Stop it, birds, your necks are stupid
January 13, 2026
We’ve seen a lot of raptors with their heads turned 180 degrees recently. Jerry Harris dropped me a line to remind me that flamingos are also perverts when it comes to neck posture. Here are three of his photos:
All these photos show multiple individuals curving their necks through 180 degrees so they can rest them on their torsos. In fact, they go much further than 180 degrees, then curve back again: the individual on the right of the second photo, and the one on the left of the last photo. are both curling their necks 270 degrees to the right, then 90 degrees back to the left. That is of course a total of 360 degrees, which strongly suggests these bad boys can crank a full 360 if they want to. (In fact, it has to mean that, unless the necks are asymmetric, and I’ve never heard any suggestion of that.)
And more: this is not some kind of extreme behaviour that flamingos can attain in extremis. This is what they do to relax.
Note by the way that different flamingos are shown here curving their necks in different directions. For example, check out the two birds sitting in the foreground of the third photo. I wonder whether different individuals have different handedness, or whether each bird randomly curves one way, then next time the other. Or even if they alternate handedness for successive rests.
In some senses, what we’re seeing here from the flamingos is the most extreme neck posture we’ve seen in the present sequence of posts. But in another sense, this is much less impressive than the raptors. Flamingos have long cervicals, and they are bending their intervertebral joints laterally to achieve these postures. The raptors by contrast have craniocaudally short vertebrae, and they are twisting the joints to achieve their 180-degree turns. And that is what I find preposterous.
Some time soon, I must get around to posting the osteological implications.
Yet more raptors with their heads on backwards
January 8, 2026
Here are a couple more backwards-headed raptor photos, courtesy of ceratopsian palaeontologist and home-brewing consultant Andy Farke:
Here’s what he had to say about them:
Your recent post spurred me to snap these photos of a burrowing owl doing backwards head things. There are a few individuals at the Living Desert Zoo in Palm Desert, California….it’s a super cool enclosure, in which you can walk into an aviary habitat that has free-roaming burrowing owls, prairie dogs, a turkey vulture, and a few other cool North American critters.
(Even though the San Diego Zoo is most famous, I am of the firm opinion that both Living Desert and the Santa Barbara zoos are objectively better – they have an amazing variety of semi-obscure animals, large and naturalistic enclosures, cool up-close opportunities, and both mostly avoid having kiosks placed every three feet selling cheap plastic crap, which has always perplexed me about organizations that purportedly promote conservation).
At some point, I’m going to have to stop just posting photos of these weirdos, and start writing about what’s going on and how and why.
More raptors with their heads on backwards
December 21, 2025
Chet Gottfried got in touch after he read Yet more lying necks: Backwards Birds edition, nearly two months ago now, with some more of his photos. Here they are, with his permission:

Bald eagle from behind, its neck twisted about 135 degrees so that it’s looking back over its left shoulder.

Merlin in left posteolateral view with its neck twisted about 135 degrees so its head, looking back over its left shoulder, is directly facing us.
What’s going on here? As I wrote the Chet, “Interesting that this degree of twisting is common in raptors. I would not have thought their lifestyle demanded it, but what do I know?” He replied:
Movement means detection, and whoever can stay still the best (whether hunter or prey) will be most successful. And a head turn is much less detectable than a whole body turn. Also, if perching depends on balance, the least one does to upset the balance is best.
I replied “Solid point. I think of raptors cruising the skies, but of course they also spend a lot of time perching, waiting and watching.” Chet’s response:
I would suspect that eagles and buteos (such as red-tailed hawks) hunt from the sky, whereas falcons and accipiters hunt every which way. I remember once seeing a blue jay land in a tree and intent on harassing a Cooper’s hawk that was perched perhaps 2 feet below. The hawk literally jumped up, turned, grabbed the jay in its talons, and flew off. And whereas I’m accustomed to seeing Cooper’s hawks flying or perched, I saw one hawk stalk on the ground from underneath a hedge.
And of course it’s true: animals with apparently similar morphology can have very different lifestyles. It’s worth remembering when we’re thinking how extinct animals lived. Anything that we say about sauropods as a whole — or ceratopsians, say, or hadrosaurus — is very unlikely to be true of all members of the group.
