This afternoon found me in the car on the way to a doctor's appointment near New Haven, and after that ordeal, more mental and emotional than immediately physical—I might need surgery in the not-too-distant future—I decided to reward myself with a trek to one of my favorite places: the Stewart McKinney National Wildlife Refuge's Salt Meadow Unit in Westbrook. I had a particular critter in mind that I wanted to spot and photograph—the Seaside Dragonlet, a small and pretty odonate with the oddest of habits: the ability to breed in very brackish water. But when I reached the very spot  where I'd found them on past visits, the Dragonlets were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, as has been the case with many other odes this year, I was simply too early. I did, however, spot something else intriguing along the shore. The mud bank next to the salt creek was alive with Fiddler Crabs, and just before the males, which sport one oversized claw, retreated into their burrows, the guys often shook that ridiculous appendage at me to tell me who's boss around here. More likely, of course, they were shaking it at other males to instill fear and establish dominance, or, if there were females in the neighborhood, give them an indication of their fitness to be the father of their offspring. I can't be certain of the identification, but from the blue on the front of the shell, I'd go with the appropriately named Uca pugnax rather than the equally common Uca pugilator.