Somewhere I
saw this quote, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” I agree and add you’ll meet interesting creatures along
the way. Sometimes those new acquaintances look like something from an
intergalactic space bar.
Several
years ago, Big Yellow Dog and I began our morning with a ramble. These journeys
not only began our day right, but sometimes we also enjoyed the strangest
sights. What I saw that day exceeded every other unusual observation ever
experienced during jaunts down that sandy road.
We’d noted
the usual: a killdeer racing ahead of us, a sparrow hawk proclaiming
territorial rights, and neighboring cows wondering why Big Yellow Dog bounced
up and down as a mouse ran under his paws. A ribbon of blue horizon contrasting
against green pastures and nearly ripe wheat fields backdropped these familiar scenarios.
A bit into
our walk, we crossed the section road into what I consider the “wilderness.”
The only reason humans come this way is to go somewhere else. No one lives on
this route.
This is the area where I once spotted
a bobcat leaping playfully above waving big blue stem and brome grasses that border
walk-in-hunting acreage. This is where
on damp mornings I spy prints of a doe and her fawn crossing from the WIHA to
the creek for a morning drink. This is where I see trails of wriggling snakes as they maneuver from one
grassy ditch to the other before a big redtail flying overhead dives for
dinner.
I look forward to the surprises I
find in the “wilderness.” The unexpected keeps me walking that direction day
after day. That morning provided another “stop to put this in your memory bank”
moment.
Tucker ran through the ditches,
analyzing scents of everything that had happened since he last sampled the air.
I trailed him, admiring morning clouds, relishing cool air rippling over skin, sensing
the roll of gravel under walking shoes, and letting my eyes sweep the road
close--then far, close--then far.
Suddenly, I thought I’d ended up at
the space bar mentioned earlier. Two semi-gloss black bugs were rolling a
shooter marble-sized ball of brown gunk from the north side of the road to the
south.
My first thought was “dung beetle.”
I recalled watching such bugs on Discovery Channel, but these weren’t large
enough to compare to those I saw on TV.
Of course, I’d watched African dung beetles that dealt with
elephant-sized poo piles, but keep in mind I hadn’t analyzed that far yet.
I looked around for the nearest
pile of … dung. It lay far away in relation
to the size and stride of these beetles.
Could it be? Were they ambitious enough
to march on short legs to collect and form a rollable ball of cow caca several
hundred feet to the south?
Stopping to observe these diligent
creatures, I noted their system enabled them to simultaneously push and roll
that poop globe. One stood on top of the orb as one envisions lumbermen who
roll logs down a river might. The other rose on hind legs and used upper legs
to lever the sphere forward.
After returning home, I cruised the
Internet. Dung beetles do live in Kansas.
In fact, they live everywhere except the Antarctic. If we didn’t have
them, we’d be up to our eyeballs in, well…use your imagination. Several
varieties of these necessary but unappreciated creatures exist, and I happened
to witness the “roller” type.
Ancient Egyptians knew the
importance of these insects and deified them. That may be extreme, but consider
that one expert said dung beetles keep “land livable by reducing flies, foul
odors, and the ruination of pastureland.” Another proponent claimed more
efficient use of them “could save farmers $2 billion a year by restoring
grazing land.” One agriculturist explained, “Once the cattle have vacated the
paddock, within 48 hours, there is no manure left.” Maybe Hays Research Station
needs additional dung beetles to address odors that waft through Hays when
south winds blow.
My newly discovered neighbors are
good partners in life’s journey. I look forward to seeing them again.
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