Yet more lying necks: Backwards Birds edition
October 20, 2025
Back at the start of October I posted Necks: the lying liars that just keep lying, which included Coy Pearson’s beautiful photo of a Cooper’s hawk from behind, with its neck twisted a full 180 degrees to look at the camera.
Not one but two people emailed me in response, with photos they’ve taken of the same phenomenon. The first is from long-time Friend Of SV-POW!, Jerry Harris, who wrote:
Saw your SV-POW post on bird necks and the Cooper’s hawk photo you shared. I have a similar one taken in our backyard, too (attached), in case it’s at all useful to you!
Here it is.
This one’s interesting because it’s pretty much the complement of the photo in the original post: here we see the front of the bird, but the back of its head. (Unlike the other angle, this one makes it clear which direction the neck is twisting.)
I think (can anyone confirm or deny?) that this is another Cooper’s hawk. Is that just coincidence, or are they known for having particularly flexible necks?
The second email was from Tyler Holmes, a long-time reader but only occasional commenter:
The hawk photo in your last post on the lies of bird necks got me thinking. Our local zoo has a female southern ground hornbill and I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time watching her. One day last month, she walked over to the fence where I was sitting with my kids and spent about 45 minutes staring at us and preening. She was able to reach all the way back to the base of her tail quite easily with her beak. At times she was able to look over 180 degrees behind her, but the whole neck wasn’t used equally. Most of the turn came from the three or four vertebrae at the base of the neck, which already have quite a significant bend to them to incline the rest of the neck into an alert posture. I attached a few photos I took, I thought you might find them interesting.
Here are the photos:
What strange, perverted creatures birds are.
Interesting paper alert: Harris (2024) on nuchal ligaments
December 13, 2024
Check out the new paper by Jerry Harris, “What exactly is a nuchal ligament and who exactly has one?” This is one of those papers that fires on lots of cylinders for me: it’s interesting, it’s useful, and holy crap, the work that went into it is humbling. Note that of the 75 pages in the PDF, only about the first 20 are text, and the rest comprise two massive, exhaustively-researched and exhaustively-referenced tables.
It’s free at VAMP. Go read it.
Five questions from Tom Redd
October 24, 2024
Three years ago, Tom Redd made a very generous commitment to the SV-POW! Patreon, and he remains our most generous donor in total. When I wrote to thank him his reply included “I have thousands of questions about apatosaurus that I would like to ask you some day.”
It seemed only fair to invite him to ask some of those questions, so we asked him to give us five and said we’d try to answer them. When the questions came through, some of them were hard — not really in our area of expertise. But I promised we’d take a crack, and that we’d invite commenters to chip in where we get something wrong or leave something out.
Then a bit more than three years slipped past. Now, finally: here we go!
Question #1:
Do you think sauropods could have evolved long necks as a defensive strategy? (Better to see your enemies from a long way off). The sigmoid curve and the neutral position is another issue!
I recently read a couple of research papers where the researcher used “radiological imaging” to determine the neutral position of the cervical vertebrae. The result was a gently downward curving neck beginning at the pectoral girdle, with the skull only 2 meters off the ground. (I agree with Matt that this would be an ambush predator’s delight!)
Also, could compressive or tensional forces of cartilage and ligaments affect the neutral position of the cervical vertebra? (I believe Matt also alluded to this condition.)
This is the longest question, but maybe the one I’m best positioned to comment on.
First of all, the perennial question of what sauropods’ long necks were for. There are a few candidate explanations out there. The obvious one is that they enabled high browsing, and on the whole we feel that’s the strongest single explanation. Another candidate factor is sexual selection — that sauropods were particularly attracted to long-necked individuals of the opposite sex — but we don’t feel that is a strong explanation for reasons explained in our 2011 paper (Taylor et al. 2011). Predator avoidance would certainly have been aided by the long visual distances allowed by elevated heads, and we are confident that at least some sauropods used their necks in combat — primarily in intraspecific combat (Taylor 2015) but no doubt also against predators when the occasion arose. And we may well have missed other good uses for long necks.
