Hymenoepimecis bicolor

Over the course of human history, numerous species of plants, animals, and other organisms have been taken from their original habitats and introduced (either intentionally or accidentally) to other parts of the world. Some of those introduced species become "invasives" in their new home, partly due to the lack of natural enemies. But while many invasive species get a brief moment of respite from their old adversaries, the local parasite and predators quickly catch on that the new arrival could be added to their menus too. This was the case for a species of spider that has been introduced to Brazil, where it ended up attracting the attention of a mind-controlling wasp.

Left top: Hymenoepimecis bicolor larva on a spider host, Left bottom: Developing H. bicolor cocoon in a cocoon web,
Right: an adult H. bicolor wasp.
Photo of H. bicolor larva from Fig. 2 of this paper, Photos of cocoon and adult H. bicolor from Fig. 7 and 9 of this paper

Hymenoepimecis bicolor is a species of parasitoid wasp that belongs to a subfamily of wasps called Pimplinae. All the members of that subfamily are a spider's worst nightmares. These wasps specialise in attacking spiders at every stage of their lives - some species go after the unhatched eggs in silk sacs, while others tackle fully-grown adult spiders. Not only that, some of them are also masterful mind manipulators that induce their host spider into spinning a special web called a "cocoon web" that secures the wasp's developing cocoon. And Hymenoepimecis bicolor just happens to be one such manipulator.

Among the pimpline wasps, each species have their own host preferences and in the case of H. bicolor, one of its usual hosts is the golden silk orb-weaver (Trichonephila clavipes), a spider which is native to Brazil. When a female H. bicolor spots a potential host, she flies in and grapples with it, immobilising the spider by stabbing it in the mouth with her ovipositor, before checking it for other wasp eggs, and then planting one of her own. The thing about the golden silk orb-weaver is that while the juvenile spiders are relatively easy for H. bicolor to handle, once the spiders reach adulthood, they become more dangerous for the wasp to tackle. 

Nevertheless, limited host availability means that the wasp sometimes need to go after the bigger spiders anyway, with demand being so high that some spiders end up being parasitised by two wasp larvae at the same time. But the arrival of the tropical tent-web spider (Cyrtophora citricola) has provided H. bicolor with some new options.

The tropical tent-web spider has spread to many parts of the world by hitchhiking in shipments of fruit, potted plants, or packing material, and it has made its way to South America about three decades ago. And it just so happens that their size and habits place them firmly in the sight of H. bicolor. Not only is the tent-web spider in the preferred size range for H. bicolor to parasitise, much like the native orb-weavers, this introduced spider constructs open webs that leave them exposed to attacks. Researchers found that the H. bicolor larvae are able to successfully parasitise the tent-web spider just as well as the native spiders.

While H. bicolor larvae grow well and pupate as usual on the tent-web spiders, it seems that they haven't yet achieved complete mastery over this new-fangled host. As mentioned earlier, when these wasps are ready to pupate, they commandeer their spider hosts to weave a special "cocoon web" that suspends the developing wasp cocoon in mid-air. This makes the cocoon less accessible to any would-be predators or hyperparasitoids. Hymenoepimecis  bicolor embellish that with an added layer of security, by inducing the spider to also build a series "barrier threads" around the cocoon that further bar entry, as well as making the web more stable

This is where the introduced spider host falls short. While the parasitised tent-web spider is able to produce the usual cocoon web with the necessary structure to support and suspend the developing cocoon, it lacks the finishing touches of those additional barrier threads. Ironically, compared with the spiders that H. bicolor usually targets, the regular webs made by the tent-web spider actually needs less modification to make it suitable for the wasp's cocoon.

Based on what's known about these wasps, when it is ready to pupate, the wasp larva produces a cocktail of chemicals that place the spider under its spell. But in this case, it looks like that cocktail formula needs a bit of tweaking to work its full magic on the introduced tent-web spider. While not perfect, it serves its purpose well enough, and the introduction of this spider has allowed a parasitoid wasp to expand its host horizons.

Reference:

Gonzaga, M. O., Pádua, D. G., & Quero, A. (2022). Inclusion of an alien species in the host range of the Neotropical parasitoid Hymenoepimecis bicolor (Brullé, 1846)(Hymenoptera, Ichneumonidae). Journal of Hymenoptera Research 89: 9-18.

Microgaster godzilla

While there is an oft-mentioned quote by evolutionary biologist JBS Haldane that God has an "Inordinate Fondness For Beetles", it is becoming apparent that a different group of insects may be more deserving of being considered as the chosen ones. A recent study estimated that there are actually 2.5 to 3.2 times as many hymenopterans (the insect order that contains ants, bees and wasps) as there are beetles. Furthermore, much of the diversity within the hymenopterans are parasitic wasps, making those parasitoids the most species-rich group of animal on this planet. 

So rather than beetles, the animal group which the hypothetical Creator is most fond of appears to actually be body-snatching parasitic wasps - a sentiment that I can wholeheartedly endorse. And it is one of those wonderful insects which is being featured in today's post. 

Top: Female adult Microgaster godzilla from Figure 1 of the paper
Bottom: Frames showing the parasitisation process, from the supplementary videos of the paper

This post is about a recently described species of parasitic wasp - Microgaster godzilla - which has been named after that famous King of Monsters, Godzilla. While its species name may have attracted much of the attention - not surprisingly, given it has been named after one of the most famous movie monsters in the world - to me, that is the least interesting thing about this insect. Because unlike those many thousands of parasitic wasps out there, M. godzilla has evolved to use an aquatic insect as its host - a very rare feat among these parasitoids. 

Microgaster godzilla belongs to a subfamily of wasp called Microgastrinae, a diverse group composed of 2000 described species. But Microgasterinae itself belongs to a much larger family of parasitic wasps called the Braconidae which contains 17000 known species, with an estimated 42000 species in total. All braconid wasps have larval stages that develop attached to or inside the body of another insect, and when they are ready to mature into full-fledged adults, the endoparasitoid types come bursting out of the body of their hosts like a xenomorph chest-burster.

