease or deformity or non-mating behaviour, the gene pool is weakened and you can then lose the lot.
The solution is simple: create as impenetrable a barrier as you can between humans with food and wild native animals. ‘Do not feed the birds’ is the most common one used.
For dingoes, it would be a solid barrier of either fencing (non-viable) or dealing with those blackguards who dare to snatch stock by trapping and shooting.
The Victorian Government thankfully did not abolish this safeguard last week.
Dispatching those dingoes that have a disposition for a free lunch will do dingo populations some good.
Protect the dingo, sure, but threatening its gene pool threatens the entire species.
So protect the sheep and calves.
