The Wisdom of the Bee...or Lack Thereof

The pain was barely noticeable; a slight discomfort, a minor prickly sensation, nothing of consequence, no, not at first. But what began as a miniscule pinch quickly resonated into a three-alarm-fire right below my left pectoral muscle, or as my 2-year puts it “boob.” And in that instant, the very moment my brain instructed my fingers to remove the stinging insect from my chest, and after I uttered a few choice words, I uttered a few more, spoke disparagingly about bees, and felt sorry for myself. It wasn’t until later that my mind turned toward the bee; the dead bee at that. No, in that instant it was all about me and the ridiculous sting from that ridiculous stinger. My one thought…why me bee…dang it…why me? What…you thought I had a moment of profound thought? Yeah, right!



I’m no stranger to insect stings, ant and mosquito bites, or other pesky bugs and their litany of defense mechanisms. I have been stung, bitten, poked, prodded, gnawed on, pinched, and deterred by my fair share of insects. I’ve been attacked by angry wasps, chased by provoked bumble bees, haunted by fire ants, hunted by mosquitoes, and surrounded by spider webs yet rarely do I get sniped by a bee, in the “boob” of all places, while walking the family dog. These things just don’t happen…for no reason.



Three times in my life a bee has stung me without provocation. The first time was on my buddy’s back porch after work one summer evening in the mid nineties. The dive bombing bee scored a blow to my lip causing it to swell. A few hours later, the swelling was gone and life went on. The second unsolicited bee sting came last summer while walking the dog…fancy that. This time, the buggar stung me on the back of the left knee. Two weeks later, life went on. And then there was Tuesday.



Perhaps the moral to the story is simple…bees don’t like me. That’s fine…I don’t like bees and I’m fine with that scenario. I am fascinated, however, with the fact that after the bee stings, it dies. I wonder if it knows this fate when deciding to sting. That is to say…”If I chose to sting this oblivious human harmlessly walking his dog, then I will certainly die.” I’d say it would have to understand this fact after watching countless members of its hive die after the “sting.” I imagine the conversation would go something like this, “Who…Roscoe…Yeah he was a cool bee but he just wouldn’t put up with routine dog walking so he stung that man in the boob; and that was Roscoe for you…a defender to the end. Good ole Roscoe will be missed.” Well, you get the idea.



In the moments following my latest sting I couldn’t help but consider Roscoe’s dogmatic nature, his tenacious follow through, and his strict dedication to the cause; whatever it was. Regardless of his sacrifice, Roscoe, in his little bee mind, acted in the best interest of the hive, whether or not it meant stinging a harmless member of humanity. Unfortunately for Roscoe, I posed him or his hive no harm. Isn’t that just life, or in Roscoe’s case, death? Hmmmm…Just a thought!