A few days ago I posted an image of an insect I found on my patio, a large creature the likes of which I had never before seen.  You might remember I found it in this position just outside the bedroom doors.

It didn’t move as I snapped a few photos of it.  I therefore suspected it had died, perhaps after flipping over and lying in direct sunlight for too long, perhaps after being abused by any of the local neighborhood cats who would undoubtedly find such a thing to be a perfect toy.

But whatever reason or reasons had caused it to wind up in such condition, I decided to turn it over so I could get some different views of it, something that would help me identify it later.

Its legs began flailing the moment I picked it up.  Not so dead after all…

I placed it back on the patio floor where it froze.  Posed, even, for the furry behemoth rested in sunset’s direct light where I could snap some respectable images.

The first to show its strangely colored and swollen abdomen.

At 2.5 cm long by 1 cm wide, with most of that girth and length in this rear section banded with green and orange separated by tortoiseshell hairs that appeared dark gray from a distance, I felt the poor thing wouldn’t be able to move for having to lug around so much extra baggage.

The fact that it never flinched as I got in close for more pictures seemed to confirm it was too heavy, too bloated to get out of the way.

The more I looked at it, the more I assumed it to be a moth.  Probably a female given the antennae.  But where were its wings?

That’s when I noticed two stubby projections on each side of the thorax where a flying insect would have wings.

Was I looking at a moth whose wings had not yet unfolded?  That seemed unlikely at best.  These little nubs were too small to unfurl into wings large enough to carry this massive insect.

Regrettably, the more I looked at it, the more I became confused about what it might be.

As I sat near it staring in confusion, I suddenly found my original concern about it being too heavy to move had been premature and incorrect.

Tiny when compared to its enormous abdomen, amazement washed over me as those six legs kicked into high gear and began carrying this mystery across the patio toward the fence.  Quickly, I might add.

It skirted the bottom of the fence for some time.  Eventually it turned, climbed over the wooden base, tumbled down the other side, and reversed course back along the fence.

Its abdomen dragged the ground the entire time, a mass of insect flesh too large and heavy to lift.  It didn’t seem to notice, though, and it certainly didn’t cause the critter to be slow.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Once it reached the center column of the fence, the ligneous support that stretches up to the roof, it began climbing.

That shocked me.  Tiny feet on painted wood found both the strength and grip to lift that bulging bottom straight up the pillar.

I watched it for some time as it continued upward.  When finally it paused for a few minutes, I decided to leave it in peace.  It was gone when I returned an hour or so later to check on it.

My investigation into its identity helped me learn something I never knew before.

You see, originally I felt it probably was an immature moth whose wings had not developed (or unfolded, assuming that the tiny nubs could somehow unfurl into large wings).

I was wrong.

This is in fact a fully mature, fully developed female moth, one whose abdomen is so full of eggs that it appears distended.  She is also a flightless moth with vestigial wings.  Only the males of her kind have wings and can fly.

Assuming my identification is correct, something I’m confident in but not definitively sure of, she is a very pregnant Lycia ypsilon.  The most widely used common name I could find for the species is woolly gray moth, but they are sometimes referred to as pine barrens lycia.

And finally to prove I didn’t pose a dead insect just so I could post cool photos of it, here’s something I’ve not done in a while: include a video.  As I pointed out earlier, she ran along the bottom of the fence once she finally got going.  And go she did.

Please note I wish the video had translated better to YouTube.  The original, in all its 640×480 stereo glory, is rather nice for a macro vid (the first I’ve ever tried to capture).  I may tinker with it and try uploading it again to see if maybe a different format works better.

Anyway, for now, here’s my huge, bursting with eggs, flightless female moth scampering across the concrete for all the world to see.

[video is 0:34]

With all the recent talk—and even some photos—of the northern mockingbird parents in the tree outside my patio, I wanted to share something far less depressing than has been the story of their offspring.  Too many losses, I say, and too many tears.

So let us then turn our attention to the more entertaining side of mockingbirds.

You know Larenti visits often.  She now spends a great deal of time on my patio.

Surprisingly, I’ve discovered al-Zill also finds the veranda a great place to rest and relax, not to mention to grab a bite to eat.