In reality of course all these factors likely played a role: structures do not always, or even often, evolve for a single reason. When people who know much more about ceratopsians tell me “The horns of Triceratops were for intraspecific display and combat”, I don’t doubt them. But I also don’t doubt that, whatever the primary purpose of the horns, a Triceratops confronted by a Tyrannosaurus would do its damnedest to stick its horns into it. In the same way, while high feeding seems like the strongest driver of sauropod neck elongation, the other factors will surely have played in, too.
I’m not sure what radiological imaging papers you have come across, but the one I know about is Berman and Rothschild (2005) in the Thunder Lizards edited volume. This paper rather questionably partitions all sauropod cervicals into two bins, “robust” and “gracile”, and concludes, based on functional stress analysis, that “the robust-type centrum supported a neck held in a vertical, or near-vertical, pose, whereas the gracile-type centrum supported a neck held in a horizontal, or near-horizontal, pose”. If this is right, and their categorization holds, then Camarasaurus and an unidentified titanosaur had vertical necks; and Diplodocus, Apatosaurus, Haplocanthosaurus, Barosaurus and Brachiosaurus all had horizontal necks. We find every part of this unconvincing. At some point we should explain why in detail; but it is not this day.
Finally, yes, compressive and tensile forces in cartilage and ligaments definitely did affect neutral posture. My 2014 paper (Taylor 2014) shows this rather dramatically.
What we’re seeing here is what the neutral posture would be if cartilage is added to a neck that is otherwise articulated in horizonzal pose. The importance of intervertebral cartilage has often been overlooked, but can make a dramatic difference to neck posture.
Question #2
I recently read a report that indicated Apatosaurus survived at the species level for a period of approximately 8 million years ! So is this a success, average, or a short run?
I’m not sure where you read that, but the problem here is that no-one really knows what Apatosaurus means. We have the type species Apatosaurus ajax, sure, and the referred species Apatosaurus louisae, and the genus Brontosaurus based on the species Brontosaurus excelsus which is sometimes but not always synonymised with the genus Apatosaurus yielding the combination Apatosaurus excelsus, and don’t even get me started on Apatosaurus parvus, Apatosaurus laticollis, Atlantosaurus and whatever the heck AMNH 460 is.
So if we say that Apatosaurus survived for 8 million years, what exactly are we saying? That Apatosaurus ajax is known from sediments that differ in age by 8 million years? That would be interesting if true, but it’s very hard to establish because the referral of any given individual to a particular sauropod species tends to be very uncertain — largely because most specimen are so fragmentary and distorted. And if all we mean is that 8 million years separate the oldest and youngest specimens that have been referred to the genus Apatosaurus — well, that statement is all but meaningless, given the huge uncertainty about what is and is not part of that genus, if indeed genera even really mean anything.
Putting it all together, I’m not confident that there is any reason to think that Apatosaurus was particularly longer lived than other sauropods. Probably Camarasaurus outlasted it if you include all the taxa that have been referred to Camarasaurus. But then I’m far from convinced that that’s the right thing to do, too.
Question #3
Why so many heavy predators during the age of apatosaurs? Predator to prey ratios were in the 6 to 8% range as compared to modern ratios of 2 to 3%!
I’m not sure I can say much about this without knowing the source of the figures, but I assume that what’s being counted here is the number of individuals represented in the fossil record, and the ratio of a predator species to prey species. The problem is that there is a huge amount of vagueness in these numbers, but it’s not obvious that the apatosaur-age figures are comparable to the modern ones.
Consider first the modern ratio. Which animals are counted in each category? In the Serengeti, lions prey on zebras. So far, so simple, but there are also dwarf moongooses, which are predators — but they don’t hunt zebras. So do we count them in the numbers? If so, do we count their prey animals, too? Including invertebrates? And if not, then where do we draw the line between predators that we consider do and do not hunt the prey animals that we’ve decided we’re interested in?
Then there’s the matter of which animals get counted. If you do your Serengeti counts on dead animals, you might find disproportionately many predators because prey animals tend to be consumed. Or you might find disproportionately many prey animals because they tend to die in areas where the corpses are more easily found and counted. You might be able to do better by counting live animals, but then you might easily undercount secretive predators, or perhaps overcount predators because they stand fearlessly around to be counted.
