20 Killer Caterpillars and a Dentist
Lemon Swordfish with Roasted Tomatoes
The shrine stood in the centre of a clearing at the top of the mountain. It was freshly painted and flowerbeds had been planted all around. Several benches stood beneath waving pine trees and glorious views stretched out over the mountains in all directions.
But it wasn’t the view that attracted my attention that February day, it was the area directly in front of my shoes. Writhing along the ground was a long, brown, sinuous worm-like thing. Except it wasn’t a worm, or even a snake. It was a six-foot-long line of caterpillars, marching nose to tail.
Caterpillars walking in a line
We were enchanted. Each little caterpillar was brown with yellow stripes and soft downy hairs. Each caterpillar followed the one in front, never deviating from the line, never being left behind. We stayed awhile, fascinated, watching the determined little procession.
“I wonder what type of caterpillar they are?” said Joe. “And I wonder where they’re heading?”
The answer to these questions was to come as a bit of a shock...
We took some photos, headed back down the hill, pausing briefly to chat with Geronimo’s donkey, then went home. I switched on the lap-top and described our caterpillar encounter on Twitter. And what a response I got!
‘@VictoriaTwead They’re KILLERS! Don’t go near them!’
‘@VictoriaTwead Hate them, hate them, hate them!’
‘@VictoriaTwead What is the point of those evil things?’
‘@VictoriaTwead Those caterpillars are DEADLY, avoid at all costs!’
I was a little taken aback... Killers? Deadly? How could those cute little fluffy caterpillars be anything but charming? My Internet research took me to the Grazalema Guide which has an excellent article on these sinister little creatures.
I read the article. The caterpillars we had encountered were Pine Processionary caterpillars, destined to morph into unremarkable moths. The female moth lays her tiny eggs in a pine tree. The eggs hatch and the caterpillars grow quickly, feeding voraciously on pine needles at night. To protect and house their community, they spin a white fluffy bundle in the tree and in February or March the entire colony abandons the tree in a long line searching for soft soil to bury themselves and pupate. This procession was what we’d observed on our walk.
So why the horror? Well, if disturbed, the caterpillar sheds its hairs. The hairs cause painful rashes, or much worse. If inhaled, the tiny hairs can be lethal. An inquisitive dog unfortunate enough to inhale them needs to be rushed to the vet within 40 minutes. Children and adults can also suffer severe reactions, including anaphylactic shock. Even walking under trees housing the bundles can be dangerous as the hairs are often airborne.
Clearly these critters are not to be messed with. I read with horror and huge sympathy the comments people had left:
written by John Evans
My Yorkshire has just come in contact with the Caterpillars and it's not looking good as her tongue is inflamed and she is passing blood. We had her in the vet and they said the next 48 hours will decide if she is to survive.
written by Anne Cliford-Banks
My five month old labrador puppy has lost nearly half his tongue which dropped off and is now suffering the effects of all the drugs he has taken. He has devloped two large lumps on his side. He is ok but don't under estimate the effect of theese caterpilars.
written by Raquel
Thank you for this info. I live in the Algarve Portugal and work at a local vet. Unfortunately we have to treat many dogs and occasionally cats that have been affected by the caterpillar. Their tongues go neucrotic and sometimes the end may drop off. We have to wait a few days to check that the animal can still eat and drink with the remaining part of the tongue.
The last comment on the website made me smile simply because it seemed to me that this particular guy had had a very lucky escape.
written by vox
I came across thousands (and I'm not exaggerating) of these in Menorca last week. Walking up the sand, on the handrails, on the wooden walk-way and squashed underfoot in their thousands. There were the nests in the nearby pine trees as you described and, looking at the photos above they appear to be the same. However if they are the same then I've been remarkably lucky. I spent ages picking them up and arranging them to get a good photo. I also was curious to know what they did when you moved them from their chosen trail.
As if these horror stories weren’t enough, the pine trees themselves are devastated by these furry fiends and often die. The next time we hiked up the mountain, I examined the area much more carefully. The caterpillars had gone, but sure enough, we could see the white bundles dangling from the trees, just as the article described. And amongst the clump of pine trees stood dead ones, already stripped by the caterpillars. We resolved to warn the villagers and keep the Ufarte twins away from the area.
Many men are complete babies when it comes to sickness or visits to the dentist, and Joe is no exception. His tooth was still jagged from biting the Baby Jesus on January 5th, and it took all my nagging to propel him to the dentist. I made the appointment and we drove down the mountain, Joe complaining the whole time.
“Fancy putting plastic figures into a cake! I bet Spanish dentists depend on after-Christmas business. I bet people break their teeth on those figures all the time.”
“Probably.”
“You know I hate going to the dentist, but still you’re making me go. I’ve got used to that tooth now, I don’t mind if it’s broken.”
“We’re here now.”