A few days ago when I stepped outside, I found this most recent feline discovery enjoying a midday meal as Larenti lounged in the intermittent sunshine that dappled the concrete floor each time the clouds broke.

I snapped a few photos of the pair (to be shown later).  As I stood there, however, someone else came into the picture.

It was one of the mockingbird parents.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not surprising to have one or both birds launch an assault on any feline visitor.  For that matter, they yell at me and threaten me with their aerial acrobatics, so a cat certainly should expect a challenge.

The moment the bird instigated the encounter with al-Zill, the cat stepped away from the food, walked to a position near the fence, and lay down in such an uncaring manner as to insult the winged parent with complete disregard.

That’s when I switched the camera to video mode, aimed, and began shooting.

Keep in mind I was on the opposite side of the patio and didn’t have enough time to really zoom in.  I didn’t want to miss any of the verbal abuse being heralded at the felines—especially al-Zill.

Nevertheless, you can see how brave the mockingbirds are.  Remember they hit me in the head several times while making runs at Vazra before I rescued him, and he was sitting on the fence when that happened.  A cat on the ground is a safer bet when you keep your distance and throw nothing more damaging than avian insults.

Oh, and the cats weren’t one bit impressed.

[video is 0:21]

This is another video I accidentally shot with the camera on its side (sometimes I do that thinking of it like a picture that can easily be rotated, and only later do I kick myself for having done so).  That means I had to rotate it and add the black blocks on either side in order to maintain the original aspect ratio.  So it’s a bit smaller than usual, but I think you can see it clearly enough.

Words aren’t always necessary to communicate what we want.  Perhaps it’s a gesture or a glance, but we humans pride ourselves in being able to say without our voices precisely what’s on our minds.

Yet it’s another aspect of our unjustified hubris to think such abilities are solely the purview of clumsy upright apes with the ability to speak (but not to think, which should be obvious).

With my fanny firmly planted on the floor one day as I snapped photos and captured videos of The Kids, eventually Grendel had enough and made it abundantly obvious camera time was over.  You can see he kept trying to push it out of the way so we could focus our attention on some quality time.

And when that didn’t work?  Try a little affectionate rubbing for good measure.

Only at the end, and only if you listen very closely, you can hear him purring.  That’s the only sound he made during the entire exchange.  Everything else—volumes of information—came across just fine in touches, glances, and all manner of words unspoken.  And I heard every one of them.

[video is 0:14]

I was minding my own business.  I promise I was.

In early morning gloom worsened by heavy clouds impenetrable to all but the smallest amount of light, I knelt by the shore after having enjoyed some time with the mallard duck family.  The entire sord already had wandered off through the water.  Why I remained in my crouched position is anyone’s guess, yet there I sat watching the other wildlife growing increasingly perturbed with the loud noise and disruptive mayhem being caused by the surging crowd of people congregating nearby for the morning’s ninth annual White Rock ‘n’ Run.

In fact, one of the bands began warming up a short distance behind me.  Their loud speakers and squawking feedback all joined together in causing even more disharmony among the lake’s official residents and true owners.

But I remained, letting my eyes take their fill of beast and fowl, of water and air, of light and dark.

Being low to the ground as I was meant I hoped I posed little threat to anything that might wander by.  This seemed proved by a handful of ducks preening less than a yard (a meter) away from my location.  They would occasionally glance at me to ensure I hadn’t set my predatory sights upon them, and then they’d turn back to their morning baths.

A raucous group of white and brown Chinese geese (a.k.a. swan geese, Anser cygnoides) came ashore near my favorite pier and headed in my direction.  With ample room for them to veer around me, I thought nothing more of it.

That was a mistake.

Still knelt in the wet grass and mud as I was, my figure stood no higher than the medium-sized members of the gaggle.  The larger of the group easily towered over me, large birds as they are.

I offered them only cursory glances while they made their way in my direction.  It was only when they came within six feet (two meters) of me that I realized I had erred in assuming they wanted nothing to do with me.