But for all their diversity and success in using the bodies of other insects as living incubators for their babies, most parasitic wasps are limited to parasitising terrestrial insects, with only 150 species (0.13% of all known hymenopterans) having been recorded to parasitise aquatic insects. Microgaster godzilla belongs to this very special and exclusive club, going where few other wasps are able to venture. 

The target which M. godzilla is after are the aquatic larvae of the moth Elophila turbata. These water-borne caterpillars feed on floating aquatic plants such as duckweeds. They do so usually by burrowing into the plants' leaves, and the older caterpillars, which have grown too large to burrow into the tiny leaves of those aquatic plants, actually weave a casing around itself from bits of vegetation. So at every stage of the caterpillar's development, not only is it submerged, it is also enclosed in a casing of plant material, one way or the other. 

Microgaster godzilla searches for its target by carefully walking on the leaves of duckweed and other floating vegetation on the water surface. But sometimes, it will take the plunge and dive briefly underwater in its hunt. Once it spots the caterpillar's characteristic case, instead of just forcing its way through with brute force, it annoys the caterpillar leaving its protective shelter. Microgaster godzilla starts tapping incessantly on the caterpillar's case with its antennae, accompanied by some prodding with its stinger-like ovipositor. 

Eventually, all this ruckus coaxes the caterpillar into popping out of its cosy plant bag. As soon as that happens, M. godzilla will pounce on the caterpillars and stab it with its ovipositor, injecting eggs in the process (you can view videos of this via the supplementary material which the paper's authors have provided here and here). 

The extraordinary sets of behaviour adaptations displayed by this tiny wasp, which allows it to do something that few other parasitoid wasps are capable of, is just as fascinating as the power of any movie monsters.

Reference:

Fernandez-Triana, J., Kamino, T., Maeto, K., Yoshiyasu, Y., & Hirai, N. (2020). Microgaster godzilla (Hymenoptera, Braconidae, Microgastrinae), an unusual new species from Japan which dives underwater to parasitize its caterpillar host (Lepidoptera, Crambidae, Acentropinae). Journal of Hymenoptera Research, 79: 15. 

Glyptapanteles sp.

Today we're featuring a guest post by Niamh Dalton - a student from 4th year class of the Applied Freshwater and Marine Biology' degree programme at the Galway-Mayo Institute of Technology in Ireland. This class is being taught by lecturer Dr. Katie O’Dwyer, who has previous written guest posts about salp-riding crustaceans and ladybird STI on this blog. This post was written as an assignment on writing a blog post about a parasite, and has been selected to appear as a guest post for this blog. Anyway, I'll let Niamh take it from here.

Wasps in adult form are terrifying, right? Humans automatically associate the sight of wasps with sudden panic in the fear of getting a minor sting. What do we really have to be afraid of? After briefly studying the life-cycle of a species of wasp, Glyptapanteles, I assure you it’s not adult wasps we should be frantically sprinting away from, it’s their babies.

Glyptapanteles cocoon being watched over by their caterpillar guardian, from Fig. 1 of the paper

Glyptapanteles wasps are parasitoids, a group of parasites that inevitably kill their host.  Adult females, after mating, will inject their eggs into a live caterpillar. The caterpillar will act as a surrogate womb, giving the eggs a chance to develop into mature larvae as they feed of its bodily fluids. The larvae eventually break through the skin of the caterpillar to complete pupation, meanwhile the caterpillar is still living and undergoes mind control by the parasite, becoming a modified bodyguard and surrogate parent until the larvae break out and fly away, leaving the caterpillar to die of starvation.

As spine chilling as this process is, a team of scientists were particularly interested in this survival technique and they constructed an experiment to investigate the behaviour modifications inflicted by the parasite on their host.

It all begins with a female wasp injecting approximately 80 eggs into the body cavity of a caterpillar using an ovipositor or egg layer. Each egg hatches into a larva in the the caterpillar’s body, feeding only off the bodily fluids and being careful not to damage any internal organs in order to keep the host alive and functional. According to the scientists' observations, there is no behavioural modifications of the host during this internal parasitism stage, however, each larva is the size of a rice grain and the density of the larvae in a caterpillar can have morphological alterations. The caterpillar will grow in girth but not in length, looking ready to explode.

It gets worse. Eventually the larvae have to leave the nest, so to speak. To complete the final stage of maturity, all 80 larvae evacuate the host simultaneously by using their newly developed jagged jaws to slice through the caterpillars’ tough skin. Whilst emerging through the tough material, the larvae release a chemical which only paralyses the host, meaning the host is alive throughout this excruciating process. In order for the larvae to keep their host alive, they coincide their last moulting stage with their exit, filling the holes they have excavated with a ‘plug’ made of their sloughed exoskeleton.

Why would the Glyptapanteles larvae have to keep the host alive after emergence? Well, following their exit, the larvae begin to spin silk strings and form cocoons for their last stage of maturity. At this stage, the larvae are vulnerable to predators and other parasitoid wasp species that can inject their eggs into these larvae (ironically). The host develops behavioural modifications during the parasites pupae (cocoon) stage, acting as a bodyguard. As caterpillars are themselves larvae of butterfly and moths, they too construct a cocoon in their life-cycle. As the scientists found, the host caterpillar will use their own silk string to weave a blanket over the Glyptapantele cocoons for further protection.

That’s not all. The host will increase its number of violent head swings in attempt to scare off any form of disturbance. The host is also known to stand on two pairs of back legs in vigilance and spending a substantial amount time bent over the cocoon mound. In the experiments, the research team found an increase in aggression in caterpillars that were infected with the parasitoids compared in caterpillars that were not exposed to parasites.

