Giant grasshoppers. They’re big, brown and they eat ya plants. But I can’t quite bring myself to grab the blighters and twist their heads off. I tried to whack one with a newspaper but I missed. O calamitous lack of dexterity!
My grandad made the beheading look easy. He was a gardener of some renown and perhaps this was one of his secrets. The remains would go to feed the blue-tongues that lived in a small drain near the house. I remember waiting to see the big lizard one day and the grasshopper body got up and hopped away (the head had complications of its own, dealing with an attack of ants). I remember running down the path yelling “Grandad! Grandad! It’s getting away!!” He soon fixed that.
Isn’t this fabulous conversation? I can just see it being repeated over the dinner table, when one’s significant other asks “So honey, what did you read on the blogs today?” Yes, tell them this story. They’ll not be so quick to ask again!
In other head-related news, Daniel had his stitches out this morning. Yay!
And, next the big grasshopper was a pink lizarda gecko. They are cool. Shame they don’t eat grasshoppers. Perhaps I can breed them so they do, oh yes!
A question: why does the blogger spell check suggest replacing Grandad with grunted?
Ben Boyle lives here! 