When a crow feels sick… it visits an anthill.

Sounds strange? It’s actually one of nature’s most fascinating healing rituals.

When a crow senses it’s unwell, it will intentionally find an anthill, spread its wings wide, and remain completely still—waiting for the ants to crawl into its feathers.

Why?

Because ants release formic acid—a natural antiseptic that kills bacteria, fungi, and parasites hiding in the bird’s feathers.

This behavior is called “anting”, and it’s been observed not just in crows, but in many bird species.

No medicine.

No vet.

Just pure instinct and nature’s built-in pharmacy.

A brilliant reminder that the natural world is full of intelligent, self-healing systems…

We just need to stop and notice.

 

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Assassin Bug nymph — nature’s youngest warlord. But this baby doesn’t hide. It wears the fallen.

After ambushing and draining ants alive, it stacks their empty exoskeletons on its back like armor. One by one. Shell by shell. Until it’s walking beneath a moving pile of corpses.

Why? Because ants are aggressive, and smell plays everything in the insect world. By wearing dead ants, it confuses predators and masks its scent — hiding in plain death.

It doesn’t run. It doesn’t beg. It builds its shield from what it slays.

It’s not hiding. It’s declaring war.

 

 

The Dullahan – The Headless Harbinger of Irish Folklore

In the shadowed mists of Irish legend rides a figure cloaked in darkness, a terror of the night known as The Dullahan. He is a headless horseman, a spectral rider who emerges beneath the pale light of the moon, his decapitated head carried high in one hand, glowing with an eerie, spectral light. His grim, lifeless eyes can see across great distances, and his ghastly grin stretches from ear to ear, a chilling sight for any who dare to meet his gaze.

But the Dullahan is no mere ghost. His steed is a spectral black horse with burning, fiery eyes, its hooves striking the ground with thunderous echoes. In his other hand, the Dullahan wields a whip made from a human spine, which cracks with a sound like thunder, a cruel harbinger of death for those who hear it. He rides swiftly along the shadowed roads, his head held aloft, scanning the landscape for his next victim.

Where the Dullahan stops, death follows. To see him is to be marked for doom, and there is no escape from his gaze. He is not a mere messenger of death — he is a collector of souls. In some tales, the Dullahan calls out a name, and the unfortunate soul whose name is spoken perishes instantly. In others, the mere sight of him is enough to bring disaster upon those who witness his ghostly ride.

Yet the Dullahan has one weakness. He fears gold. Even a single piece of gold can drive him away, a faint hope for those who dare to carry such protection on nights when the mist is thick, and the sound of distant hooves grows near.

But what is the Dullahan? A spectral servant of death? A cursed soul doomed to wander the night? Or a remnant of ancient Celtic beliefs, a spirit of the Otherworld who crosses into our realm? His legend has echoed through Irish folklore for centuries, a chilling reminder that even death has its own terrifying messenger.

Have you heard of the Dullahan before? Have you heard any different versions of his tale? Share your thoughts and stories in the comments below.