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Bees. My god.
Apr. 7th, 2010 08:36 pmLast night on my way home from a film, I stopped to stroke a black cat when I noticed a grounded bumblebee.
The bumblebees now emerging are queens who have spent the winter hibernating. They are heavy and fly rather drunkenly, and they are all looking for a place to nest where they can lay eggs and hatch out some friends. Flight takes a lot of energy for a queen bumblebee, and if they haven't eaten enough they can easily become grounded.
This particular bee was attracting the black cat's attention in a way that boded no good for either of them, so I took off one shoe and tried to coax the bee to sit on it, thinking I could at least put her into a windowbox or something. This worked rather too well: the bee crawled determinedly inside the shoe and sat there. I held the shoe toe-downwards, thinking she'd fly out towards the light, but nothing doing. She had found an ideal nesting spot, and nothing was going to budge her.
So, watched by a perplexed black cat, I hobbled one-shod to the nearest garden square. Under a blossoming cherry tree, I held up my shoe and peered into it. Fuzzy black bee legs were visible towards the toe. I decided to take the insole out, hoping the bee would come with it.
She did, and I heard her angrily buzzing. But where was she? I looked around fruitlessly until I realised the buzz was coming from very near the back of my neck, and getting louder.
We'll just draw a discreet veil over what happened next. All you need to know is that the bee was safely dislodged and I eventually retrieved my shoe, insole and jacket from the various places they'd ended up. The moral of this story is... I have no idea what the moral of this story is. Do you?
I'm heading back to DC tomorrow; for the next two weeks, someone else will have to rescue London's stranded bumblebees (as well as cat petting, dog-scratching, random street-singing and my other usual duties.) I trust you will do your best.
The bumblebees now emerging are queens who have spent the winter hibernating. They are heavy and fly rather drunkenly, and they are all looking for a place to nest where they can lay eggs and hatch out some friends. Flight takes a lot of energy for a queen bumblebee, and if they haven't eaten enough they can easily become grounded.
This particular bee was attracting the black cat's attention in a way that boded no good for either of them, so I took off one shoe and tried to coax the bee to sit on it, thinking I could at least put her into a windowbox or something. This worked rather too well: the bee crawled determinedly inside the shoe and sat there. I held the shoe toe-downwards, thinking she'd fly out towards the light, but nothing doing. She had found an ideal nesting spot, and nothing was going to budge her.
So, watched by a perplexed black cat, I hobbled one-shod to the nearest garden square. Under a blossoming cherry tree, I held up my shoe and peered into it. Fuzzy black bee legs were visible towards the toe. I decided to take the insole out, hoping the bee would come with it.
She did, and I heard her angrily buzzing. But where was she? I looked around fruitlessly until I realised the buzz was coming from very near the back of my neck, and getting louder.
We'll just draw a discreet veil over what happened next. All you need to know is that the bee was safely dislodged and I eventually retrieved my shoe, insole and jacket from the various places they'd ended up. The moral of this story is... I have no idea what the moral of this story is. Do you?
I'm heading back to DC tomorrow; for the next two weeks, someone else will have to rescue London's stranded bumblebees (as well as cat petting, dog-scratching, random street-singing and my other usual duties.) I trust you will do your best.