Now consider trying to measure the predator/prey ratio in the Morrison formation. You have all the problems I already mentioned, plus a bunch of others. If you only count complete-ish articulated skeletons then your sample size is too small to be meaningful. If you count isolated elements, you’re at risk of registering multiple instances of the same individual. Counting individuals represented in bonebeds is difficult because of these problems. Assigning an element to a taxon is error-prone (though should generally be OK at the high level of sauropod vs. theropod — or are you?). Bones of different taxa may survive taphonomy better or worse than others. Life history differences will mean that the fossils of long-lived taxa under-represent their live populations. And so on, and on, and on.
Putting it all together, I would tend to be very sceptical that a difference in ratios of 6–8% to 2–3% is necessarily telling us anything.
With all that said, it’s perfectly possible that the average predator:prey body-size ratio was closer in the Morrison than in modern ecosystems. But we’d do better trying to measure that directly from body-fossils than to infer it from population densities.
Question #4
Are all apatosaur tracks on emergent surfaces? (Some depth of water over the prints)
This I don’t know. But then I wouldn’t know how to pick out apatosaur tracks from those of other diplodocids, and I bet no-one else does, either. Tracks are notoriously variable in shape, and can very wildly from the that of the feet that made them. Given that diplodocid feet were mostly pretty similar anyway, I would not be easily persuaded that any track can be confidently identified down to the genus level.
One other thing to be aware of is that there is often not agreement on the conditions under which a given track is made. One palaeontologist may think a given a track is a direct print, another will think it’s an underprint. I don’t mean to say that it’s hopeless and all we can do is throw our hands up in despair — good work is being done on interpreting tracks, but we have a long way to go. And this is not an area that I’m at all expert in.
Question #5
I read recently that in order for a skin impression to be made the Dermal tissue must undergo a type of chemical alteration! Do you think this is what allows the impression to be made?
That doesn’t sound right to me. The first thing that has to happen for an animal to be fossilized is that it needs to be buried in sediment really fast after it dies — before it’s eaten by scavengers. For something as fine as skin impressions to be preserved, that sediment needs to be very fine — which sadly tends to conflict with the first condition, since course sediments can be deposited more quickly than fine ones. It’s really hard for enough fine sediment to be laid down quickly enough to cover an animal of the size of a sauropod, which is why we don’t have sauropod specimens like those gloriously preserved theropods from the Yixian Formation in China(*). So sauropod skin impressions are pretty rare.
(*) Alternatively: there are spectacularly preserved partial sauropod specimens in the Yixian, but Chinese researchers can’t be bothered to write them up because they’d rather spend their time getting a slam-dunk Nature paper out of yet another little feathered theropod. Unduly cynical? Maybe. But I continue to live in hope.
Well, that about wraps up the five questions — to the best of my ability at least. But I’d love to hear from people who know more than I about these topics: leave a comment, and fame and glory could be yours!
And finally … if you, too, would like to have us answer five questions on the sauropod-related topic of your choice, quite possibly in the less than three years, you should consider getting yourself across the The SV-POW! Patreon and making an unreasonably extravagant financial commitment.
References
- Berman David S., and Bruce M. Rothschild. 2005. Neck posture of sauropods determined using radiological imaging to reveal three-dimensional structure of cervical vertebrae. pp. 233–247 in: Virgina Tidwell and Ken Carpenter, Thunder-lizards: the sauropodomorph dinosaurs. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
- Taylor, Michael P. 2014. Quantifying the effect of intervertebral cartilage on neutral posture in the necks of sauropod dinosaurs. PeerJ 2:e712. doi: 10.7717/peerj.712
- Taylor, Michael P., David W. E. Hone, Mathew J. Wedel and Darren Naish. 2011. The long necks of sauropods did not evolve primarily through sexual selection. Journal of Zoology 285:150-161. doi: 10.1111/j.1469-7998.2011.00824.x
- Taylor, Michael P., Mathew J. Wedel, Darren Naish and Brian Engh. 2015. Were the necks of Apatosaurus and Brontosaurus adapted for combat?. p. 71 in Mark Young (ed.), Abstracts, 63rd Symposium for Vertebrate Palaeontology and Comparative Anatomy, Southampton. 115 pp.