The main question that remains was: How is there behavioural modifications in the host after the exit of the parasite? After the dissection of previously parasite-stricken caterpillars, there were 1 or 2 active parasitoids found still in the body cavity. The authors of this paper hypothesised that these leftover larvae are responsible for the mind controlling of the host after emergence. In this way, the parasites sacrifice a few individuals for the survival of the majority of the larvae. This is a uniquely evolved survival technique that is obviously very effective and bitter-sweet in a strange way.

Reference
Grosman, A., Janssen, A., de Brito, E., Cordeiro, E., Colares, F., Fonseca, J., Lima, E., Pallini, A. and Sabelis, M. (2008). Parasitoid Increases Survival of Its Pupae by Inducing Hosts to Fight Predators. PLoS ONE, 3(6), p.e2276.

This post was written by Niamh Dalton

Myriophora alexandrae

Millipedes are known for secreting some really noxious chemicals to ward off its enemies. So much so that other animals are also known to co-opt the millipede's chemical cocktails for their own use.
For example lemurs and capuchin monkeys are known to smear millipede juice on themselves as a mosquito repellent. But there is no perfect defence and the millipede have some adversaries that are not deterred by its defensive secretion, some of which are phorid flies in the Myriophora genus - which are specialised millipede hunters.

a) Myriophora alexandrae laying an egg at the base of a millipede's antenna, (b) Myriophora communis (insert: ovipositor),
c) Millipede excreting defensive fluid while a Myriophora harwoodi feeds on it, (d) Myriophora maggot and dead host
Photos from Fig. 2 of this paper

Phoridae is a family of flies also known as "scuttle flies" - they are mostly parasitoids and there are thousands of species found all over the world. Some species are well-known for their ant-decapitation trick. Despite being rather common, very little is known about most of these parasitoids - this is possibly because of the daunting number of species, their small size, and general lack of research interest beyond a handful of species which either have potential as a mean of biological control, or are pest of cultivated insects like bees.

With so many different species of phorids out there, perhaps it is not surprising that they have evolved to target a wide range of terrestrial invertebrates - and some of them specialised in hunting millipedes, undeterred by their chemical defences. So how do Myriophora flies track down their millipede hosts? To find out, a group of researchers conducted a series of experiments at a research station in Costa Rica to determine what it is about millipedes that these flies find so attractive. They wanted to figure out whether it is the defensive juices secreted by the millipedes or the sight of the millipedes themselves. So they collected some millipedes, kept them for a few days to ensure they're parasitoid free to start with, and used them to set up an experiment in luring phorid flies.

They end up presenting the flies with the following: (1) millipede juice dabbed on pieces of paper (which they obtain by lightly zapping the millipedes), (2) dead millipede smeared in millipede juice, and (3) millipedes which have been cleared of any millipede juice by zapping them until they run out of defensive secretions.

They found that the Myriophora flies were rather attracted to paper cards dabbed with millipede juice and millipedes that were smeared with their own defensive secretions. In contrast, the flies completely ignored perfectly intact millipedes that were completely juiced out. So it seems that the scent of a millipede is far more important than the sight of one for these flies.

So not only are Myriphora not deterred by the millipede's noxious chemicals, they are actually attracted to it. But millipede juice is a complex chemical cocktail - which is the exact compound that the flies are homing in on? After further analysis, the researchers determined that the compound in millipede juice most responsible for attracted these parasitoids is a chemical called 2-methoxy-3-methyl-1,4-benzoquinone. That alone was enough to bring the flies to the yard. But when that is combined with another compound found in millipede juice called 2-methyl-1,4-benzoquinone, this cocktail was three times more attractive to Myriophora flies than that first compound by itself.

But a millipede is a well-protected target - even if you can get past its noxious secretions, it also has some formidable armour platings. But there are gaps in its armoured segments and Myriophora has a specialist weapon to exploit those gaps. This parasitoid fly has an ovipositor which is shaped somewhat like a thin stiletto - when it lands on a millipede, Myriophora stabs its ovipositor at spots like the base of the antenna, the gap between the head and the rest of the body, the vulnerable underbelly of the body segment, or between the plates covering the millipede's butt.

The parasitoid sticks its ovipositor between those gaps in the millipede's armour, and delivers a deadly payload in the form of an egg. Once the egg hatches inside the millipede, the newborn maggot has a hearty appetite and a growth rate to match. Within five days, it will finish cleaning out the millipede host from the inside, leaving behind only an empty husk and the millipede's hindgut. The maggot will then crawl from its host's empty corpse to pupate and eventually emerge as an adult fly, ready to bring up a new generation of millipede-wreckers

So for the millipedes, while those defensive cocktails are great for fending off everything else, there is no perfect defence - the very thing that protects it against so many predators is also the very thing that brings in parasitoid flies that will eat them alive.

Reference:
Hash, J. M., Millar, J. G., Heraty, J. M., Harwood, J. F., & Brown, B. V. (2017). Millipede Defensive Compounds Are a Double-Edged Sword: Natural History of the Millipede-Parasitic Genus Myriophora Brown (Diptera: Phoridae). Journal of Chemical Ecology 43: 198-206.

Macrodinychus multispinosus

There are variety of mites which live with ants, but many of them are not well-studied. Most of them are either phoretic mites which hitch a ride on the ant's body, or detritivores that eat various substances which can be found in ant nests and in those cases, they are relatively harmless commensals. But some mites that live with ants are ectoparasites. The study being featured today is about a mite that lives (and feeds) on ants - Macrodinychus multispinosus. There are variety of other mites that also feed on ant haemolymph (a fluid which is the equivalent of blood in insects), but this vampire takes it to an another level.

