A Halyomorpha Halys Visitor
Last Thursday evening, while sitting on my couch in a mild vegetative state, I heard a soft pop sound to my right. I looked up, thought for some seconds, then turned my head toward the lamp on the end table. A dark spot the size of a lima bean came into view on the lampshade. I immediately suspected Halyomorpha halys.
Ever consciousness of avoiding offensive language I’m going with the Latin here. The slang is stink bug (no caps and, yes, somewhat disrespectful). It is the equivalent, in my view, of referring, to police-officers as “fuzz.” So I'll avoid it. Equally non-offensive is the non-Latin acronym BMSB (i.e. brown marmorated stink bug).
OK, ... marmorated?
From Wikipedia: The term "marmorated" means variegated or veined, like marble, which refers to the markings unique to this species, includes alternating light-colored bands on the antennae and alternating dark bands on the thin outer edge of the abdomen.
Anyway ... I am familiar with these characters and they do fall under my “no kill shelter” policy for all in-home insects that, for me, has been in effect since childhood.
So I get up and head to the Kitchen for a water glass (my capture tool of choice). On my return I pluck an unopened envelope from my desk, a credit-card-come-on from Capital One Bank.
Fine.
Tools in hand I approach the H. halys. These guys don’t require sneaking up. Still I move slowly and place the open end of the glass against the lampshade surrounding the H. halys with glass. I slip the Capital One envelope under his (or her) feet.
Voila – I now have the tumbler, capped by the envelope, with BMSB inside. I proceed through the front door and set the glass, sans envelope, on a chair on the front porch.
The next morning, stepping out for the newspaper, I see that the BMSB has departed the water glass. Mission accomplished is my thought.
Two days later I am vacuuming the living room and notice another brownish-gray lima-bean-like object on the floor. I stop my cleaning to inspect.
Another H. halys.
I move closer, nudge the insect with my finger. He doesn’t stir. Again a nudge. Again no reaction. I assume he has passed on and think maybe I’ll add the guy to my collection of bugs. For the past year I've kept a bottle full of little creatures for the grandkids to view under a microscope. I got the scope two years ago but they have yet to use it and it's still in the unopened case. Someday maybe. Meanwhile I'm saving bugs.
For some reason, when I restart the vacuum, I circle around the passed away BMSB and decide to leave it on the floor. This act, or non-act, is extremely perplexing to me, and I am fully aware that it may suggest mild derangement - but I let that pass.
I get on with life.
Now another day has gone by. I am reading the newspaper when the expired H. halys on the floor comes to mind. I decide to put him/her into my jar of saved insects (see above), so I proceed to the spot where I left him.
You guessed it – good old H. halys has “flown the coop.”
That night I strip my bed, inspecting as I go. I do this because a H. halys brethren was in fact discovered on my mattress just a fortnight ago, so I am aware that bed covers are a favorite destination. Anyway all is clear today. I put on new sheets, blankets etc. and fall asleep thinking respectful thoughts of my BMSB housemate and how I fell for the oldest trick in the book – the playing-dead-for-humans-trick. Just before nodding off I vow that if I find what’s-his-name I will give him a good home for the winter – perhaps in the garage.
Tomorrow, I'll search the couch, but I am secretly hoping that he turns himself in first.
Anyway ... I am familiar with these characters and they do fall under my “no kill shelter” policy for all in-home insects that, for me, has been in effect since childhood.
So I get up and head to the Kitchen for a water glass (my capture tool of choice). On my return I pluck an unopened envelope from my desk, a credit-card-come-on from Capital One Bank.
Fine.
Tools in hand I approach the H. halys. These guys don’t require sneaking up. Still I move slowly and place the open end of the glass against the lampshade surrounding the H. halys with glass. I slip the Capital One envelope under his (or her) feet.
Voila – I now have the tumbler, capped by the envelope, with BMSB inside. I proceed through the front door and set the glass, sans envelope, on a chair on the front porch.
The next morning, stepping out for the newspaper, I see that the BMSB has departed the water glass. Mission accomplished is my thought.
Two days later I am vacuuming the living room and notice another brownish-gray lima-bean-like object on the floor. I stop my cleaning to inspect.
Another H. halys.
I move closer, nudge the insect with my finger. He doesn’t stir. Again a nudge. Again no reaction. I assume he has passed on and think maybe I’ll add the guy to my collection of bugs. For the past year I've kept a bottle full of little creatures for the grandkids to view under a microscope. I got the scope two years ago but they have yet to use it and it's still in the unopened case. Someday maybe. Meanwhile I'm saving bugs.
For some reason, when I restart the vacuum, I circle around the passed away BMSB and decide to leave it on the floor. This act, or non-act, is extremely perplexing to me, and I am fully aware that it may suggest mild derangement - but I let that pass.
I get on with life.
Now another day has gone by. I am reading the newspaper when the expired H. halys on the floor comes to mind. I decide to put him/her into my jar of saved insects (see above), so I proceed to the spot where I left him.
You guessed it – good old H. halys has “flown the coop.”
That night I strip my bed, inspecting as I go. I do this because a H. halys brethren was in fact discovered on my mattress just a fortnight ago, so I am aware that bed covers are a favorite destination. Anyway all is clear today. I put on new sheets, blankets etc. and fall asleep thinking respectful thoughts of my BMSB housemate and how I fell for the oldest trick in the book – the playing-dead-for-humans-trick. Just before nodding off I vow that if I find what’s-his-name I will give him a good home for the winter – perhaps in the garage.
Tomorrow, I'll search the couch, but I am secretly hoping that he turns himself in first.
P.S. A month later he's still missing.
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