Neck-muscle size differentials in diplodocids
December 18, 2023
Let’s look again at Figure 7 of our recent paper on bifurcated cervical ribs in apatosaurines:

Figure 7. Schematic reconstructions of ventral neck musculature in two diplodocid sauropods. A, Apatosaurus louisae holotype CM 3018, cervicals 6 and 7 in left lateral view (reversed), modified from Gilmore (1936, plate 24). B, Diplodocus carnegie holotype CM 84, cervicals 6 and 7 in right lateral view, modified from Hatcher (1901, plate 3). C, mounted skeleton of Apatosaurus louisae in the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, skull and first seven and a half cervical vertebrae in right posterolateral view. Red lines represent the longus colli ventralis muscles, originating on the anterior aspect of one cervical rib and inserting on the shaft of a more anterior vertebra. Blue lines represent the flexor colli lateralis muscles, originating on the anterior aspect of the tuberculum of one vertebra and inserting on the dorsal part of the shaft of a more anterior vertebra. In Apatosaurus the attachment areas are all much larger: in particular, the insertion of the flexor colli lateralis is increased in size by the incipient bifurcation.
In this figure, the red muscles (longus colli ventralis) are primarily ventral muscles used to draw the neck downwards, while the blue muscles (flexor colli lateralis) are primarily lateral muscles used to move the neck from side to side. (I say “primarily” because anatomy is never that simple and orthogonal: everything does two or three things, and apparently simple movements are generally the result of many different muscles working together.)
In parts A and B of the figure, we showed relatively small ventral and lateral muscles in Diplodocus, and both of them larger by similar amounts in Apatosaurus. If anything, the difference in size is shown as greater in the ventral muscles.
I’m ashamed to say that I (for it was me) didn’t give that a ton of thought at the time: our point was just that the attachments areas for the muscles are bigger, so the muscles themselves were likely bigger.
But the distinctive feature that apatosaurs added here is the dorsal process that we think is the attachment point for the lateral muscles. So it would make more sense if it were those lateral muscles that were most enlarged by the change. So perhaps I should have drawn the top part of that figure like this:

Redrafted version of Wedel and Taylor 2013: Figure 7, parts A and B, emphasizing the relatively large lateral muscles (Flexor colli lateralis, in blue) in Apatosaurus compared with Diplodocus.
If that’s right, then … why? The obvious interpretation would be the the necks of apatosaurines were engineered for lateral motion more than for ventral motion, which suggests we might have misconstrued the primary combat mechanism when we formulated the BRONTOSMASH! hypothesis (Taylor et al. 2015).
So my new take is, tentatively, that apatosaurs may have been smashing their necks sideway into each other more than they were slamming them down on each other.
Let me be quite clear about this: I’m thinking out loud. I could easily, easily be wrong — and if anyone thinks I am and has reasons, I am actively keen to hear them.
References
How sauropods increased the size of ventral neck muscles
December 8, 2023
Last time I promised you exciting news about sauropod neck-muscle mass. Let none say that I do not fulfil covenents. And, as usual, when talking about sauropod neck muscle mass, I’m going to start by talking about bird legs. Look at this flamingo:
Ridiculous, right? Those legs are like matchsticks. How can they possibly work. Where are the muscles?
And the answer of course is that they’re on this ostrich:
Check out those huge drumsticks!
Birds make it easier to move their legs by lightening them: shifting the muscles proximally and operating the legs via tendons. (I assume that if we could see the behind the feathers of the flamingo, we’d see a similar, though smaller, “drumstick” at the top of the tibiotarsus.) Lighter legs are easier to shift back and forth, and help to make the ostrich such a superb long-distance runner.
Cursorial mammals do something similar, though perhaps not to the same extent as birds: look how all the muscle mass in this pronghorn’s legs is concentrated at the top.
(This seems to be less true of short-distance speed-runners like the cheetah, where the sheer amount of muscle mass may be more important.)
That’s all very well, Mike, but what has it got to do with sauropod necks?
Well, cursorial animals need to shift muscle mass proximally to reduce the energy required to keep moving their legs back and forth. And in the same way, sauropods needed to shift the muscles of their necks proximally to reduce the sheer weight of the neck. With sauropod necks, it’s not so much a matter of being able to move the neck around quickly (although shifting muscle proximally will help with that, too): it’s about being able to keep the darned thing up at all.