Left: Ant pupa host being progressively eaten alive by the parasitoid mite.
Right (top): Adult female and male Macrodinychus multispinosus mites
Right (bottom): A M. multispinosus nymph at the stage when it is attached to the host (note the stumpy legs)
Photos from Figure 1, 3, and 5 of the paper. 

Newly hatched M. multispinosus nymphs are born with fairly long limbs which allows them to move about and find a host, but once they are attached to an ant pupa, their limbs are reduced to stumps. The mite essentially become a tiny biological pump. And whereas other blood-sucking mites that feed on insects are content with imbibing just some of the host's life blood, M. multispinosus does not hold back - it consumes all the developing ant pupa's internal tissue and literally sucks the life out of it.

Macrodinychus multispinosus can be considered as a parasitoid - even though its modus operandi is very different to parasitoid wasp which devour their host alive from the inside and burst out xenomorph-style once they are ready to pupate, the outcome is pretty much the same - a dead, empty host. The researchers behind the paper being featured in this post conducted their study at Quintana Roo, Mexico across a number of field sites where they inspected colonies of the longhorn crazy ant
(Paratrechina longicornis) - the mite's only known host.

They found this vampire mite to be relatively common - of the seventeen colonies they sampled, eight of them were infested with M. multispinosus. Overall, about a quarter (26.2%) of the ant pupae they examined were infected with these mites. In some nests, over three-quarters of all the pupae are parasitised. They noticed that M. multispinosus definitely seems to have a preference for the worker ant pupae and developing queens are usually spared. Even though by doing so, this vampire wouldn't end up killing off potential future colonies by parasitising the reproductive members of the colony, it is still killing off the developing workers and this can be quite harmful at a colony level if the mites are present in high numbers.

It seems that M. multispinosus has settled quite well into its niche as a ectoparasitoid of the longhorn crazy ant, and like other mites in the Macrodinychus genus, it is rather specific about where it attach to the host - in this case the ant pupa's abdomen. But here's the twist - whereas M. multispinosus is native to Quintana Roo, its host is not and is a relatively recent arrival to the region. Even though this vampire mite must have been parasitising ants long before the longhorn crazy ant came along, its original host is still unknown to science - in fact, even though it was described in 1973, it wasn't until now that its ecology and life cycle has been documented.

There's still a lot to learn about this little vampire. Would it be a good biological control for the invasive longhorn crazy ant? What kind of ant did M. multispinosus originally parasitised before it jumped on the invader? How was it able to take to the newly arrived host so quickly?

With so many different kinds of organisms being transported (purposefully or inadvertently) around the world, perhaps is would be useful to consider recruiting parasites are as a mean of controlling invasive species, especially if the parasite is native to the region where biological control is being considered - that way, it'll be fighting on its home turf.

Reference:
Lachaud, J. P., Klompen, H., & Pérez-Lachaud, G. (2016). Macrodinychus mites as parasitoids of invasive ants: an overlooked parasitic association. Scientific Reports 6: 29995

P.S. If you like this post and other posts like it on the blog, then you might been interested in checking out the book "The Wasp that Brainwashed the Caterpillar" by Matt Simon. It is full of funny and informative stories about wonderfully weird and bizarre animals both parasitic and non-parasitic - you should totally check it out!

Polysphincta boops

This is the sixth post in a series of blog posts written by students from my third year Evolutionary Parasitology unit (ZOOL329/529) class of 2015. This particular post was written by Rebecca-Lee Puglisi about not one, but THREE spider-zombifying and how they differ in their host preference, as well as what kind of web they make their spider hosts weave (you can read the previous post on how parasites mess with the Monarch Butterfly's migration here).

Photo of Polysphincta boops by Hectonichus

We all know that the natural world is amazing, and we all know that I hate horror movies! But what if losing ones self control and being manipulated by another was actually happening today and not just something you saw in movies? Let’s set the scene here. You are minding your own business when a six legged monster jumps upon your back, stabbing and poisoning you, knocking you unconscious for a few moments. When you wake up, you're no longer yourself and under control by the monster until the day you die. This nightmare happens on a daily basis to Orb-Weaver Spiders (Araneus and Araniella) in nature thanks to parasitoid wasps (Polysphincta and Sinarachna) that use them as hosts.

A study published last year in the journal Ecological Entomology aimed to identify whether the variations in host response to manipulation is a result of differences among parasitoids or among the spiders themselves. Spiders and wasps were collected at four different locations over Europe by shaking trees and catching the spiders and wasps in large nets underneath. The researchers collected four species of spiders (Araneus diadematus, Araniella cucurbitina, Araniella displicata, and Araniella ophistographa), and three species of parasitoid wasps (Polysphincta boops, Polysphincta tuberose, and Sinarachna pallipes), and 417 spiders were collected in total and placed into a laboratory in separate arenas where different species of wasps were introduced.

They found that while Polysphincta boops only parasitised one spider species - A. ophistographa, its relative P. tuberose was less picky and parasitised three spider species - A. cucurbitina, A. opisthographa, and A. diadematus. The same goes for S. pallipes, which parasitised A. cucurbitina, A. displicata, and A. opisthographa. All these wasps sting the spiders, paralysing them to lay an egg on their abdomen. The spider awakes with the egg that then hatches and feeds on the spiders' hemolymph (its blood), and the spider continues its life as normal.

Left: Web woven by spider parasitised by Polysphincta. Right: Web woven by spider parasitised by Sinarachna
Photos from Fig. 2 of the paper 

Their experiments showed that the parasitised spider’s webs changed from a two-dimensional to a three-dimensional structure with difference in the densities of the webs and the cocoons created. The differences between the webs / cocoons are determined by the final instar larva of the wasp species when neuromodulator chemicals are injected in the host spider by the larva. The spiders parasitised by Polysphincta wasps created a high density silk web with a low density cocoon web, whereas spiders parasitised by the Sinarachna wasps created the opposite structures, with a low density silk web and a high density cocoon web.

