Extension News: May 2006 Archives

It never fails to thrill me when I identify a plant or animal I’ve never seen before. A recent experience was no exception. I was letting the dog in like countless nights before. Just the ordinary routine, I thought. Then I saw it. It was huge!

I froze. Clinging to the wall of my porch was a colossal insect. It was the size of my thumb, with three distinct black body parts and a bold orange pattern on its back. The thorax, or midsection, resembled a protective shield an ancient warrior might have taken into battle.

The creature looked primitive and performed a dance that seemed prehistoric as well. It bumped and swished, arching its abdomen like an exotic artist. Each body part moved with graceful deliberation. Three pairs of legs held it fast to the dull grey wall. It breathed sensuality. It seemed unfazed by my presence, so I ran into the house for a camera. Halfway out the door, I dashed back in for a jar. Maybe I could catch it.

Under the red light of my camera flash, the dance sizzled with the passion of late-night flamenco. Previously concealed wings unfolded, transparent brown in color and veined. They whisked the body off the wall and glided it to the porch floor. I practically fell down on it, beside myself with the possibility of catching such a beautiful specimen.

I managed to get him into the jar without too much difficulty by using the lid as a scoop. I named him Bug and found him a spot on the kitchen counter tucked in among several bonsais.

While the thrill of my conquest was sweet, this feeling waned quickly as I questioned my motives for holding this living thing prisoner. I pushed aside my guilt, justifying my curiosity in the name of science, and searched the Internet in an attempt to identify my prisoner.

Still unable to identify Bug, by the second day I could no longer deny that he was failing. That evening, I realized he might not make it through the night. While I wanted to release him, I began to anticipate studying him under a magnifying glass the next morning to get an even closer look.

Miraculously, on the third day, Bug rose. I awoke to find him energetically, but unsuccessfully, trying to wriggle up the glass wall. I took this to be a sign and prepared to let him go.

Armed with a ruler, camera and magnifying glass, I released Bug into an old claw-foot tub that sits on my porch. I thought the white backdrop would be suitable to photograph him, but noticed he was having a difficult time maneuvering on the porcelain surface. Feeling I had tortured him enough, I moved him to the porch floor where he would have an easier time adjusting to his new freedom.

Then something unbelievable happened. Before my eyes six or seven tiny, pale-colored insects emerged from under Bug’s thorax. Was he a she? Was she having babies? Maybe this explained why she had tried so desperately to break out of the prison I had put her in. When her wings gracefully unfolded, none of the little ones were disturbed. When she took flight, none fell off.

I trembled with excitement. I called a retired entomology professor who lives in my community. He expressed regret that he couldn’t identify my insect without seeing it. But he did have some thoughts on what I had perceived to be Bug’s young.

“I doubt they were offspring, because most insects lay their eggs in plant material. They may have been parasites.” he said.

He suggested I attempt to catch another one that evening. Now I was getting somewhere.

Several hours later my neighbor called back to suggest I look up carrion beetles. He offered, “I can’t say for sure, but they seem to fit the description you gave me and they fly towards light.”

“Why are they called carrion beetles?” I asked.

“They use carrion to feed themselves and their young. They are also called burying beetles because they will bury a dead carcass, usually a bird or vole, to hide it from competitors. The female will lay her eggs next to the carrion and when the larvae emerge they feed on the carcass,” he explained.

Now I was really getting somewhere.

I returned to the Internet, where I was finally able to determine that, indeed, Bug wasn’t a true bug at all, but a burying beetle. I even found an image of my beetle, Nicrophorus defodiens, with the parasites crawling on its back, just as I had seen.
 

I wondered briefly which was more remarkable, the beetle itself or the fact that I could research it on the Internet without even leaving the house. The beetle. Definitely, the beetle.

by Casey Pike, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

5/5/06