Identification
The adult Dogday Cicada is a thick bodied insect ranging from 1-2 inches long. He is black mottled with greenish areas on his body. He has two large veiny wings that when closed extend past the point of his tail. He uses odd membranes on his abdomen called timbals to make a buzzing sound. This call is quite loud and can be heard indoors when your windows are up.
The cicada nymph looks like a beetley alien. They are brown.
Insect Envoys
I have a soft spot for the dogday cicada. I view him as a gentle ambassador from the insect world. While in standard practice the more insect averse only offer this role to ladybugs and fireflies, I'd suggest the cicada as an ideal candidate. He's non-threatening, clumsy, and tolerates human handling reasonably well. In an animal class plagued with ghastly appearances, one does well to harbor a few such genteel types. While the average insect looks like something that might swoop down in ships from the far off Omega Nebula and enslave our race, the dogday cicada clearly has no such aspirations. Were he an alien, he would undoubtedly be the kind who visits peaceably, only to leave misty eyed and disheartened at the lack of human progress towards universal harmony.
The Dogday Cicada; What's not to Like?
The cicada has many qualities which merit our esteem. For one, he frequently performs his metamorphosis (molting is probably the more accurate term) in plain view, in a timely fashion. Unburdened by affected modesty, or a dithering nature, the cicada will transition from the nymph stage to the adult stage in a matter of hours for any onlooker who wishes to observe.
As mentioned above, the dogday cicada is generally tolerant of human handling. I normally advise against handling wild animals, but should you gently grasp the cicada by the sides, he will not offer much in the way of objections. If you then place him on your shoulder, he is likely to idle away a few pleasant minutes perched there before taking flight.
Is he a Locust?
The cicada is sometimes mistakenly called a locust. While he is related to grasshopper cousins, he himself is not a locust. We'd be better off were this label no longer misapplied. The term "locust" conjures up images of biblical plagues. We picture vast swarms engulfing and destroying crops; perhaps driven by Pazuzu, Babylonian demon of the southwest winds as depicted in John Boorman's underrated picture The Exorcist II; the Heretic.
No, this is not the way of the dogday cicada. Eating nothing, he can hardly be considered a menace to crops. Moreover, I find any links to Pazuzu tenuous at best. Perhaps the term locust results from the pseudo swarming behavior of the periodic cicadas. These cicadas leave the ground and become adults in intervals. Some "arrive" every seventeen years, some every twelve, etc. They tend to be numerous, and thrill us all with their antics.
His Plight; Pathos and Empathy
It's no secret that the dogday cicada is not the most graceful of winged organisms. While the seraphim perhaps occupy the upper ends of the aesthetic ladder as applied to winged flight, the cicada tends to hover around the bottom rungs, just edging out the turkeys. His large size and clumsy flight make him an easy target for predators. His life is fraught with danger from hawks and the monstrous cicada killer wasp. Truly, we must feel for the bumbling cicada as he makes his way in the world. He is what is called an "R-strategist," meaning that his species survives simply by having lots of children, despite his various deficiencies. As a grateful descendent of Irish Catholics, I can hardly fault his approach. If there are to be insects in the afterlife, I feel confident that the dogday cicada will be chief amongst these. His time on earth is purgatorial, and we should count ourselves lucky to befriend this unassuming fellow who gives no offense, and nourishes so many.
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