Higher density webs and cocoons provided better protection for the developing larva. After manipulating the spider to make the web and cocoon for the wasp larva, the larva then develops into its final stage where it kills the spider host, and eats all its internal organs before retreating into the web cocoon where it will grow into adult wasp. After the it reaches maturity, it will then find a mate to start the whole cycle again. This whole process takes roughly 20-30 days.

This whole circle of life and host manipulation interactions is both amazing and horrifying! I mean, have you seen the ‘chest buster’ scene from the movie ‘Alien’? If movie writers decide to make another big blockbuster about parasitoid creatures like those wasps, but have them attack humans, I will never sleep again!

Reference:
Korenko, S., Isaia, M., Satrapova, J., & Pekar, S. (2014). Parasitoid genus‐specific manipulation of orb‐web host spiders (Araneae, Araneidae). Ecological Entomology 39, 30-38.

This post was written by Rebecca-Lee Puglisi

Hymenoepimecis argyraphaga

Those who have been reading this blog for a while realise that August is the month when I featured some guest posts written by students from my Evolutionary Parasitology  (ZOOL329/529) class.  One of the assessment I set for the students is for them to summarise a paper that they have read, and write it in the manner of a blog post. The best blog posts from the class are selected for re-posting (with their permission) here on the Parasite of the Day blog. I am pleased to be presenting these posts from the ZOOL329/529 class of 2015. To kick things off, here's a post by Alison Cash on a paper published in 2001 about a parasitoid that uses its spider host to weave a tangled web.

Left: The usual web constructed by a Plesiometa argyra. Right: A web constructed under Hypmenoepimecis' influence
Photo from this paper.

The parasitoid wasp Hymenoepimecis argyraphaga can be considered to be pretty unremarkable at first glance. However, the life history of this killer insect contains more drama and intrigue than an episode of Game of Thrones - maybe with just a little less incest. This wasp is found in the tropical forests of Costa Rica. Here, when an expectant mother wasp is prepared to lay her solitary egg, she seeks out one particular species of orb-weaver spider - Plesiometa argyra.

This spider is known for its elaborate web-spinning abilities, with which it uses to capture its prey. Each day, it meticulously recreates its skilled masterpieces and for this talent H. argyraphaga targets it with the burden of raising its life-sucking young. The larva of this wasp not only makes a meal of the spider, it also turns the unfortunate arachnid into its personal slave via mind control - using it to create a perfect haven to pupate.

When the female wasp locates a P. argyra, it temporarily paralyses its victim with a sting before it glues an egg on the spider and leaving. After 10-15 minutes, the spider wakes out of its stupor, and resume life as normal, apparently unaware of its new and sinister backpack. The egg soon hatches and the larva anchors itself to its spider host, riding it triumphantly for the next two weeks, all while feeding on the spider's blood (call hemolymph) from small holes it has punctured in the host's abdomen.

Once the larva has matured and is ready to begin its transformation into an adult wasp, the relationship becomes more menacing. The larva injects the spider with a cocktail of chemicals that alters its web-weaving behaviour. Under this influence, the spider custom-build a unique reinforced web, fit to encase the wasp larva in its a cocoon while it metamorphoses. Once the spider had completed this highly altered web, the spider moves to the center of the web where it remains somewhat dazed. The wasp larva then dismount from its naive eight-legged steed, then kills it and suck the corpse dry for its last supper as a larva. It then weaves a cocoon which nestles securely in the middle of the web, suspended away from potential threats. After ten days, the adult emerges to begin the grisly cycle once again.

What sets this wasp apart from many other parasitoids is that it modify the host's behaviour, via an injected chemical cocktail, in such a specific and detail manner. Instead of weaving the usual intricate five-step web, P. argyra is reduced to repeated the first two step of web construction. The scientist who conducted this study observed that by blocking the ability to construct the multi-step web, the result was a "custom-built" structure which is more durable and less likely to be damaged by falling debris. Even when the larva is removed from the spider before it is able to kill its host, the webs made by the previously parasitised spiders are still malformed for the following few days, but eventually return to normal, which suggest that the behavioural change is induced by a chemical rather than just physical interference by the parasitoid larva.

By chemically inducing this altered host behaviour, H. argyraphaga ensures that it will successfully raise another generation of spider-enslaving wasps.

Reference:
William G. Eberhard. (2001). Under the influence: Webs and building behavior of Plesiometa argyra (araneae, tetragnathidae) when parasitized by Hymenoepimecis argyraphaga (hymenoptera, ichneumonidae). Journal of Arachnology, 29(3), 354-366.

This post was written by Alison Cash

Lysibia nana

Lysibia nana photo by Nina Fatouros
Used with permission
from BugsinthePicture 

In order to live, a parasite must find its host. Whereas some parasites take a passive approach and simply wait for a chance encounter, many species are more proactive. In the case of parasitoid insects that have free-flying adults, they have various adaptations for tracking down their hosts. But what about the hyperparasites - parasites that infect other parasites? How do they find their host, which themselves are hidden within the body of a host animal? It seems as if they would need to have X-ray vision in order to complete their life cycle.

The parasite we are featuring today is Lysibia nana, a hyperparasitoid that infects Cotesia glomerata - the parasitoid wasp which lays its eggs inside caterpillars. It turns out that L. nana does not rely on superpowers like X-ray vision, but a far more parsimonious ability. To find out how L. nana finds a host, first of all, we have to ask; how does C. glomerata itself find its hosts? A few months ago, we featured a parasitoid fly that uses sound to track down its prey, but most parasitoid wasps use scent to sniff our their hosts. But this scent does not come directly from the host itself, but rather, the host's food.

When a plant comes under attack by herbivores like caterpillars, they emit volatile chemical signals call kairomones that acts like a dinner bell for parasitoid wasps, which have evolved to use those chemicals to guide them to their prey. Feeding by different species of caterpillars elicit different chemical emissions from the plant, which provides a signature of their presence and attract different species of parasitoids.

