“Lady bug, lady bug,

Fly away home;

Your house is on fire

Your children will burn.”

Like most nursery rhymes, that one is designed to scare children into submission. Yet, the ladybug is beloved, almost unnaturally so. It appears on clothing, décor, and jewelry. It must be  the polka dots; no one gets all dewy-eyed about a stinkbug, and they'e really just Amish ladybugs.

Soon enough we learned the difference between those ladybugs of yore, and their kissin’ cousin, the Asian beetle, the one with the white M on its forehead. In town we saw one or two, said, “huh,” and went about our lives. Out in the country, Asian beetles begin to erode your mental health. Whoever placed them in the genus, Harmonia, didn't spend much time in their presence.

Asian beetles have three unattractive qualities. For a tiny bug, their bite is surprisingly harsh. It makes you holler. You not only want to squash the bug, you  want to dismember it and flush it down the drain. Even then you can't be sure it's gone. 

We can all be happy that a shark does not have a proportionately severe bite.

Second, Asian beetles make you pay when you dispatch them. They stink! When one crawls up your neck in the middle of the night, you instinctively smash it. And you will regret that, because Asian beetles posthumously emit a nasty aroma.

But in the end it’s the sheer numbers of beetles that will defeat you. They get in your house, in your clothes, and in your hair. In the evening I hear them plop into my tea. That’s if I’m lucky; usually I take a nice big gulp without checking and wash several down.

How many beetles is too many? We used to think a couple of dustpans-full a day was a lot. Then we had to remove the siding on the south side of the house to do some repairs. Asian beetles seek the warmth on the south side with a vengeance, and when the siding came off, the wall of silver insulation underneath was black. It was a solid wall of beetles.

Seeing that our house was literally encased by Asian beetles was a good thing; it led to acceptance. That’s when we knew we were not even in the game against these guys.

For more information on Asian beetles:

http://www.ca.uky.edu/entomology/entfacts/ef416.asp

HERD IT ON THE FENCE LINE

If you have watched herding trials, you’ve seen Border Collies and Australian Shepherds at work. They run fast, drop to their bellies and wait for a signal from their master. They run around the herd in tighter and tighter circles until the cows or sheep are all bunched up in the center, then they drive the whole wad toward and through a gate.

These dogs live to do this work. One of our Aussies, Hannah, drove both our cats into the corner of our kitchen the day she arrived at our house. She was 6 weeks old. In a few days we both had scabbed-up elbows, because Hannah kept pushing us to the side of the staircase when we went up or downstairs, causing us to scrape along the rough plaster. She wanted us in a confined, manageable space.

Our current Aussies always find a way to lie down touching both of us. They put a foot on Bruce’s shoe and a hip against my leg. They need to know where all their charges are. You can’t teach this instinct, and you can’t remove it. If you don’t want to be herded, get a little yippy dog.

One morning  our girls were on high alert, staring out the window, ears rotating like the radar towers at the airport. Someone was threatening their human herd. Usually it's just a bird or squirrel that gets them fired up and ready to go. Not this time. Cows were looking in our French doors at our dogs.

We don't have cows.

Our neighbor’s small herd of about a dozen cows was grazing in our south field. I went outside but approached them gingerly. Cows up close are far bigger than those out in the pasture. A cow head would fill your Mini Cooper, so you don’t want to get butted sideways by one.

Down the lane came our exasperated neighbor. Compared to Don, Pavarotti was a castrati––Don has a very low voice. And loud. When he calls his cows, it’s like those Alpine horns: “Come, bahhhhhh! Come, bahhhhhh!” It was amazing to hear––for us, anyway; the cows paid no attention whatsoever.

My husband and I tried to help, but 12 cows scattered around 20 acres are not easy to round up. And there is only one way out––back down the lane and out the gate. You get one cow headed that way and the others go toward the four corners of the field. Near as I can tell, there is only one thing you can get two bovines to do together.

But wait! Duh! We have herding dogs. Cats, cows, what’s the difference? (Yeah, yeah, I know––harder to milk, takes a lot of cats to make a leather saddle.) I let the dogs out, and they flew toward those cows. It was beautiful to see their DNA kick in. When they got within 15 feet of the first cow, however, they stopped, sat down, and stared at her. “What the hell is that?” said Hannah. “Nothing I’m messing with,” Ellie replied. They went back to the house.

We three humans eventually got the cows moving through the gate and on their way down the hill toward home. We did this by waiting until the cows decided to do that on their own. Our Aussies were not the least bit embarrassed, except by watching us run around flapping our arms and mooing. The cows didn’t cause any damage, and it was mighty handy to go out a grab a chunk of fertilizer whenever we needed one that summer. Made the strawberries grow big and fat for the chiggers to enjoy. (see entry for February 28)

NOW I CAN DIE HAPPY

Yup, I can die happy. I cannot ask for more. Not after I’ve seen what I’ve seen.  Some sights are so unexpected, so brief, and so breathtaking that you can’t move. Not even if a stag beetle is disappearing down inside your sock. Some sights leave you satisfied. Period.

I saw a baby green heron pierce, then break open her shell. It took her all morning. I was less than two-yards away in my kayak.

So I can die happy.

 *****************************************************************

I saw a pileated woodpecker land just outside our fence, then make its way through our woods. A pileated is up to 19-inches tall with a 29-inch wingspan. They own a huge territory, so you don’t see many. That’s why I shouted “Pileated!” into the phone as I hung up on my husband. You might see other large woodpeckers, such as the yellow-bellied sapsucker, and wonder if it's a pileated. When you actually see a pileated. you are done wondering. (Woody Woodpecker was a pileated.)

And that’s another reason why I can die happy.

 *****************************************************************

I sat in the middle of our woods. It was dead quiet. For no particular reason, I glanced up. There was a scarlet tanager, something I’d never seen. 

 So I can indeed die happy.

 *****************************************************************

dad

One day I was sitting on our porch, watching the birds at our feeder. Out of the blue––literally––a ball of apricot and gray fluff plopped into the garden in front of me. It was a baby Baltimore Oriole. Immediately his bright orange and black dad zoomed down to protect him. He nudged his baby to the fence and with a lot of effort, got him to hop up on the rail.  Dad caught a big white moth which wrapped around his face, completely covering it, He tried everything to get the baby to take the moth. And, one miracle on top of another, I happened to have my camera hanging around my neck. With a close-up lens. But––I cannot find those once in a lifetime pictures.

And yet, I can die happy.

 *****************************************************************

Just now, after looking for months,  I accidentally found the photo.

Really, I may die of happiness.

To hear a pileated woodpecker's call:

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Pileated_Woodpecker/id