Cicada

Last week, while walking Buddy, I came across a dead cicada, mostly intact. Thinking I'd like to photograph it, I eased it into one of the bags set aside for Buddy's ejectamenta putidus and carefully carried it home. It wasn't easy. The wings were fragile, Buddy was frolicking, people in the city were jostling, oh, the jostling...

I got it home and gently placed it between two sliding windows in the kitchen so it could dry out, undisturbed.

I figured it was safe there. No one goes in that corner of the kitchen unless they're cooking.

And I am the only one who cooks.

The other night, as I sat at the kitchen table talking, I glanced over just as Doug opened the windows and surreptitiously tossed my cicada clear out the window. He looked over at me, puffed out his chest and said, "You are so lucky you didn't see that thing. That sucker would have freaked you out!"

Sigh.

A common bumblebee instead which, trust me, isn't nearly as interesting