Sure, I was there first.  And I wasn’t bothering any living thing in the area.  I remained quiet and didn’t look at them directly lest it be seen as a challenge.  Instead, I slowly pivoted the camera on my knee and snapped photos of this and that, all the while looking through the LCD screen so I wouldn’t have to raise it and appear threatening to anyone—or scare them with unnecessary movements.

Do you think the geese cared for my intentions?  Do you think they respected my tiny spot in their world?

Of course not.

With only the tiniest of gestures, I switched the camera to video mode as the gaggle surrounded me.  I felt they were journeying around me, giving me just enough room so we all would feel comfortable, and would trek on along the shore once they made it past me.

Remind me once in a while that I’m no expert when it comes to wildlife.  I’m learned, yes, and quite so, but that doesn’t mean I’m precognitive when it comes to the beast’s nature.  Although I’m successfully predictive in that manner only insomuch as it boils down to general behavior and probable outcomes, I’m a fool for thinking such specific and extraordinary circumstances would somehow fit in a mold meant for natural theater rather than man’s unnatural and cacophonous disorder that was in place that morning.

I quietly pressed the button to begin capturing some video of the geese as they moved around me.  To my right, I was peripherally aware of several who continued inching in my direction, and more specifically, I was increasingly cognizant of one specific and very large avian tenant who seemed quite lacking in any fear of me.

The camera swung carefully in his direction, which gave me a chance to look at him directly without looking at him directly.  I saw no imminent threat, so I began to pan the video back in the opposite direction where one particular goose stood nearly motionless as it watched me.  As I swung my gaze away from the intimidating creature who continued to edge closer and closer, I saw from the corner of my eye what my mind’s eye had only just revealed: I was about to get my butt kicked.

Sure enough, just as I swung the camera back in his direction, he stepped forward and lowered his head.

Now is a good time to reveal I was not exactly on sure footing, what with being knelt on one knee and one foot, holding the camera steady on one knee, and being quite in the middle of a muddy patch of grass on the shore.  If I made a sudden movement, it was me who would end up lying flat on the wet ground.

Of equal importance is that I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt.  That meant I offered a tremendous amount of exposed skin.  Even a duck can tear flesh if given enough access and a sure enough grip, so a large goose could inflict far more significant harm with all the skin I was showing.

Finally, keep in mind that Chinese geese are very large—the largest being comparable to an actual swan—and that swans can break human bones.  If a large enough goose made a strategic move, especially with my limited ability to react in the position I was in, I felt I could be in a great deal of trouble.

So there I was . . .

The camera pivoted sharply back to the right as I twisted my entire frame.  I wanted to face directly the threatening bird.  And crouched on the ground, he was taller than I was.

The moment I turned in that direction, he stepped forward, lowered his head, and charged me.

That’s where the video ends.  I saw the attack coming and hit the button so I could focus on other matters.

You know, like getting the hell out of the way.

He closed the distance quickly but paused when I stood.  No longer was it him towering over me; it was the opposite.  That moment of his indecision gave me enough time to drop the camera in my pocket and back away at a steady clip.

Then, with me no longer invading his personal space (regardless of who approached the other), he suddenly felt at ease.  The entire gaggle milled about for a moment, made a tremendous amount of noise, and moved on down the shoreline.  Still within an easy stone’s throw, they all clamored into the water and swam away.

You’ll have to watch carefully because the video ends just as he lowers his head and begins his approach.  Sorry, but I had other matters to attend to.

[video is 0:11]

What do you call them?  Pill bug?  Sow bug?  Doodlebug?  Roly-poly?  Something else entirely?

No matter what name you use to describe them, they are nothing more extravagant than terrestrial crustaceans called woodlice (or a woodlouse in the singular).  Many consider them insects, yet they’re more closely related to shrimp and crab than to any true bug.

The most common isopod of this sort is the kind that rolls into a ball.  That is Armadillidium vulgare, or the common pill bug.  Depending on where you’re located, you undoubtedly have another name for them.

I see these little critters scurrying about all the time.  In fact, I watch every step carefully when I’m on the patio, for it’s not been entirely uncommon for me to accidentally crush one of them because I didn’t see it making its way across the concrete floor.  The worst case is when I’m not wearing shoes . . .

