Ladybug, ladybug
Fly away home
Your house is on fire
And your children are gone

That's what we used to chorus when we were children. At that time we viewed the sighting of a ladybug as a good omen, they were benign little creatures, and beautiful to look at, as well. Where most children disliked most bugs, the ladybug was an exception, with her sweet reputation and attractive appearance, non-threatening and an 'acceptable' natural part of the ecosystem.

For the last ten years something has happened to somewhat alter that perception. And certainly we're no longer children. It appears that the U.S. government decades ago permitted the entry of an Asian species of ladybug to North America. Perhaps because they were Asian in origin it was thought they could be controlled once the onset of winter threatened their existence.

The cute little ladybug becomes a little less cute in large numbers

But they're clever little entities; they seek entrance by whatever means possible to heated interiors to overwinter. People living rurally know just how difficult it is to restrain them from invasion. Their numbers can seem astronomical at times. Although we're not rural dwellers we have come to expect that in late fall there will be what looks like swarms of ladybugs about, slipping into the house when they can.

The Asian ladybug has also invaded southern Ontario including vintage Ontario wineries. They were first brought to North America from Japan in 1988. ((CBC))

There's a reason why they're not looked upon kindly, as used to be the case. They bite. They're obviously aggressive where our traditional North American ladybugs never were. These are not the innocent little sweet-tempered ladybugs that might alight on a pinky allowing close observation and the opportunity to murmur the singsong warning she should return to her brood.

I was surprised a few nights back when, cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I suddenly became aware of a minuscule whirl close by, and looked down to see a ladybug had perched itself on my sweatered arm. No idea where it came from, always on the alert to ensure no outdoor creatures share our indoor space.

My husband was shaking out the dinner tablecloth at the side door and I asked him to remove it and place it outside. He demurred, but only at placing it outside in the miserable windy cold the tiny creature had been escaping.

He carefully removed it from my sweater, enfolded it in a tissue and took it downstairs to the basement, releasing it among the gathered-up earth-laden bulbs of the over-wintering begonias where he felt it would be comfortable while it waited out a Canadian winter.