Parasitoid wasps are master body-snatchers, they don't just consume their hosts from within; while they are in residence they also change the caterpillar's physiology, altering its growth pattern and behaviour - so much so that on some levels the parasitised caterpillar can be considered as almost a different animal. But they have their own enemies in the form of hyperparasitoids like L. nana.

A research group in the Netherlands conducted a series of experiments to figure out how this hyperparasitoid tracks down its hidden prey. They first tested how wild cabbage plants responded when they come under attack by two different species of caterpillar - Pieris brassicae and P. rapae.

Dead caterpillar with Cotesia glomerata cocoons
Photo by Hectonichus

They found that two caterpillars induce very different blends of chemical volatiles from the plant. But it is a different story when those caterpillars are parasitised by C. glomerata. The physiological alteration that the parasitoid imposed on their host was reflected in how the caterpillar's food plant responded. Cotesia glomerata manipulated their hosts to such a degree that once parastisied, both P. brassicae and P. rapae elicited a far more similar blends of chemical emissions from the plant.

This is where the hyperparasitoid L. nana comes in. The researchers put some female hyperparasitoids in a Y-maze and exposed them to combinations of different volatile chemical released by; caterpillar-free plants, plants which had been chewed on by caterpillars, or plants which have been chewed on by parasitised caterpillars. They noticed that given the choice between the chemicals of plants damaged by parasitoid-free and parasitised caterpillars, the hyperparasitoids preferred overwhelming to go in the direction of the latter - regardless of what species the host caterpillar might be. To L. nana, whether those caterpillars had parasitoid babies onboard is far more important than their species identity, and they showed no clear preference for either caterpillar species as long as they were parasitised by C. glomerata.

The researchers also conducted a field-based study that corroborated the results from the behavioural experiment. They did so by attaching C. glomerata cocoons to some wild cabbage plants that they have grown in an experimental plot. Some of the plants had previously been munched on by parasitoid-free caterpillars, others by parasitised caterpillars. After 5 days, they checked the parasitoid wasp cocoons for signs of L. nana and found that cocoons on plants which have been chewed on by parasitised caterpillar attracted far more L. nana than those munched on by parasitoid-free-caterpillars

So while parasitoid wasps like C. glomerata may have masterful control over their host body's physiology, this also leaves a calling card to their own hyperparasitoids. For the hyperparasitoids, it's what's inside that counts.

Reference:
Zhu, F., Broekgaarden, C., Weldegergis, B. T., Harvey, J. A., Vosman, B., Dicke, M., & Poelman, E. H. (2015). Parasitism overrides herbivore identity allowing hyperparasitoids to locate their parasitoid host using herbivore‐induced plant volatiles. Molecular Ecology 24: 2886–2899.

P.S. I will be attending the New Zealand Society for Parasitology and Australian Society for Parasitology joint conference in Auckland, New Zealand. So watch for tweets with highlights from conference at my Twitter @The_Episiarch! All tweets related to that conference will have the #NZASP15 hashtag.

Emblemasoma erro

During summer the air is filled with the rattling ruckus of cicada songs. Male cicadas produce this summer choir using a pair of noise-making organs located in their abdomen, with the aim of getting attention from any prospective mates. But in some cases, they can also end up with some unwanted attention.

Top: Male Tibicen dorsatus cicada
Bottom: Female Embelmasoma erro fly
Photos from Figure 1 & 2 of this paper

The species we are featuring today is an "acoustically hunting" parasitoid fly - it eavesdrops on the male cicada's flirtatious serenading and uses it to home in on its target. This fly is commonly found on the Great Plains of North America and is a scourge to male cicadas, especially male Tibicen dorsatus.

Most of what is known about such acoustically hunting parasitoids are based on flies from the Tachinidae family - one of which targets crickets (I talked about how crickets on Hawaii evolved to become silent due to the presence of one such parasitoid fly here). But this fly belongs to a different family (Sarcophagidae). Only one species of Emblemasoma is well-studied - E. auditrix- and even though Emblemasoma is widely use in the study of insect hearing, not much is known about how they actually live out in the wild. Until now, the only information available on E. erro are based on two scientific papers - one published in 1981 and the other published in 2009. The paper we are featuring today provides some much-needed update on key aspects of this parasitoid's ecology and life history.

This paper reports on a series of field surveys and laboratory experiments that documented the parasitoid's occurrence, abundance, behaviour, and developmental cycle.

The field surveys were conducted at study sites located across Kansas and Colorado. The surveys found that a bit over a quarter of male cicadas were infected with E. erro larvae, and because of how the flies track down their host, almost all the infected cicadas were male - except for one very unlucky female cicada, which most probably got infected because she was responding to the call of a male, ran into a larvae-ladened E. erro that had the same idea, the latter decided that any cicada will do. Talk about a case of fatal attraction!

And it is indeed the sound of the male cicada's serenade that draws in those flies - a loudspeaker playing the recordings of cicada calls is sufficient to attract the attention of E. erro, but a female fly need more than that to commit to dropping off her precious offspring. In outdoor cage experiments where flies and cicadas were housed together and allowed to mingle freely, the researcher observed that even if an E. erro finds herself perched next to a cicada, she will only attack when the host makes any sudden movements. So E. erro uses two separate signals to track down its prey; an acoustic signal at long range in the form of the cicada's call to guide them in, and a visual signal at close range in the form of cicada movement to confirm the host's identity

Emblemasoma erro larva emerging from a cicada
From Figure 6 of this paper

Once she has confirmed her target, the female fly makes an attack run, and very quickly drops off between 1-6 maggots (usually 3) on the base of the cicada's wings. As soon as the maggots land, they immediately start burrowing between the segments and into the cicada's body. The maggots then start devouring its host alive from the inside. Depending on the temperature and clutch size, they take about 88 hours to reach a large enough size to start pupating. At the end of this period, the maggots use teeth-like "oral hooks" to chew their way to freedom, fall onto the soil below to become pupae, and leaving the cicada an empty husk.

