He asked me if I wanted to meet “the old lady”.

Seen from a distance of only a few feet, it was a human. A woman. All it lacked was to be made of flesh and bone, then imbued with the spark of life.

DOLL DANCE BY CHARLES ARNIM 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 110

When Dolly died there were plenty of us in the scientific community who admitted (privately at least) to harboring a bit more than a little feeling that, simply put, trended more toward relief than sadness.

Before you jump to any conclusions though, let me tell you here and now–up front, if you will–that I’m no scientist. I was only involved in the process, in the same way a bricklayer’s helper is involved in the creation of a medium-sized office building.

Real scientists laid the groundwork for Dolly’s existence amongst us all. Flunky lab techs like me did what we were told to do and were rewarded with chickenshit paychecks and the privilege of being on hand when the little clone shocked us all by being born alive, then staying that way for several years.

Dolly wasn’t the first shee…