She was a bee. (How do I know the bee was female? Because
she was a worker honey bee and all worker honey bees are female – or so they
say.) Anyway…
I was strolling at a leisurely pace down Green Lane on the far side of the Shire
when I passed the house where the owners leave a bowl of water out for the
benefit of passing dogs. Now, it is a little known fact that while bowls of
water might benefit passing dogs, they can be hazardous to passing bees. I
looked down into this particular bowl and saw a little bee floundering on her
back on the surface of the water. Her legs were going in all directions and I
decided that she was neither dancing nor training for the village bee swimming
gala. She was genuinely in distress.
OK, little lady, it’s your lucky day. I put my forefinger
into the water and flipped her onto her front (well, her underneath I suppose,
she being a bee an’ all.) I did this not because front crawl, breast stroke and
butterfly are easier to perform than backstroke, but so that I could then
present the same finger for her to crawl onto, which she did. She was then
placed carefully onto a nearby leaf where I watched her preening and drying
herself in the sunshine for quite some time.
She never said ‘thank you.’ She didn’t, but I decided to
trust the old maxim that virtue is its own reward and chose not to be offended.
(I did, however, question whether rescuing a bee could truly be called
virtuous. I decided that it could, since the sun was shining and that’s always
a good sign.)
Epilogue
I had a terrible thought. Suppose she’d stung me? If she’d
done that she would have died a death rather more dreadful than expiry by
drowning, and how would I have felt then? What price misplaced virtue? I should
have used a leaf to lift her out, shouldn’t I? I expect bees are more trusting
of leaves than they are of humans, and would be less likely to sting them.
Whew! Lesson learned for next time.
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