Just as the proximally located leg muscles of birds operate their legs by tendons, so proximally located neck muscles in sauropods — whether proximally within the neck, or even moved right back onto the torso — would have operated the neck by tendons. We know from histological studies including Klein et al. (2012) that the long cervical ribs found in many sauropods are ossified tendons, and a full decade ago we argued in Taylor and Wedel (2013) that this ossification occurred to avoid the energy wastage involved in stretching tendons — the same reason the the tendons in the distal limb segments of birds also ossify.
So far, so good: we’ve discussed all this before. The question is this: what were diplodocids doing? We’ve argued, at least to our own satisfaction, that shifting muscles proximally and ossifying the tendons is a good thing for sauropod necks, yet diplodocids (and other sauropods with short cervical ribs) were evidently not doing this. Why not?
One important question is, what exactly were they not doing? Were they still shifting the muscles proximally, but not ossifying the tendons? Or were they not shifting the muscles proximally at all? We’re arguing, at least tentatively, that the evidence of bifurcated cervical ribs suggests the flexor colli lateralis muscles were single-segment. But I don’t think it follows that the longus collus ventralis muscles were necessarily also single-segment. It’s possible that they were still multi-segment muscles, but that the tendons remained unossified in diplodocids for some reason. But if so, what reason?
Suppose for a moment that in diplodocids the ventral muscles, as well as the lateral ones, were single-segment. If apatosaurine necks being used in combat, as we think, and there was an evolutionary advantage to increasing the ventral muscle mass, then they would not have had the option of larger muscles more proximally, operated via long ossified tendons. Their only option would have been to make those single-segment muscles larger — which could be the origin of the gigantic cervical ribs in apatosaurines.
Or perhaps the important movements in apatosaurine neck combat were lateral movements. In this case it might make sense for the neck to become deeper just to provide enough space for large (i.e. dorsoventrally deep) lateral muscles.
Finally, one more thought: all of this is to do with ventral and lateral musculature, but what about dorsal muscles (longus colli dorsalis, intercristales and interspinales)? One would expect these to be much larger and more significant, given the problem of holding up a multi-ton neck at all, let alone moving it around. Yet we see no osteological evidence of special morphology here, beyond relatively small epipophyses.
We discuss this in our 2013 paper, starting at the bottom of page 26 — see the section “Asymmetric elongation of cervical ribs and epipophyses”. In fact, since the relevant part of this section is short, I’ll just quote it here:
Why did sauropod necks not evolve this way [with posteriorly elongated epipophyses]? In fact, there are several likely reasons.
First, positioning and moving the neck for feeding would have required fine control, and precise movements requires short levers.
Second, although bone is much stiffer than tendon, it is actually not as strong in tension, so that an ossified tendon is more likely to break under load.
Third, muscles expand transversely when contracted lengthways. For epaxial muscles in sauropods necks, this expansion would strongly bend ossified epipophyseal tendons, subjecting them to greater stress than simple longitudinal tension. (The same effect would also have caused some bending of cervical ribs, but the lower stresses in ventral musculature would have reduced the effect.)
Truthfully, I have never found this section 100% persuasive. The reasons we give for not elongating the epipophyses make sense so far as they go, but they don’t do much to explain why we see absolutely no obvious muscle-attachment modifications in the dorsal parts of sauropod vertebrae.
Or maybe we do, but we’re just not recognizing them?
What are we failing to see?
References
- Klein, N., Christian, A., & Sander, P. M. (2012). Histology shows that elongated neck ribs in sauropod dinosaurs are ossified tendons. Biology letters, 8(6), 1032-1035.
- Taylor, Michael P., and Mathew J. Wedel. 2013. Why sauropods had long necks; and why giraffes have short necks. PeerJ 1:e36. 41 pages, 11 figures, 3 tables. doi:10.7717/peerj.36
What dorsal processes on cervical ribs tell us about neck muscles and their functions
November 28, 2023

Bifurcated and incipiently bifurcated cervical ribs of sauropods. A, Moabosaurus utahensis holotype individual, left cervical rib BYU 14063 (not right as stated by Britt et al. 2017), probably associated with C5, in medial view. B, Dicraeosaurus hansemanni holotype MB.R.2379, right cervical rib 8 in lateral view. Modified from Janensch (1929, fig. 21). C, Brontosaurus parvus CM 555, right cervical rib 7 in lateral view. D, Apatosaurus louisae MWC 1946, cervical vertebra in right lateral view. E, Apatasaurus louisae MWC 5659, cervical vertebra in left lateral view (reversed). All photographs by the authors. Wedel and Taylor (2023: fig. 3).