Anyway, here are a few photos of my neighborhood isopods during recent visits, and I’ve included a brief yet fun video at the end showing one scampering away as I chase it with the camera (not that it knew I was chasing it, but it seems that way).

And now the video . . .

[video is 0:09]

Kako loves “The Refrigerator Game.”  That is, she leaps atop the frig and asks for—mostly demands—attention.  The game usually—mostly—winds up with her jumping on my back and continuing the demanding/getting attention from there.

I’ve discussed this before.  In fact, you can see photos of it here, here, here, and here (the last one showing her taking the game to new heights when she could get on top of the cabinets over the refrigerator), and you can read about it here and here.

To prove I’m not insane . . .

Ha!  Who am I kidding?  Of course I’m insane.  But that’s not the point.

To prove I’m not lying about this aspect of her personality (a trait only she has), here’s a video of her on the refrigerator doing her thing: asking—demanding—attention.

Note that she did wind up on my back.  I have photos to prove it, but I’ll share those at a later date and time.

For now, enjoy Miss Thing playing The Refrigerator Game.  And take special note that there’s an undercurrent of purring in her meows.  She might be a bitch and she might order others around and brutalize them to get her way, but she definitely loves me and can show it.  Besides, she knows what buttons to press.

[video is 0:50]

Last Friday’s severe weather outbreak involved more than just a few near misses.  It provided a rather disconcerting experience each time the civil defense sirens began bellowing their terrible sound into an atmosphere already churning with nature’s fury.

So here’s a brief taste of the first sounding of the alarm.  It came with no notice.  In fact, hearing the wailing cry carried on the air was the first indication I had that something was amiss.

From there, it went downhill.  And they sounded again and again with each new indication of atmospheric treachery.

[video is 0:32]

Unlike his normal approach whereby he takes what he wants and uses whatever force is necessary in order to get it, I captured a brief video showing the softer side of Loki.  It’s like watching something alien.

I had already taken a long walk and returned home refreshed, yet I still needed something.

Time with the cats!  Yes, that was it.  I needed to give and get some lovin’.

So I sat on the bedroom floor.  From there, I encouraged them to come visit me before I was forced to pester each one of them in turn.

Loki had been sitting atop the cat tree beside the bed and immediately hopped down.  He sat behind me, though, so I turned on the camera and just watched him.

That’s when he began asking for some attention.

Although I normally expect him to brutally appropriate whatever he wants, this time he respectfully asked.  When I didn’t respond, he came to me while continuing to ask—in a hushed, gentle voice.

After I stopped the camera, I sat and petted him for some time, but then he became excited and started beating up on me.  Typical.

But I do love that last little sweet request he gives at the end.  There is a softer side to Loki—rarely.

About two-thirds of the way through the video you see a brief glimpse of Kako lying in the background.  It’s that steely gaze of hers that really stands out.  Other than watching disdainfully, however, she never moves.

And pardon the gloomy atmosphere.  We hadn’t seen the sun in ages and I took the video using what little light filtered through the clouds and in the windows.

[video is 0:21]

To give you a bit of an idea what it’s like driving to the family farm, I grabbed a couple of videos during the final leg of the journey.  These show the small, one-lane road that carries visitors from the small, two-lane “highway” that represents the last visage of civilization before entering the heart of East Texas’ second growth.  The road is a wonderful journey to nowhere, a claustrophobic’s nightmare often blocked by fallen trees after severe weather.  I find the little path of roughly paved roadway a pleasant and otherworldly experience given that I’ve spent most of my life in the city.  At the height of spring and all through summer, it’s a doorway to another world surrounded by lush greenery, verdant forest, and the occasional ranch or farm tucked neatly behind a wall of elm, oak, and pine, not to mention thick brush and a litany of other flora.

Although there are none to be seen in these two captured moments, it’s quite common to run across a wide selection of wildlife, from white-tailed deer to rabbits to bobcats to coyotes to a laundry list of other beasts.  Certainly in the warmest months, you’re almost guaranteed to see one or more animals traveling along or across the road.  In fact, I saw several deer that evening on my way back to the concrete jungle.  They leaped across my path and into a neighboring field, their bodies bouncing like coiled springs as they made their way leisurely into the dense undergrowth and trees.

