Crab

This crab is one tough MF. And why not? He is a representative of mighty Crustacea. This subphylum has been offering up super-weird armored animals for at least 350 million years. The exoskeleton has proven to be a great adaptation for crabs, especially the ones that spend at least some of their time on land. The exoskeleton provides some protection from predators and it also helps the crab maintain moisture. Lots of crabs live a mostly terrestrial existence but a dried out crab is a dead crab.
OK. So the crab has armor plating, some claws and evolved from a good family. But I also have some firsthand knowledge of this particular crab's never-say-die attitude and Relative Pinchiness. (RP is a standard qualitative field measurement.) When I first grabbed him on the beach in Mexico on a fine moonlit night he pinched me in his dominant claw. I shook him off, cursed him a little. Picked him up again. Got pinched again. I decided that I liked his vim and his moxie. I stuffed him in an empty cigarette pack and carried him back to my hotel room. When Wes and I got back we dumped our crab haul in the sink and grabbed some test tubes from our luggage. We didn't have enough isopropyl alcohol to use for killing and preservation. But we did have a lot of tequila around. It was truly foul stuff, to be sure, and we thought that using it to kill the crabs would serve a dual purpose: it would preserve the crustaceans and it would save us from drinking any more of that cactus-rot. So we dumped the crabs in cups of the stinking amber liquid and retired to the balcony to drink the rest of the bottle.
After 20 minutes we decided that our new specimens were probably ready to be transferred to test tubes. They were not. They were still as pinchy and upset as ever. So we waited a little bit. Went back to the sink and discovered that they were still alive. Wes and I stuffed them into the test tubes, trying to ignore all the frenzied pinching.
Was this cruel? Conventional wisdom and early research traditionally supported the view that an animal like a crab was incapable of feeling pain. This was good news for everyone that wanted to pretend that they were not responsible for a lot of suffering because of their diet and habits. But it turns out that this view may be wrong. Are you surprised? Animals with complex nervous systems having no perception of pain seems a little convenient and far-fetched to me. I offer you some words from Professor Bob Elwood from the School of Biological Sciences at Queen's University, Belfast, whose research into pain led him to use crabs as research subjects.
"The results are consistent with the idea of pain being experienced by these animals."
Researching pain in non-mammals gets pretty complex, introducing all sorts of thorny biological and philosophical questions to deal with, so this quote shouldn't be read as fact. It is offered here as something to think about, Wes Hunting, the next time you, Wes Hunting, kill animals in such an unreasonable way for such spurious reasons, Wes Hunting.

Millipede

This millipede was found grazing on dead leaves in Pennsylvania. Unlike other many-legged arthropods like the centipedes, millipedes are slow moving herbivores. When they're bothered they are more likely to roll into a ball and hope you go away than to attempt an escape. A bite is really unlikely.
But if you enjoy the taste of millipede (and who doesn't?) be warned: some millipedes are capable of venting hydrogen cyanide through gaps in their chitinous exterior. Yup. Brewing and emitting poisonous vapours. For a human this is no big deal. It causes irritation, some discoloration of the skin. But to an ant or bird the gas would be a major deterrent. It's not surprising that millipedes have evolved some truly gnarly ways to defend themselves, since scientists believe that they were one of the first types of land creatures. That's a lot of time to evolve even the most outlandish and complex physiology.
Is this millipede that Wes and I caught capable of venting hydrogen cyanide gas? I don't know. There are like 1400 species of the damned things north of Mexico and I can't identify a single one. Did it vent gas at us when we picked it up? I don't remember, as we were drunk.

Swallow Nest

This swallow nest is from the underside of a bridge near Amisk, Alberta. There were dozens of the mud-daubed homes there. Most were out of reach but by climbing up and stretching out I could grab some of them. Seven or eight of the damned things broke off in my hands and I soon exhausted the easy possibilities. So I had to get serious about this nest collecting business. I went back to my truck and got a ratchet strap. I got myself strapped around one of the supports of the bridge, leaning precariously with hands free. I still failed to harvest a nest without breaking a few, showering myself with dirt and spider webs.
Then I felt a peculiar crawling feeling on my neck and face. I looked closer at the nearest intact nest. Parasites. Lots of them. Good God. And because I was stretched out over the Amisk Creek with just a looped ratchet strap giving me stability I couldn't do what instinct demanded I do; squirm around and flail my arms, try to brush the little vampires off me before they dug in for a blood meal. But I could whimper and curse, so I did.
I calmed down a little and decided that since I already had a bunch of filthy mites on me I might as well get what I came for. I managed to get two nests off, climb back down to ground. I set my fragile treasures down. Then I squirmed around, flailed my arms and tried to brush the little vampires off me before they dug in for a blood meal.
I called Wes on my way back to the truck. I left him a screaming message. "WES! I'VE GOT FUCKING PARASITES! AGAIN!"
He called me later. Yup, those are some swallow bugs you got there. Yup, they specialize on birds but will take a mammal if they can. Well, it's tough to say whether they'll stay with you and rear young. They kill a lot of young birds. Thanks, Wes.
The nest pictured above is a gift for my pal Darla. It is coated with plaster for strength and beauty. It is one of my favourite examples of animal architecture, along with the nests of the mud-dauber wasps which are fundamentally the same. I'm thinking about making casts of them so I can mass-produce replicas in plaster for home decoration.
Replicas I can produce in my home would be ideal, really. Because I don't want to get parasites again. It's getting old.

