What happens is not as important as how you react to what happens.

These are doodlebug holes…



These are doodlebugs…



…which are the larval stage of this creature…



And the following post is the doodlebug’s story:

Last summer, almost exactly 1 year ago last weekend, I posted a blog about doodlebugs. How bizarre, that last Friday evening (which was EXACTLY 1 year from the first doodlebug post), I would stumble upon another doodlebug hole and got to thinking about that blog, and its subject…the lowly doodlebug.

These little beasties are called Antlions – members of a large and primitive order of unusual insects, the Neuroptera.. The creatures spend from 2-3 years in the larval stage that we southern hillbillies refer to as doodlebugs. (Hillbillies in other parts of the south have been known to refer to them as hell worms.)

The doodlebug excavates a conical pit in the sand by crawling backwards in spiraling circles, at the same time flipping out sand grains with its jaws. The slope of the funnel is adjusted to the critical angle of repose for sand, so that the sides readily give way under the feet of a would-be escapee. The doodlebug waits patiently at the bottom of the pit, with its body off to one side and concealed by the steep wall. Only its sicklelike jaws protrude from the sand in a wide-opened position.

For those who don't know what a doodlebug is (much less PLAYED with one), let it be known that you have missed out on one of life's most interesting homespun, country entertainments. Fooling a doodlebug into believing a dinner guest has arrived is about the only chance you'll ever have to actually see a doodle bug in action, and it takes a very highly skilled and practiced hand to pull it off. This is one of the skills that is perfected through much practice, and a skill eagerly coveted by every southern child raised in a rural setting. It's almost as well respected a skill as skipping rocks across a body of water.

Take a tiny blade of grass or straw or hay, squat down over the tiny inverted volcano and begin to VERY CAREFULLY and softly (as soft as a falling insect) attempt a direct touch at the very bottom of the hole. That's where the skill comes in – touch it too forcefully, or not forcefully enough, and your doodle bug is sure to be a no-show. If you're lucky, your shenanigans will fool the hiding doodle bug into thinking he has trapped a tasty insect and he will pop out and grab your blade of whatever and disappear back into his hole, but not before you get a glimpse of him. If you want to examine him more thoroughly, you skills must advance from simply coaxing him out of his hole to jerking back your bait quickly enough to bring him out along with it. (This is only for advanced doodle-buggers. Beginners, do not attempt this at home.) Once you've succeeded in coaxing one out though, it is best to move on to the next doodle bug hole, as they are rarely deceived twice – not in the same day anyway.

It may help to prepare for your doodle bug hunt with a Coke and some boiled peanuts. It sort of gives you that rural southern 'edge' that is required for such sophisticated endeavors.

So today, once again, I feel I've made my significant contribution to society in sharing one of the rural south's most coveted pastimes – How To Shaft a Doodle Bug. And not only that, but everything ELSE you ever wanted to know about doodlebugs – maybe MORE than you ever wanted to know about doodlebugs.

Happy doodlebug hunting everyone!




(PS -- Whooda thought my arrogant cat would've elicited so much commentary yesterday?! It appears to me that felines are STILL worshipped by many in modern society. And don't they KNOW it...)