This is an egret taking off in flight near Aaron's Beach. He was scared to death because I pulled in on two wheels, dust flying, after driving wide open down the gravel road leading in. Normally I don't drive fast, but this time it was necessary--to avoid second-degree crabslaughter.
See, the fiddler crabs can't be satisfied with their wetland habitat: their marsh grass, their creek mud, their shallow water or the surrounding ditches. No, that's just not good enough.
Instead, they conduct meetings, revivals, parties and more in the middle of the road, whole herds of them. Whether they wish to torture the driver or tempt fate is not clear. Perhaps it's some sort of indoctrination into a secret fiddler crab fraternity. "Here, lad, if you linger in the middle of the road and dodge between car wheels, you can enter this secret society of ours." I eavesdropped one day and swear that's what I heard.
Perhaps they do it to show off to their friends; maybe they feel manlier strutting out to linger in the road. Who knows.
Whatever. No matter. They're smack dab in the middle of the road in full force, millions of them. Unfortunately there is no way to avoid running over them because there are just too many; they're thick as thieves and scurrying hither, thither and yon.
This driver does break for fiddler crabs (there's a bumper sticker here, I just know it), but she knows when she's outnumbered so then she floors it, puts the pedal to the metal. And scares egrets to death.
I wonder what the jail sentence is for second-degree crabslaughter?
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
