It's safe to say that I have a love/hate relationship with bugs. I hate them, they love me. Unrequited love if you will.
I walked out of my door to find a prehistoric-era bug upturned on the concrete path to my door. My first thought was "OMG, what the hell kind of bug is that?" My second thought was that I would literally rip off my own skin if that thing had landed on me. I eased up on it only because of it's precarious condition. Not the dreaded Palmetto Bug, this bug was huge, thick, dark brown with a shell that looked crunchy and hard. It was two inches long with antennas as long as it's body. Beetles on Botox?
Bugs make me do weird things—temporary Tourette's Syndrome at church picnics, erratic driving, and to the horror of my kids... pulling my shirt over my head at a baseball game when a June beetle flew into my neckline.
Too big to smash, I walked away. I had a brief tug of guilt for not uprighting it. But, as the world turns... I swear the same bug I save will be the one that causes me to wreck on the interstate by coming out from under a seat. So, on with my day. I will let nature take care of itself. I mean it wasn't like I turned it over. It would eventually die of its weird predicament.
I swear I couldn't get that bug out of my head. When I got home six hours later, I could see that the bug was still there as I walked up the path. It was still, antennas not moving.
Okay, I will just go inside now and surely a bird will swoop down soon and this drama will be over. Another pang of guilt—at this point I wanted it to be gone—because it reminded me that I did nothing to help it, I let it die.
I peeked out the door about an hour later. Still there. Okay, I will sweep it into the yard where the birds can see their dinner, I thought. I whisked it with the broom, it landed upright, and... it's antennas started twitching! I felt a small leap of joy. I guess 7+ hours on it's back left him a little wobbly, but it started inching its way to the edge of the concrete. I shut the door quickly before that bird that I had been silently beckoning all day could swoop down and change the moral of this story right in front of my eyes.
I felt weirdly happy that the bug didn't die and that somehow I could change the course of nature—and myself—by simply offering a hand/broom out to a struggling bug. After a particularly difficult day, he was back on his feet and pressing on.
