So I always thought butterflies were neat…really neat…really pretty. I’d watch them flitting from bloom to bloom, plant to plant and remember the stories about and pictures of butterflies landing on some special person’s outstretched finger.
I always envied those people who were so lucky, and envied those where the butterfly would land on their head.
I tolerated the crawly caterpillars for what they became, although I will admit some of crawlies were cute also.
Today I went outside and my world turned upside. There sat a butterfly. Not on a flower. Not on someone’s finger or head. Not on a plant. Not on the fence resting. Nope this butterfly was doing none of those. It sat munching contentedly on a piece of fresh-from-the-source, dog-doo.
I suppose I could look at it in a positive light and marvel that something so yuck could feed such a lovely butterfly (and I still think they are lovely — but now I hope they keep their distance).
Never again will I wish for a butterfly to alight on my head or my hand. If they do, I will be absolutely, positively certain that its little hairy feet are covered in … yep, that!