A couple of years ago I was walking along main street with my friend, Karen. At the very last second, I grabbed her arm to stop her from stepping on a gigantic insect. It was enormous. Big enough to completely fill the palm of your hand. Though, after doing my research* I realized that holding the thing is ill-advised. They will draw blood. I’ll leave it to you to check out the images on the internet.
*”Honey? I saw this bug. It was THIS big and had huge pincers on the one end. What is it?”
“A Dobson Fly” said my encyclopedic hubby.
I had never seen one before, and would have been perfectly happy to never see one again. Normally I’m not squeamish about bugs and insects and worms and such. However, after a certain dimension is surpassed… urp. Excuse me, but I need to be elsewhere right now. Um, which way to the powder room?
The “squeam” reflex is getting a good run this season. There seems to be an uptick in the Dobson Fly community. I almost stepped on one the other day in a parking lot paved similarly to the one in the photo above. There was one resting on the exterior wall of a Tim Horton’s a few days later. This time, the off-white cladding provided stark contrast to the insect. [Shudder]
Last weekend we spotted another on the pump house at the end of our street. It was dawn, and the yard light was still lit. Reiner likes to stop to check out the moths and butterflies that might be drawn to the lamp. The early birds, the real ones like robins and starlings, were there too to take advantage of the smorgasbord.
Or as Reiner said, “Smorgasborg.”
“Has that been meme-d yet?” I asked. “A Borg feasting at an “all you can eat” joint?”
Yup, that’s me, trying to change the subject. To avoid eye contact with BUGZILLA: The Dobson Fly From the Black Lagoon that ate Manhattan On Independence Day. Twice.
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