Tag Archives: insects
I know in an earlier blog, I outlined a children’s book I was writing for my grandson. In this book, my grandson was a caterpillar and I was a granddaddy long legs. In other words, bugs. Although one was technically an arachnid, it’s still a bug.
Now these here bugs in many cases seem intelligent especially when you look at ants, bees and the like. They turn what seems to be chaos into a fully functional existence. This lifestyle operates without a glitch as smooth as silk.
This is actually more of an instinctual function and is present throughout the insect world. Then there comes the few six legged creatures that missed the bus when the gray matter was handed out. These poor individuals would travel the earth in blissful ignorance.
I’m only going to pick on one and that will be the June bug. It’s a large green beetle that flies around during the summer months seemingly going nowhere or doing nothing. In fact, watching one coming in for a landing is something akin to a brick attempting to perch on a clothes line while moving forty miles an hour.
All the information I am offering I have seen firsthand and is not cluttered with other people’s thoughts.
As a lad, I began calling the June bug the stupid bug when I saw one hovering around my house’s foundation. He seemed to want to go forward but didn’t know exactly how. He bumped into the cinderblock, moved a foot or so higher, bumped into the siding, then continued upward driving his head into the siding once again. He continued this pattern until he reached the top of the wall and flew over the roof.
Now if this bug wasn’t stupid when it started this journey, he certainly had mental issues by the time he finished.
If I think really hard (and you can take hard with a grain of salt) the most useful thing I’ve seen a June bug do is hover about a foot off the ground and allow a chicken to scarf him up. Whether breakfast, lunch or dinner the chicken didn’t seem to care.
I guess that shows to go ya, stupid is as stupid does and if stupid eats stupid it can still be tasty on both ends. I’ve ragged the insect and poultry world enough for one day and besides it’s time for Suzie to leave.
So, I’m officially done.
I’ve often thought of writing a children’s book…. Well, not so much, often thought of it… It’s more on the order of never thought of it. Actually, if the truth be told, I’ve never considered considering writing a children’s book. Okay, you got me, this is the first time I’ve ever mentioned it.
But if I did:
I would have to decide on a cute, little, desirable character. Bunny rabbits, chicks, turtles, baby birds and even little lost fish have been done to death.…… I know, a big, fat, juicy, baby, grub worm. I could name him Bippy. And the book would be about Bippy’s adventures moving inches each day through the dirt and rotten tree stumps, doing what big, fat, juicy, baby, grub worms do. Then, one day a man making a survivalist television show eats Bippy raw. Poor Bippy.
Bogart, the legless mosquito? Unable to fly since birth due to a lack of ballast offered by the missing legs, we find Bogart in the backyard of your average, middle-class, suburbanite family. We follow Bogart on his perilous trek through a finely manicured lawn, dodging avian attacks, and avoiding such dangers as snakes, turtles, frogs and cannibalistic insects as he makes his way to the house.
Bogart continues his death-defying journey, knowing that his first meal awaits in the life-giving fluid that courses through any one of the humans that abide in yonder abode. Finally after squirming, rolling and wriggling his way the necessary three feet to the back deck, he nestles himself into a crack on top of the handrail awaiting his bipedal victim.
A likely target steps out of the back door and places a hand on the very same rail that the emaciated Bogart has taken up residence, poised to strike. Before the hand can reach the gaunt mosquito, Bogart is devoured by a wingless bat that throws itself from the roof and snatches the hapless Bogart from his hiding place.
The bat we will call Wrigley (because that’s his name) promptly rolled off the rail and onto the ground. He begins to squirm across the finely manicured lawn, still masticating poor little Bogart, until Wrigley himself is slowly gummed to death by a toothless cat called Knuckles. Knuckles is later found dead, having choked trying to swallow a wingless bat with puffed out cheeks full of partially digested mosquito parts.
Sadly, these mosquito parts contained no legs, but now Bogart was finally able to soar high with his fellow departed mosquitoes.
Aye, a fitting end for all concerned. I think I’ll call it, “Bugs, Bats, and Cats: the Other White Meat.”
Something has always bothered me…well I can’t really say “it’s bothered me” as such, only that it has bothered me in an alternative way that actually doesn’t bother me. At least it doesn’t bother me individually as much as it bothers me in a manner that disassociates itself with me; however, associates itself with the insect world.
Let’s examine the common honey bee. The queen is a female (that makes sense to me). The worker bees are also female. (I have no opinion one way or the other with this arrangement.)
Now enter the drone, the only male inhabitant of the hive (this is where the bothersome part comes in.)
When a new queen is chosen it flies high into the sky being chased by a horde of drones. The first one to reach the queen will mate, blast out his genitalia and then die. When mating season is over, the drones are kicked out of the nest. Being as they come from an unfertilized egg, I picture them being one chromosome short of stupid. I can see them huddling together all winter, keeping each other warm as they drool spittle and utter phrases such as, “duh” and “huh.”
Along the same lines, when a black widow mates, she will often eat her much smaller mate, and if that is not enough carnage, after a praying mantis mates, it will chew the head off her husband…actually the praying mantis will chew the head off anything. You can see that, being a male, this sort of behavior could tend to be a bit bothersome, even though it is totally outside of my species.
Let us not forget about the radioactive spider that bit an unassuming, young student turning him into Spiderman. Even though he fought for the cause of good, who’s to say that the same type of spider couldn’t bite a woman scorned (and you know what they say about scorned women) and we end up disappearing or at best decapitated after a romp in the hay.
Decidedly, here comes the most difficult part of this post, tying the gruesome truth I have laid before you into anything that remotely resembles the art of writing. Maybe the best way to wind up is to say; keep homework eating canines away from your manuscripts, chose your mate wisely, and if anything commences chewing on your head…well…don’t say I didn’t warn you.