The cicadas are singing their songs this time of year, and low and behold, they're also a tasty little treat depending on who you ask. This morning, after finishing our run, we heard the loud buzzing of large cicada wings hitting the ground, only to see our small miniature pincher pouncing like a cat as she sprang, swatted, bit, shimmied under the fire pit and out again in hot pursuit of this insect. She won, and as she pranced out to the yard to feast on her prize, she had the large clear wings of the cicada sticking out of her mouth. She delicately tore it apart and ate it bit by bit.
Later, I would let them out, and she taught Max, our larger dog how to catch them, but as he is a bit pickier about his food, having never had to fend for himself like she did before she came to us, after killing his, he'd leave it in the grass. Lana, of course, would be quick to pick up what he left behind, making Max think twice about his previous decision. He'd try again, and when I called them in, Lana came running with yet another treat in her mouth. I guess someone has to keep the population of cicadas in check. She ran right into the house with it, wings and all hanging out the side of her mouth, and promptly crouched under the kitchen table to finish her snack.
Oh the joys of eating cicadas. At least I know they're edible if ever it came to be a post apocalyptic world.