So while the aim of the male cicada's singing is to attract the attention of female cicadas, some of them may instead end up getting attention from females of a very different species, and become reluctant incubators for the broods of some keen-eared, cicada-hunting flies.

Reference:
Stucky, B. J. (2015). Infection behavior, life history, and host parasitism rates of Emblemasoma erro (Diptera: Sarcophagidae), an acoustically hunting parasitoid of the cicada Tibicen dorsatus (Hemiptera: Cicadidae). Zoological Studies, 54: 30.

Encarsia inaron

On this blog, we have covered many stories of either parasite cleverly evading the host's defences or the host valiantly fighting back against these bodily invaders. But sometimes, both parties lose out on this fight, and today we are looking at such a case.

Photo by Mike Rose (source: Natural History Museum)

Encarsia inaron is a tiny parasitic wasp no longer than 0.5 mm in length. It was introduced into North America in 1989 from Europe to control the ash whitefly (Siphoninus phillyreae) a sap-sucking insect which itself hails from Europe and the Mediterranean, and has become an established pest in North America and elsewhere in the world. Encarsia inaron lays its eggs in the nymphal (immature) stages of whiteflies. Like most parasitoids, the wasp larvae use the host's body as an incubator and a larder until they are ready to mature into adults, at which point they kill the host by bursting out of its body.

In addition to the ash whitefly, which it was introduced to control, E. inaron also infects a number of other whiteflies (as you will see below). For long-time readers of this blog, you might remember earlier in the year we featured a parasitic wasp that infects aphids and why picking the right-sized host is very important for the survival of its offspring. This also applies to E. inaron but in a different way. If the wasp infects a whitefly nymph that is too far along in its development, then the host would reach adulthood before the wasp larva can complete its development. And unlike other parasitoid wasps, E. incaron is incapable of delaying its host's developmental schedule.

Once the whitefly becomes an adult, rarely will the wasp ever emerge as an adult. While it may seem that in this case the whitefly has won simply by reaching maturity before its parasitoid, that is not exactly the case. Instead, it is a pyrrhic victory - the adult whitefly is still carrying the wasp larva inside it and this burden reduces the number of eggs that it can produce by more than half and significantly shortens its lifespan.

Considering the cost of infecting older nymphs (potentially never reaching reproductive maturity), you'd think this would provide an incentive (or to be more technically precise, evolutionary selection pressure) for E. inaron to avoid older whitefly nymphs - but that was not what the researchers found in the study we are featuring today. When they exposed female E. inaron wasps to two different whitefly species - the silverleaf whitefly (Bemisia tabaci) and the banded-winged whitefly (Trialeurodes abutiloneus), they displayed no particular preference for younger or older nymphs.

So why has E. inaron not evolved the ability to distinguish hosts of different ages? After all, other species of parasitoid wasp, such as the aphid parasitoid mentioned above, have evolved the ability to distinguish hosts of different size and shows a preference for hosts of a particular size.

Keep in mind that this tiny wasp is a generalist that infects multiple species of whiteflies -  different species of whiteflies might impose different selection pressures upon the wasp population that prevents them from evolving an optimal approach to selecting the right host. In addition, older whiteflies are likely to be already parasitised by another wasp larva. If a newly arriving larva finds itself in an already occupied host, it can speed up its own development by exploiting the gains of the older, resident larva (a weakened host with an already suppressed immune system). A previous study has shown that when it comes to within-host competition, for E. inaron late-comers often wins.

So instead of being maladaptive, E. inaron that infect older whitefly nymphs may in fact be taking a bit of a gamble - a highly risky one, but one that comes with a potentially high pay-off.

Reference:
Brady, C.M. and White, J.A. (2012) Everyone's a loser: parasitism of late instar whiteflies by Encarsia inaron has negative consequences for both parasitoid and host. Annals of the Entomological Society of America 105:840-845.

Lysiphlebus fabarum

Recently there was a widely circulated study about fruit flies consuming alcohol to fight off parasitoid infections. But there are other methods that insects employ to fight off attacks by parasitoids, and the defence employed by aphids against one of its parasitoids - Lysiphlebus fabrum - is multi-layered in more ways than one.

From the parasitoid's perspective, bigger aphids provide more resources - but they are also more dangerous to tackle. Larger aphids can deliver a mean kick against parasitoid wasps, and they also have a more well-developed innate immune system, so even if the wasp can get past the kicking limbs, her eggs may not survive even if they do make their way in. Small aphids are much easier to attack and subdue and have weaker immune systems. But, because of their smaller size, they are also more likely to die from the trauma associated with being stabbed with a wasp's ovipositor, and this would end up being a waste of time and resources for L. fabarum. Therefore, much like Goldilocks, L. fabarum usually selects for the intermediate-size aphids - not so big that they put on too much of a fight, but not so small that they might not even survive the initial infection process.

However, there's another thread weaving through this story and that thread is coevolution. The effectiveness of the aphid's immune system depends on its genetic lineage. In typical co-evolutionary arms race fashion, there is considerable genetic variation in the aphid's innate immune system and certain aphid clones are better at fighting off parasitoids. But just when you are getting comfortable with the idea of aphid resistance being based on a combination of aphid age and genotype against the adversarial wasps, it's time to throw in another factor to complicate the story - the appropriately named bacterial symbiont Hamiltonella defensa.

