Flying Dog Biscuits

St Louis, Summer 2011. When you open the door to go outside, you are hit by a wall of heat, a wall of humidity, and a wall of noise. The wall of noise makes my hearing aid complain.  It is the same wall of noise that I remember from Summer 1998, thirteen years previously.

When I was a kid, I knew all about plagues in Egypt because I had seen Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments”.  However, the movie did not prepare me for being in the middle of a plague of 13-year cicadas in Missouri.

I wonder if I am the equal of these insects.

They have a mind.  They know that exactly 13 years have passed, and then they emerge.

They emerge in vast numbers. They are everywhere. They smash against windshields.  They cluster on trees so that you think there is a second layer of bark.  If you brush against a branch, you release a cloud of cicadas.

They look prehistoric, and stare at you out of beady protruding eyes.

They make a sound that is not of this planet, an extraterrestrial sound. So loud, they can sometimes be heard in a car when you are driving along with the windows shut and both the air conditioning and the radio on.

And, they are tasty.  

Sierra, our Australian Shepherd, considers 13-year cicadas to be snacks, something akin to flying dog biscuits. She happily munches on cicadas that she finds on the sidewalk.

Apparently, humans think they are tasty also.  A small shop in Columbia, Missouri, went out and harvested a bunch of cicadas, removed the wings, boiled them, covered them in brown sugar, and folded them into ice cream.

The ice cream shop thought it would be a joke, but the joke was on them when the first batch sold out quickly. The customers liked the crunch and clamored for a second batch. However, the State Department of Health stepped in. They discouraged the further production of 13-year cicada ice cream, even though the State of Missouri has no statute on the books about serving cicadas to people.

Besides munching on cicadas, Sierra the Australian Shepherd also likes munching on worms. She only eats worms that have dried up on the sidewalk, not fresh worms. Maybe I should contact that little shop out in Columbia and suggest they make dried-worm ice cream. 

Should have a nice crunch to it --- and you don’t have to wait 13 years to harvest more dried worms.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com