As a rule, I like bugs and other creepy-crawlies. When there's a spider or wasp in the house, I'm the person who deals with it, trapping it in a sophisticated cage consisting of a juice-glass and a magazine's subscription card, then tossing it outside. I've fished bees out of a swimming pool, laying them out on the leg of my blue jeans to give them a chance to dry off before buzzing away.
There are, however, a few insects that can reduce me to the squealing stereotype of a bug-hater. Grasshoppers are one of those. There's something about the suddenness of their leaps, and the grasping nature of their legs when they land on me with a thud, that overwhelms my otherwise bug-o-centric nature.
I'm happy to announce, then, that the very chilly air this morning slowed down this fellow enough that I was able to approach him without fear. (Well, without as much fear as I usually feel) I've tentatively identified him as the Obscure Bird Grasshopper, aka Schistocerca obscura.
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