My life here in the suburbs has been mostly quiet and peaceful so far.
That is, until the aliens landed.
Some of you may have heard that this year is a big year for cicadas. Ya’ll here in the northeast know what I’m talking about, right? Those ginormous winged creatures dive-bombing you when you’re trying to take the garbage out? Gross.
They come out after 17 years underground to mate, have little creepy cicada babies, and then they die. It’s quite the tragic life cycle, really. Anyway, when they’re all doing their mating call or whatever it is, it sounds like a UFO is landing and that no, they are not friendlies.
Perhaps I’m being dramatic. I don’t think the cicada thing has affected our area as much as it has others, but truth be told, this whole thing has made me slightly nervous any time I venture out of the house. They have these huge red eyes and creepy insect legs that make me feel itchy all over. I won’t post a picture here, on the off chance that you just ate lunch or have a strong gag reflex. But seriously, I’m walking to the front door the other day when I hear this loud beating of wings that’s like–I kid you not– a helicopter rotor. The thing passed about an inch from my ear, which elicited a shriek that only dogs could hear.
On top of that, when they die, they end up all over the street, the lawn, and walkways. I suspect that they especially like to spend their final minutes in shady spots, because there’s a stretch of our street with a lot of tree cover, and there are smushed cicadas all OVER there. Which means that Jake has been getting shorter walks lately (sorry Jake).