Tick and Young

This tick had in many ways an ideal life. She was one of the lucky ones clinging to a blade of grass that managed to latch on to a passing mammal. Secreted in the thick fur of a terrier, she gorged on blood. She was probably a few millimetres across when she began feeding. But when she was discovered by the dog's owner she had swollen to nearly an inch, engorged with the blood that she needed in order to give birth to thousands of live young.
So far, so good, Tick. But this tick was also the catalyst for one of the best practical jokes I've ever seen. My entomologist pal Wes Hunting worked in the Strickland Museum of Entomology while writing his Masters Thesis. Sometimes people would drop into the museum with weird bugs that they were distraught about, seeking information and reassurance from the experts. This tick was brought in by a worried woman who had found it on her pooch. Wes assured the lady that everything was fine, that her dog had been playing host to a blood-sucking parasite for a while and no, the tick hadn't yet hatched thousands of live young in her home. No big deal.
So Wes took the tick home with him that night. He showed it to our roommate Chris and told him in worried tones that he'd found it in his bedroom. Wes suggested that maybe Chris should check his bedroom too, y'know, just in case. When Chris found a blood-swollen tick beneath his pillow he lost control of himself in revulsion and terror. He made high strangled sounds in his throat. He started feeling phantom biting under his clothes. Wes did his best to calm him down, of course, and took the offending insect and 'flushed it down the toilet.' Chris had already starting tearing apart his bedroom, looking furtively in nooks, baring his teeth at shadows. Wes, ever the helpful friend, helped look for any other ticks. And, wouldn't you know it, he found one between Chris' sheets. And another, beneath his bed. This is about when I came home. Chris was wild-eyed and sweaty, carrying all of his belongings to the front lawn, throwing them in heaps, yelling curses. He blamed everyone for his disgusting misfortune; the landlord, our roommate John, our friend's dog, God, the Devil and even, for a brief moment, himself. It was only a case of beer later that he calmed down enough to learn who he should have been blaming all along.
The tick survived the entire ordeal with less damage than Chris did. She even lived long enough to birth a few thousand progeny. Then her and the little ones were dumped into a jar of alcohol so that they could one day decorate my apartment.

Word to the wise: Entomologists are devious and will play upon your fears for sport.

Bug-Sucker

I call this little darling a Bug-Sucker. Most people call it a "pooter." I was introduced to it by Wes Hunting, an entomologist and friend. (I recognized the basic design from my homemade bong days.) The concept is simple; you suck one end, create a vacuum in the chamber, bugs are sucked into the chamber through the other tube. This machine is easily made in the home and is a great way to collect bugs that are less than pleasant to handle.
It is not without its drawbacks, though. If you fail to put some screen on the inside of the suction end you are liable to be chewing on some insects. And since so many insects have chemical defenses, you are almost assured a whiff of some of the following: steroids, alkaloids, cantharidin, hydrogen cyanide, histamine, or acetylcholine. Wes Hunting actually likes the smell of many defensive chemicals, and he taught me to enjoy most of them, too. The bug-sucker design has actually helped me to catch ants by using their panic pheromones against them. I collect a bunch of ants into the chamber, totally stirred up and positively reeking of panic and aggression.Then I blow gently, aiming the tube at another entrance to the anthill. The pheromones travel and lure more and more ants straight to the business end of the bug-sucker.
TOTALLY TRUE FACT THAT IS FUCKED RIGHT UP:
There are documented cases of entomologists using bug-suckers and inadvertently allowing their mucous membranes to host eggs to a larval state.
Wait. Was I unclear about that? Let me try again.
BUGS WILL ACTUALLY FUCKING HATCH IN YOUR THROAT AND NOSE IF YOU USE THESE FUCKING THINGS!