No sooner does he utter these words, when the dung ball drops
into a small depression. Damn! Darrell circles his poop globe again, and
realizes that this will require a super dung beetle effort to get the ball
rolling again. He returns to his post and digs in. He grunts and heaves and
sweats—to no avail. Doug watches him struggle vainly for a few minutes, then
ingratiatingly steps next to Darrell and they heave together. Whomp! The ball
breaks free!
Darrell knows he’s in a fix now: he couldn’t have done it
alone, and he knows he owes Doug something. Doug gazes at him with a
shit-eating grin—exuding abundant pride at their achievement. Darrell doesn’t
want to acknowledge Doug’s help. He knows that this scheming intruder, given an
inch, will seize a mile. He can’t be trusted. Darrell also knows that if he sat
down to rest and snoozed off even a few minutes, he’d awaken to find that
Doug has stolen his treasure. Yet he also knows that he has to acknowledge and
even appreciate Doug’s help. He can’t blow him off now. Still uncertain about
what to do, he resumes his post and keeps on rolling—hoping against hope that
Doug will get bored and wander off.
After a half-hour more of hard labor, Darrell pauses to look
around—wondering where Doug is. He can’t see him lurking, licking his beetle
lips, off to one side or the other. Has Doug gone? Could he be so lucky?
Looking up, Darrell spots Doug squatting on top
of the ball, as if having just won a round of “King of the Dung Hill.” Doug
gaily waves down at him, saying, “I thought I’d ride up here and keep an eye
out for other obstacles or dung bandits. I think we’re making good progress.”
Darrell grits his teeth (or at least his beetle mandibles),
realizing he’s being toyed with. It’s the old dung-duping game: pretend to be
helping roll the ball home, while you look for opportunities to snatch the ball
for yourself. Losing patience and about to order the interloper down from his
perch, Doug anticipates his mood change and whimpers, “Besides, I pulled a leg
muscle on that last big heave we did. As soon as I rest a little more, I’ll be
right down to help push.”
Darrell senses he’s been had. Doug’s declared injury stemmed
from helping out. How can he tell him off now? He still doesn’t trust him, but
what can he do? Once again, Darrell pushes off and the big ball reluctantly
rolls on.
Will Darrell be forced to share his treasure with devious
Doug? Will the shrewd interloper even succeed in purloining the prize all for
himself, leaving poor Darrell empty footed? Will Darrell prevail and manage to
shoo the pest away? We’ll leave our friends at this point in the story… regrettably
leaving the reader hanging. Maybe it’ll be another day, another dung ball for
stoical Darrell. Maybe he’ll have to start all over. Just another peek into the
trials of your typical, stoical dung beetle.
Legion are those who heap scorn upon the Darrells of the dung
beetle world. But pause and think about what life would be like without the
determined Darrells… we’d be up to our ankles in excrement! We must express a
little gratitude for these staunch recyclers. What a clean, beautiful world
they bring us. No shit!
[Note: The story about
Darrell, though a wee bit anthropomorphized,
is a true description
of a dung beetle’s trials, as described by the venerable
J. Henri Fabre.]
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