Here are some cervical ribs of sauropods that show a spectrum of morphologies, from a low dorsal process that makes an obtuse angle with the shaft of the rib in Dicraeosaurus (upper right), to one that makes a right angle in Brontosaurus (center), to a prominent spike of bone in Apatosaurus (bottom left), to a fully bifurcated cervical rib in another vertebra of Apatosaurus (bottom right) and in the turiasaur Moabosaurus (upper left).
Whether they manifest as low bumps or full-on bifurcations, dorsal processes on cervical ribs are odd-looking. But they make intuitive sense. We’ve known for a while now that the cervical ribs of sauropods — like those of birds — are ossified tendons. And from comparisons with crocs and birds, we expect that sauropod cervical ribs had two sets of muscles inserting on them: a lateral set, and a ventral set. They’re the green lines, especially C and E, converging on the cervical rib in this diagram from our 2013 PeerJ paper:

Simplified myology of that sauropod neck, in left lateral view, based primarily on homology with birds, modified from Wedel and Sanders (2002, figure 2). Dashed arrows indicate muscle passing medially behind bone. A, B. Muscles inserting on the epipophyses, shown in red. C, D, E. Muscles inserting on the cervical ribs, shown in green. F, G. Muscles inserting on the neural spine, shown in blue. H. Muscles inserting on the ansa costotransversaria (“cervical rib loop”), shown in brown. Specifically: A. M. longus colli dorsalis. B. M. cervicalis ascendens. C. M. flexor colli lateralis. D. M. flexor colli medialis. E. M. longus colli ventralis. In birds, this muscle originates from the processes carotici, which are absent in the vertebrae of sauropods. F. Mm. intercristales. G. Mm. interspinales. H. Mm. intertransversarii. Vertebrae modified from Gilmore (1936, plate 24). Taylor and Wedel (2013a: fig. 5).
I don’t think we’ve ever shown those muscles in crocs, but they’re there, as you can see in this half-dissected alligator neck:
(Hypaxial neck muscles in crocs aren’t that different from those of birds, just shorter and simpler. It’s in the epaxial neck muscles that theropods and birds diverge wildly from the primitive archosaurian plan. See Figure 11 and related discussion in Taylor and Wedel [2013a].)
If the two sets of muscles converged from different angles, their tendons might ossify separately, at least in part, and that could create the spectrum of dorsal processes and bifurcated cervical ribs shown up top. And that bifurcation would be more likely to manifest if the angle between the converging muscles was wider, as it almost certainly was in apatosaurs. When we were at the Carnegie Museum back in 2019, I doodled this comparison between Diplodocus carnegii (top) and Apatosaurus louisae (middle) and showed it to Mike:
He took one look at the drawing and said, “That’s basically the paper right there.” A cleaner version, using illustrations from Hatcher (1901) and Gilmore (1936) and flipped to face the other way, appears in our new paper as part of Figure 7:

Schematic reconstructions of ventral neck musculature in two diplodocid sauropods. A, Apatosaurus louisae holotype CM 3018, cervicals 6 and 7 in left lateral view (re-versed), modified from Gilmore (1936, plate 24). B, Diplodocus carnegii holotype CM 84, cervicals 6 and 7 in right lateral view, modified from Hatcher (1901, plate 3). C, mounted skeleton of Apatosaurus louisae in the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, skull and first seven and a half cervical vertebrae in right posterolateral view. Red lines represent the longus colli ventralis muscles, originating on the anterior aspect of one cervical rib and inserting on the shaft of a more anterior vertebra. Blue lines represent the flexor colli lateralis muscles, originating on the anterior aspect of the tuberculum of one vertebra and inserting on the dorsal part of the shaft of a more anterior vertebra. In Apatosaurus the attachment areas are all much larger: in particular, the insertion of the flexor colli lateralis is increased in size by the incipient bifurcation. Wedel and Taylor (2023: fig. 7).
