For those who care about such things, the differences between centipedes and millipedes are easily noticed. Their habits differ. Centipedes are fast-moving, predatory creatures: venomous things that will either bite or sting. Centipede toxins are rarely fatal to humans, though a number of species are rather inconvenient. Millipedes, on the other hand, move at a more considered pace; they are detritus eaters. They forage, rather than hunt. Though the name millipede implies that they possess 1000 legs, this is not the case. Only one species of millipede possesses a number approaching 1000, and these specimens (bearing 750) legs aren’t known in Chicago, as far as I know. Aside from the lower speeds at which they travel, millipedes differ from centipedes by the number of legs per body segment. Centipedes possess only one pair of legs per body segment; millipedes double that number. How odd it is to realize that the fewer the legs, the faster the species. Millipedes, like centipedes, are difficult to photograph. The common house centipede (they only have 48 legs) are common globally, though their ancestral home borders the Mediterranean Sea. House centipedes are given their name due to their habit of living in houses. They don’t build their own, they simply move into human habitats and immediately begin scaring the living daylights out of people and eating any pests they happen to catch. They are rather fond of delicately-killed vermin creatures, including bedbugs. (Anything that eats or otherwise discourages bedbugs is rather nice in my book: oddly enough, even cockroaches exhibit belligerent attitudes towards bedbugs.) House centipedes are also the only centipedes to possess true compound eyes. None of this has anything to do with the difficulty of photographing them, however; and they’re difficult to photograph because they seem to have a rather pronounced aversion to standing still. Millipedes—though slower moving—don’t have this aversion, but they are notoriously shy, and though one may capture one (photographically) from a distance, at macro-range, they become millipede shaped blurs. On the day that I met a creature I’ve since dubbed Cecil B. DeMillipede, I wasn’t expecting to photograph anything of the small persuasion. I was visiting Corey and Kate and Steve, while listening to the stories told by Steve’s sister, visiting from her adopted home in Ireland. During a lull, I poked and prodded under ornamental stones… …and found millipedes, hatchings of some indiscernible sort, and even a few infant woodlice in those wonderful, waxy baby-woodlouse colors. In photographing Cecil B. DeMillipede, I noticed (much later) that a baby woodlouse had meandered into the shot. Needless to say, I was (and am) incredibly pleased. Not only to I have a non-blurred millipede, but I’ve got a baby woodlouse! Whether or not this image contains any photographic merit is up for debate, but I’m pleased that two of my childhood mascots are seen together, rather like reunited cast members of a long-canceled (and well loved) television show. As it now seems that Spring has finally decided to make its way toward Chicago, I hope that this photograph is something of a harbinger—of arthropods to come. Only time will tell, but until time gets around to telling, here’s a shot of… …well…most of a millipede, and a rather young woodlouse. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.