While the videos make it seem I’m speeding dangerously down a country road, that’s not quite true.  The closeness of the surrounding trees and thicket only make it appear that way from the video’s perspective.  In real life, it’s not wise to drive fast on this particular road since it’s full of blind curves and hills that easily can hide oncoming traffic.  It might be in the middle of BFE Texas, but that doesn’t mean no one travels this path.  So it’s always wise to drive at a safe speed and to slow for turns and the fun ups and downs that define the trip.

The second video picks up shortly after the first one ends and leads us from one tiny road to yet another, the private drive that leads from one backwater alley to another, the one that travels to the family farm and some other private residences on the bayou.

I can’t tell you how difficult it was to drive this road while holding the camera.  The road is and always has been in terrible shape, so I was getting bounced around with one hand on the wheel and one on the camera.  Holding the vehicle steady was much easier than keeping the camera from rebounding all over the open cabin.  For that reason, these aren’t award winners.  They are, however, representative of the very different place to which I go when I visit there.  Compared to Dallas, these might as well be captured moments from Tasmania.  I also find them more than a bit fun.  I love road trips and this is one I especially enjoy.

[video is 2:57]

[video is 0:52]

[the song playing on the car stereo is "Solsbury Hill" originally by Peter Gabriel; this particular version is by Erasure and is include on Other People's Songs; I hadn't thought about it at the time, but it certainly fits the spirit of these videos and the trip they document; I began filming the moment I turned off the highway, and that also happened to be when the song started; I couldn't have planned that better if I had tried]

I’ve often wondered about the “swan geese” moniker given to Chinese geese (Anser cygnoides).  Sure, they’re as large as swans and have long necks they sometimes hold in positions reminiscent of swans, but I didn’t particularly feel either of those traits warranted a nickname linking these raucous birds to their distant cousins who quite dissimilarly are full of grace and quite a bit less noise.

And then I captured these photos of both the brown and white varieties.  The question was answered.

Watching these large waterfowl as they glided across the surface of the water, their heads held with courtly elegance, their necks long and slender, and their wings pushed up by an upwardly held tail, suddenly reminded me of the same postures and visuals often seen with swans.  Although no one would ever mistake one of these geese for a swan (unless seen from quite a distance), I realized while watching them approach the shore that they indeed deserved that very cognomen.

Even the American coots (Fulica americana) seemed to offer genteel deference as the geese made their way toward land quite near where I stood.  Then again, maybe they were just trying to get out of the way of this much larger and quite forbidding gaggle that seemed intent on mowing over anything that got in their way.  That definitely is another similarity to swans (who, if you didn’t know, can be quite mean and aggressive, a trait contrary to their beauty).

Nevertheless, the geese came ashore only a few yards (a few meters) from where I stood taking photographs.  Until they were out of the water, one easily could see how swanlike they were.

Let’s not forget they are geese, however.  Before they reached my position, I captured this video showing just how rowdy, boisterous, and shrill they are.  The honking echoed across the entire lake and sometimes threatened to reach earsplitting levels.  Just listen to them in this brief film.

[video is 0:29]

There’s something else in that video I want you to take note of as well.  Underlying the sounds of the geese and other birds is an almost mournful noise, one in close proximity to the camera.  It runs throughout the video and repeats constantly and at almost clock-like intervals.

That sound is a coot standing in the shallows.  I had never heard a coot make that noise before.  I’ve heard the other sound they make, the one that reminds me of a throaty groan (you can hear it a few times in the first five seconds, and then there’s one right at five seconds that’s much louder and clearer).

I watched the coot making that sorrowful sound to see if perhaps it was hurt or sick.  After several minutes, I concluded it was acting like the rest of them who were loitering about the area where land and water joined together.  Despite its kith and kin making what I thought to be normal coot noises, this one continued its crying for quite a while.  Eventually, though, it reverted to the expected calling as it and the other coots made their way to land for a free meal provided by some very nice folks bearing the gift of breakfast.