If apatosaurs were the only dinosaurs with bifurcated cervical ribs, the conclusion would be almost tautological: giant cervical ribs meant that the neck muscles converged on the cervical rib shafts at wider angles, which would improve the chances of a visible bifurcation in the ossified tendon that is the cervical rib.

Head and neck of mounted Carnotaurus sastrei cast LACM 127704 in right ventrolateral view, showing incipiently bifurcated cervical ribs. Photograph by the authors. Wedel and Taylor (2023: fig. 4).
But the weird thing is, dorsal processes and bifurcated cervical ribs aren’t limited to apatosaurines. As the image up top shows, they’re also present in some dicraeosaurids and turiasaurs, neither of which have giant, low-hanging cervical ribs like those of apatosaurs. And in fact, dorsal processes and bifurcated cervical ribs aren’t even limited to sauropods — the ceratopsian Zhuchengceratops has them, as do several theropods, including Carnotaurus. So what’s going on here?
The serial positions of the cervical ribs with prominent dorsal processes is telling — in every example that we know of, whether sauropod, theropod, or (shudder) ornithischian, the dorsal processes are best-developed in the middle of the neck. That suggests that the divergent muscles were pulling on the cervical ribs hard enough to leave separately-ossifying tendons only at mid-neck, at some distance from both the head and the trunk.

Just a reminder of what Apatosaurus louisae MWC 1946 — same vert as in D of the figure at the top of the post — looks like in ventral view.
It seems these critters were doing some real work with their necks. Ceratopsians and theropods had big heads to hold up and maneuver. Apatosaurs didn’t have big heads, but they had big heavy necks — weirdly, apomorphically, expensively heavy necks — so whatever they were doing, it was probably something important.
References
- Taylor, Michael P., and Mathew J. Wedel. 2013. Why sauropods had long necks; and why giraffes have short necks. PeerJ 1:e36. 41 pages, 11 figures, 3 tables. doi:10.7717/peerj.36
- Wedel, Mathew J., and Michael P. Taylor. 2023. The biomechanical significance of bifurcated cervical ribs in apatosaurine sauropods. VAMP (Vertebrate Anatomy Morphology Palaeontology) 11:91-100. doi:10.18435/vamp29394
Neck ontogeny in Tyrannosaurus rex, redux
September 12, 2023
Back into 2019, when Matt and I visited the Carnegie Museum, we were struck by how different the necks of juvenile and adult Tyrannosaurus rex individuals are. In particular, the juvenile individual known as Jane has a slender and amost fragile-looking neck compared with the monstrously robust neck of its adult counterpart.
A few weeks ago, Matt and I were at the Los Angeles County Museum (LACM), which has a superb tyrannosaur exhibit with three mounted skeletons at different growth stages:
Here it is from the opposite angle, taken from the balcony above the exhibit:
But what’s this we see in the tiny tyrannosaur that is the baby of the bunch?
A robust neck indeed — very much like that of the adult, and seemingly out of proportion with the slender skull. Let’s compare that once more with a similar shot of Jane the Carnegie juvenile:
(This is the same photo I used in the original post, but cropped a bit differently to better match the photo of the LACM baby.)
And remember: the LACM baby is smaller, and therefore we would assume younger, than Jane. Yet its neck is much, much more robust.
Once you have the two photos side by side, other differences are apparent — notably, that Jane’s forelimbs, scapulae and especially hands are proportionally much longer than in the LACM baby. In comparison, the LACM baby’s postcranium looks like that of a scaled-down adult.
What’s going on here?
If both of these skeletons are legitimate (i.e. mostly based on real fossil material of single individuals) then we have to be dealing with two different species here. There’s just no rational ontogenetic trajectory that goes from the LACM baby via Jane to the adult form.
On the other hand, maybe one or both of the juvenile skeletons is not really legitimate. I don’t know enough about tyrannosaurs to be familiar with individual specimens, but no doubt plenty of people out there are. (If any of them would like to comment here, that would be very welcome.)
I leave you with one more photo of that glorious three-tyrannosaur exhibit.

























