Mating
season is underway here in Florida. The other day, I drove into a parking lot
and nearly mowed down a great egret that was wandering about in a drunken
erotic swagger. In the movie Bambi, Disney’s Thumper called it
“twitterpated;” and by the flashy green down between the egret’s eyes and bill,
I had to agree with that spunky rabbit.
Being twitterpated is not limited to birds. Alligators get downright
mean and nasty when the urge to mate overtakes them. One lusty gator saw its
reflection in the sliding glass door of a local resident and pursued the image
aggressively thinking it was a prospective mate. The terrified homeowner called
animal control when the twitterpated reptile stood upright against the glass to
“get a little closer.” Lucky for her the door held until local authorities
arrived.
One memorable morning, a “testy” gator proceeded to crawl across the
road in front of me. Apparently a grate at the edge of the pond prevented the
gator from swimming under the roadway to the other side, presumably, to meet
its prospective mate. The gator drew quite a crowd as it hissed and snarled
across the asphalt, warning passers by to stay their distance.
Even anoles get in the act; pumping their bright red throat fans to
impress the opposite sex. This undulating process goes on all summer and into
fall as these lizard-like creatures mate and nest. During the winter months,
anoles and lizards hibernate, and I rarely see them scurrying across my path.
Love bugs are another southern phenomenon. These red-headed black bugs
spend their entire adult life copulating. The male and female attach themselves
at the rear and remain that way even while flying. They splatter themselves
over windshields and car radiators from April through May.
Shortly after mating, the love bug male dies; but that doesn't dampen
the female's incredible urge to reproduce. She simply drags her dead mate
around until she lays her eggs in the grass; and then she dies, most likely from exhaustion. Her eggs will hatch in the
warmth of rotting grass mulch and become the next season's wave of love-bugs.
Squirrels in my neighborhood get downright silly during the mating
season, which usually happens two or three times a year. They showoff, turn backward
somersaults, and play games like “twitch” the tail and “tag you’re it!”
For two seasons running, squirrels built their nest in our cabbage palm.
The mated pair cleaned and secured their nest in the spiked bark that protruded
from the top of the tree. Their nest included escape tunnels and front and back
points of entry.
During the gestation period, all was quiet except for excursions, in
turns, by the parents to obtain food. After about two plus weeks of silence,
three babies appeared. The youngsters brazenly crept to the edge of the palm
fronds that made up their front porch and peeked over the side. Before long,
they were chasing each other through the tunnels and playing “hump” games in
preparation for future mating and nesting experiences of their own.
When the squirrel mama decided her litter was ready for life outside the
nest, she carried each baby by the scruff of its neck much the same way a cat
carries its kittens. One by one the tiny squirrels were transported to a nearby
live oak. The process was repeated until all three babes were safe.
Two families of squirrels were born and nurtured in my cabbage palm, and
then hurricane Charlie whipped through the area and scattered the nesting bark
to the far winds. Many times the squirrels and their offspring returned
perplexed, sniffing and searching my cabbage palm for evidence of their former
home. I miss those squirrels.
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