Sunday, January 20, 2013
I'd Hate To Be A Bug
I'm not sure how much a bug really thinks about its surrounding, so maybe they don't look at our houses and marvel at the ingenuity of humans, or ponder how much different their lives would be if they had opposable thumbs ... but surely they wonder about us ... don't they?
Imagine what bees must talk about when they are sent from the hive each morning. Do they complain about that Prima Donna queen bee, too fat to move? Do they ever say "Why can't she go get her own pollen?", or "Why doesn't she ever have to help make the honey?"
Imagine what it must be like for bugs when we cut the grass. There they are, sitting on a dandelion, minding their own business, when this monster wind comes along and whirls them bug-miles away! And, that's the lucky ones ... the ones who aren't turned into mulch. Do they name these storms like we do hurricanes?
If lawnmowers are the bug equivalent to hurricanes, then gardening would be their earthquakes. Countless humans are willing to live along volatile fault lines in California for the great weather and scenic views, so I guess we can't fault (no pun intended) the worms who choose to live in the nutrient rich soil of our gardens. When the earth churns, watching your best worm friend severed in two with a shovel has to be traumatic ... and I don't have the stomach to go into what happens when a little boy gets a hold of a worm.
If I were a bug, I'd want to be one that flies. Bugs with wings have options. If they want to fly across the street and check out the flowers over there, they can. If you're a ground-bound bug, crossing the street is almost-certain suicide. And let's face it ... if you can't fly, getting from the front yard to the back is the bug equivalent of the Oregon Trail.
In the human world, if someone eats you, they'll be hunted down and punished. Not so for bugs. And I doubt there is counseling available for the bug kids who watch their mom get stepped on, right before their eyes.
Yes, bugs, being at the absolute bottom of the food chain, live a thankless, often futile, existence.
Whenever my kids say "That's not fair!" , I give you my word ... I can hear bugs laughing.