My uncle Cas Newton Day remained a kid at heart to his last days. I loved him for it and I think (and hope) a little of it rubbed off on me. To illustrate, he and I, both grown adults, were helping hang tobacco in a barn that had very soft dirt at the entrance. We noticed funnel shaped indentions in the soil, and he suddenly got down on his hands and knees, put his mouth near one of the indentions and yells “Dooodlebug, doodlebug, house on fire!” After I got over my fit of laughter he pointed to the hole and upon close inspection, I saw that a small bug had surfaced at the bottom of the hole and was squirming around fit to bust. He had called up what I now know is an Antlion, but to generations of youth before me were called Doodlebugs, and it was a common fun activity to yell at them in this manner so that the sound vibrations would disturb them and make them surface from their lair.