The waiting-room was half full: people sat staring into space or idly flicking magazines. A small boy tapped on the glass of an aquarium, trying to attract the fishes’ attention. We found a seat and sat down, Joe still complaining.
“I don’t need that tooth anyway, it’s right at the back. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.”
“The dentist is just looking at it today, then he’ll decide what’s best to be done.”
“Humph! I hate going to the dentist. I hate it when he gets up all close, and peers into your mouth. And those drills...”
“Nobody likes going to the dentist. It’s just one of those things...”
I could sense even the other patients were getting irritated by Joe’s constant moaning. The small boy tore his eyes away from the fish-tank and stared at Joe, round-eyed. Perhaps he couldn’t believe an adult could behave so badly, so much like an annoying child. Joe was speaking English, but the language of whinge is universally understood.
At last the surgery door opened and the dental assistant stood there with a clip-board. She was young and attractive, dressed in a white uniform and checking her list. We could see past her into the surgery where the dentist was busy preparing for the next patient. Both Joe and I saw at a glance that the dentist was female, blonde, good-looking and probably twenty-five years younger than Joe.
“Señor Twead? The dentist will see you now,” said the assistant.
Joe stopped moaning, looked at me, then at the assistant, then at the dentist beyond. He rose from his seat and trotted into the surgery like an obedient pony. I heaved a sigh of relief. The little boy’s eyes and mine met across the room and I sensed we’d both been expecting Joe to put up more of a fight.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. Joe backed out.
“I can’t apologise enough!” he was saying, waving his arms. “I honestly didn’t know!”
“Please do not worry, señor Twead, you are forgiven already,” said the attractive dentist, laughing.
“Please believe me, I had no idea what I was doing.”
“Señor Twead, it really doesn’t matter, it was a genuine mistake.” The dentist was still smiling and her assistant nodded in agreement.
Once again, I locked eyes with the little boy. His jaw had dropped open, and so had mine. His name was called next and his mother dragged him away, but even as he walked, the little boy’s head looked over his shoulder, still staring at Joe, open-mouthed.
“What have you done?” I said furiously as soon as Joe and I were alone.
“It wasn’t my fault, honestly.” Joe snapped the seat-belt together and avoided my eyes.
“What did you do?”
“It was a simple mistake...”
“Get on with it!”
“Well, you know how I hate going to the dentist and I was all in a fluster. Then the dentist turns out to be a gorgeous creature. It all made me a bit, you know, anxious.”
“So what did you do?”
“Well, I sat in the chair with the assistant on one side of me and the dentist on the other. She starts poking about in my mouth - you know how I hate all that...”
“Go on.”
“So whenever the dentist hurt me or I felt uncomfortable, I’d just squeeze the arms of the chair. (pause) Except I was too nervous to notice that my chair had no arms. I was resting my arms on their legs and squeezing their knees.”
“Didn’t they say anything?”
“No, the dentist said she knew from my record card that I was a difficult patient and she just wanted to finish with as little stress as possible.”
“What, all that time? You squeezed their knees for the whole check-up?”
“Pretty much. I just rested my whole arm along their thighs and squeezed their knees when the going got rough. I squeezed very hard.”
I was laughing by now. “I can’t believe they didn’t say anything! When are you going back to get the tooth fixed?”
“Next week, but I’m going to see a different dentist. I can’t face her again. I have to see a different dentist.”
Joe did get his tooth fixed the next week, but by the same lady dentist, because no others were available. He apologised again, lay back in the chair and clasped his hands very firmly together in his lap.
It was during February that a new Spanish word entered our vocabulary. The word was grua, meaning a crane. Not the large long-necked wading bird with long thin legs, but the mechanical sort - the machine used for lifting heavy objects.
The foundations of The Monstrosity were now complete, to our relief. Mechanical diggers had tunnelled into the mountainside for weeks, vibrating the ground and making the plates clatter on my kitchen shelf. The Monstrosity began to rise until one day, a massive grua was brought into the village. This was no mean feat, as the road into El Hoyo is narrow with tight bends. I remembered our own removal van arriving five years before, and how it had reversed into the village fountain and destroyed it.
The erection and positioning of the crane took a whole day and required the expertise of two dozen men. I was full of admiration. Constructing it reminded me of the Meccano kit my younger brother used to play with back in the 60’s. For those too young to remember, Wikipedia describes it perfectly: “Meccano is a model construction system comprising re-usable metal strips, plates, angle girders, wheels, axles and gears, with nuts and bolts to connect the pieces. It enables the building of working models and mechanical devices.”
Except our grua was gigantic and towered over the village.
The crane towered over the village
Soon it was swinging concrete blocks and bricks from place to place, high over our heads. Sometimes we’d be sitting in the garden and a great shadow would hover above us, blotting out the sun, another great load dangling in an arc over us. It was most unnerving, and set Joe off on another moaning fest, but not for long.