I was walking the dogs this morning. It is cicada season and the storm last night
knocked several from the trees and down onto the ground.
Shoebert loves cicadas.
Every walk is like an Easter egg hunt this time of year. Cicadas live most of their lives underground
– seven years or more! When they finally
craw to the surface they have developed a shell covering a winged body. They then hatch out of these shells, unroll
their wings and mate. Then they die.
Once the cicada is dead, it starts to give off an odor that
Shoebert can smell from several feet away.
The fresh or dying ones, however, he often doesn’t notice, even when he
walks right past one on the sidewalk.
Today there were several fresh cicadas on the sidewalk.
We were only a few houses down when he went right past a
cicada that was lying on the edge of the sidewalk. I stopped, tapped my foot next to it and said
to Shoebert, “here’s one!” He turned
around, put his nose to the ground and started searching. Depending on where he was I would say “you’re
getting colder. Warmer. Warmer. Hot.”
The closer he got to the cicada the more excitement I put in my
voice. Finally, I was nearly yelling,
“Hot. Very HOT. SPONTANIOUS CONBUSTION. YOU GOT IT!”
I looked up to see a neighbor across the road who was
loading lumber into his pickup. He was
standing still, his mouth slightly opened staring at me. I smiled sheepishly and gave him a weak way
from my wrist. He closed his mouth and
raised his eyebrows while nodding. Then
he quickly went back to loading the truck.
On the way back home at the end of the walk the neighbor was
returning. This time I gave him a full
wave. He smiled and waved back. He may think I’m crazy, but harmless. Just like Shoebert.
