Insects have distinct, individual personalities? You're kidding!
People have always recognized domestic animals and pets as individuals. But until recently, scientists and average people didn't think about animals they saw in town or woods as individuals. The robin hunting on your lawn for worms was "a robin," not Robert, co-owner of your real estate.
There were exceptions... In Aesop's Fables from Roman times, a man pulled a thorn from the infected paw of an ailing lion. Later, on meeting the man in the woods, the recovered lion remembered the man and declined to harm him.
In the novel Moby Dick, Captain Ahab searched the world's oceans for one distinctive white whale, so he could have revenge on the whale who had taken his leg. In the national parks, rangers keep records on problem bears. Justice of sorts is dealt to incorrigible bears.
I have long believed that the adult monarchs in my breeding tent had individual personalities. But during the few weeks I kept them, it was hard to separate their "personality" traits from their physical abilities. One with a broken wing or lame leg acted in a distinctive way, but was this really "personality?"
This week I have a remarkable example of a distinct, aggressive personality--male #18. I first saw him
about a week ago on the prairie at the Odana Golf Course, while I was capturing adults for my breeding tent. I noticed him as an individual because he was small, worn and tattered. But he had tremendous spirit.
The butterflies were mostly males, chasing one another. I saw #18 attack another larger male. They went around and around in circles, higher and higher, longer than most males do. Finally, the larger one bailed out of the contest, diving almost straight down to the ground in what looked like a frantic escape. Number 18 returned to patrol and chased another male or two. Then I captured him.
In my tent, #18 continued showing exceptional combativeness. He attacked other males at the feeding dishes. Unlike most adults, I was unable to teach him to feed on my "artificial flowers." So, I decided to release him to my garden so he could feed and beat up on a few more males before he died of old age or wear and tear. In the photo, notice how drab he looks, because of missing scales rubbed off in fights. So long, Bucky Butterfly!
Imagine the implications of insect personalities. When I visit the monarch winter refuges, I see tens of thousands of butterflies milling about, or going out to visit the springs for a drink. But like in a city of people, each butterfly is an individual consciousness with its own history and memories. It probably goes out to the meadow with intention to drink and knows were to return to sleep.
How do pesticides square with this realization? Especially grotesque are those "insect zappers" that electrocute any passing insect with a loud cooking sound.