|
|
page 4 |
|||
|
 |
|
||
expect he was watching you, too. Maybe he was wondering if you were dead,
too. I know they can hold their breath for a long time because I’ve watched
him sit under there for, oh, I can’t think how long. But I’ve never seen
him move while I was watching him.”“Fish don’t need air, right? How come they don’t and he does?” “They do need air, but they have gills. The gills are the long narrow openings on the side of the fish; remember, I showed you when we had fish at the restaurant that time? Water goes in through the fish’s mouth and comes out over the gills. There are thin membranes in there that can absorb the oxygen that is mixed in with running water. However, if you put a fish in still water, it’ll suffocate because there’s not enough oxygen in water that is not splashing or moving around and mixing with the air. And, the fish need to keep moving so the water will flow over their gills. They need a steady flow of water moving over the gills. Remember when your friend Phoebe had the tadpoles in a bucket and they all died?” “Oh. That was awful. Her Mom was so mad.” “You know, these little fish can also hide in the mud if the pool that they’re in dries up, and then pop out again once it rains. And … I don’t know how they breathe when they’re down there in the mud. That’s the first thing for today that we need to look up. Can you remember? Fish. Mud. Look it up.” “Yup. That’ll be interesting. Does that mean they can dig holes, too?” “I don’t know. I’ve also been told that they will move upstream when it gets really hot, even if it means going up the little rocky waterfalls. I have never seen them do this, but I do know that the little pools at the head of the stream will get really crowded when we’re in a heat wave. Here, honey, help me get across the rocks. My balance is not what it used to be” They were crossing the stream at a narrow place, upstream from the pool. They had crossed here many times before. Jeanie waded into the water and offered Lily her shoulder to use as support as she stepped carefully from a dry spot on one rock to a dry area on the next one. “Great aunt Lily, why don’t you like to get your feet wet anymore? You taught me how to go wading and look for things on the bottom.” “I don’t really know. I just don’t like my sneakers being all squishy and nasty for the rest of the walk. Also, I can’t keep my balance very well and I have a hard time getting back up again if I fall in a funny position.” “Erp! Look! Look! It’s a … what do you call that, you know, a … oh nuts, we saw one day before yesterday.” “What? Where? I don’t see …” Lily groped for her glasses, hanging from a cord around her neck. “Oh, yes. That’s a zebra swallowtail. They like the paw-paw trees that grow over there.” “Butterflies eat paw-paws? There aren’t any, yet. Do you mean they like the leaves?” “Their caterpillars like the leaves. We’ll have to look this up also, but I think they must lay their eggs on the paw-paw since the larva can’t travel that far, and paw-paws aren’t all that common.” “Why do they start out as worms? Why don’t they just hatch out new butterflies?” “Maybe the question should be the other way around. Why do the caterpillars bother changing into butterflies? I think I remember that bugs that have a larval stage make eggs that don’t have much nutrition in them. The hatched out worm is sort of a mobile egg. They eat constantly and grow to be many times their starting size. I think that the main thing they do when they’re butterflies is think about mating and maybe spreading out over new territories. There are a lot of advantages to not being stuck in one spot, especially if conditions get bad. Maybe the there’s a drought, or a new predator in the area. Caterpillars can’t really travel very far but butterflies can go thousands of miles.” |
||||
| “How
do you think they got the idea of turning into something completely different?” “I don’t know. You should see some of the moths that hang out around the wild grape vines. They’re huge and very beautiful, though I guess the coloring really came about for defense or hiding.” “Can you imagine … you’re this big fat caterpillar, munching your way through life, fat and happy, then one morning get this urge to wrap up in a big bundle and go to sleep; later you wake up and … Holy Tamale! You’ve got wings, a new set of legs, and a sporty little racing body. No lessons required, either. It all happens automatically. No possibility of operator error.” “Yeah, but they all have to wear the same outfit. Can’t have pink or blue zebra swallowtails. They’re all off-white and black. Hard to tell one from the other.” “But remember how they got that way. Once in a while one of them does turn out differently, and if it does better than the regular colored ones, then its funny colored offspring will do better, too. And on and on until everybody is now the new color and we’re back to square one; all one color. Keeping up with the Joneses.” “Once it turns into a butterfly, do you think the caterpillar thinks it’s dead, or is it aware that it goes on living as a butterfly? And does the butterfly know that it was once a caterpillar?” “Well, the brain part surely is handed from one to the other, so any memories should be part of the package. But bugs don’t know about death. I don’t think they have thoughts other than instinctual reactions. It probably doesn’t remember yesterday much less think about what happens next.” “Do you want to go up on top, or would you rather stay on the trail along the stream? It’s probably cooler down here.” “Let’s stay down here today. I don’t feel very energetic. My knees hurt from yesterday. Your mother used to love this trail when she was a little girl. It’s a shame she can’t get the time off to come up and stay with us for a week or two.” “The plane tickets are too expensive. She said mine really cost a lot.” “Well why doesn’t she let me help? Sometimes she can be so exasperating. My money is going to her anyway so why can’t I spend it on her now and enjoy her company? Oh well. At least you’re here. I do love your visits.” “What’s this tree, great aunt Lily?” “That’s one of those darn oak trees that I can never tell apart. Put one of the leaves in my pocket, here, and we’ll look it up when we get home.” The two of them continued chattering about whatever popped into their heads. They took a slow, careful tour up the valley, to the small spring that was the source for the water that fed the stream. They went home down the other side. The trail was smooth and well kept worn soft from many years of such walks. For supper, Jeanie made them both a small green salad, and grilled cheese sandwiches with a slice of melon for dessert. Lily’s idea of supper was a bowl of cereal and some cookies. Jeanie’s Mom knew well her aunt’s aversion to cooking and had taught her daughter the rudiments of good nutrition and how to make some basic meals. Continue on next page |
||
Copyright © 2002 by Jay Arraich. All rights reserved.
|
next
page Animal Rights arraich.com Links |
|