Some (but not all) aphids carry this protective symbiont, which acts as an internal guard dog (guard germ?) that enhances the aphid's ability to kill off parasitoids. To complicate the picture further, H. defensa itself has acquired this ability by incorporating a toxin-producing gene into its genome that originated from a virus. Not only does this toxin-producing microbe kill off the parasitoid larvae inside the aphid, they also affect the egg-depositing behaviour of the parasitoid. And much like the aphid's innate immunity, age also plays a role in modulating the defense conferred by the symbiont. Younger aphids have smaller populations of H. defensa to start off, but they increase as they got older, and the more symbionts an aphid has, the better it is at fighting off parasitoids.

So how does this affect the evolutionary pathway of L. fabarum? Researchers found that because H. defensa play such a major role in the aphid's defense, not only are the wasps locked in a coevolutionary race with the aphids, they are also engaged in an even more intense arms race with the H. defensa symbionts carried by the said aphids. Even when H. defensa do not outright kill the L. fabarum larvae, they do still incur a cost; in aphids carrying the symbiont, the wasp took longer to develop, and also emerged slightly emaciated compared with those that infected H. defensa-free aphids.

The most remarkable finding that emerged was when researchers looked specifically at the different strains of symbionts and their interactions with different lines of L. fabrum. For example, they found that one particular strain of H. defensa that they called H323 conferred protection against most lines of L. fabarum - but offered the aphid no protection against one particular line of L. fabrum. Even the star performer out of all the symbionts - strain H76 - that conferred the greatest protection on average against almost all the lines of wasp tested - had a nemesis. A different genetic line of L. fabarum was able to weather the bacterial guardian's toxins and successfully develop to maturity.

What emerges is a complex series of coevolution that is occurring not just between different genetic lines of aphids and wasps, but also between the wasps and the symbionts carried by the aphids. While superficially, it may seem like the story of a coevolutionary arms race between aphids and wasps, given the strong interactions between the wasps and the bacterial symbionts, it is much more a story of coevolution between L. fabrum versus H. defensa, being played out on an "aphid stage."

Image from figure in the paper.

Reference:

Schmid, M., Sieber, R., Zimmermann, Y-S. and Vorburger, C. (2012) Development, specificity and sublethal effects of symbiont-conferred resistance to parasitoids in aphids. Functional Ecology 26: 207-215

Apocephalus borealis

Many of you have heard of the very scary phenomenon called "Colony Collapse Disorder" - and if you haven't, you should, because it could be a major threat to the food we eat. CCD is when the worker honey bees abandon their hives and die, which, if widespread, can mean drastic decreases in pollination of crops. This phenomenon was first reported in the U.S. in 2006 and ever since that time, scientists have struggled to uncover what was responsible. Everything from cell phone radiation to genetically modified crops to a variety of parasites of honey bees were suggested to be the cause. Then, today, a new paper in PLoS One showed data suggesting that another kind of parasite is linked to CCD. Apocephalus borealis is a parasitoid fly that was known to attack bumblebees and paper wasps, but now has been demonstrated to also attack honeybees in the U.S. - in fact, 77% of the colonies sampled near San Francisco were parasitized by A. borealis. The authors used DNA barcoding to confirm that the flies in the honey bees were genetically indistinguishable from those parasitizing bumble bees.

The authors of the new study also found that bees that were found flying around at night (something honey bees don't normally do) were significantly more likely to be parasitized by the fly and furthermore, the sick bees also seemed disoriented. It is not currently known whether or not the tendency for the parasitized bees to fly at night away from their colonies is another example of manipulation of the host by a parasite or whether this might be an act of altruism by the bee, carrying its parasite away from its colony and thus protecting the others.

Although these new results are very exciting, many questions remain to be answered about the history and impact of A. borealis. First, when did the switch into honey bees occur? Honey bees are not native to the U.S., but since they are so well monitored and studied, the authors believe that the switch must have happened recently - otherwise it would have been noticed by apiculturists. Second, could these flies also be serving as vectors for other bee pathogens? Two known bee pathogens, Deformed Wing Virus and Nosema ceranae, a microsporidian were found in the A. borealis flies. And finally, could the invasion of honey bees by this parasite mean that CCD is going to increase? The natural hosts of A. borealis are bumble bees, which live in small colonies where only the queen herself survives the winter, but honey bee colonies have thousands of bees and their activity maintains some amount of heat, even in colder winter months. This increase in host resources and more generations per year could spell a population explosion of A. borealis...and that won't be good for those of us who depend on pollination - like all of us.

The image is from the paper. Look closely at the abdomen of the bee - that's a little parasitic fly laying eggs into it. Soon the larvae will emerge from the dead host. (You can see a photo of this in the original paper as well.)

Source: Core A, Runckel C, Ivers J, Quock C, Siapno T, et al. (2012) A New Threat to Honey Bees, the Parasitic Phorid Fly Apocephalus borealis. PLoS ONE 7(1): e29639. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0029639.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralis

Have you ever been so intoxicated that you start walking erratically, stumble away from your friends, stagger around in circles, clamber onto things that you wouldn't normally be seen near, and the next thing you know, you are strapped down in unfamiliar surroundings, unable to extricate yourself? Well, that pretty much describe what happens to ants which become infected with the famous "zombie ant" fungus - Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.

Much has been written about this famous fungus which turns ants into zombies - it is a parasite which captures the same part of our psyche as the monstrosities of horror movies, and there is evidence to suggest that these fungi have been tormenting ants for at least tens of millions of years. But despite all that attention, few people have actually witnessed or documented the sequence of behaviour leading up to the infected ant's paralysis and death. But in a paper published this year, a group of researchers followed the behaviour of ants infected with the famous "zombie"-inducing fungus and compare them to their uninfected brethren.

They noticed a few peculiarities with the behavioural repertoire of infected ants which stood out. While healthy ants studiously stick to the usual lanes of ant traffic, climbing into the canopy to forage with all the other busy worker ants, "zombie ants" are loners which meander around in the understory by themselves, are unresponsive to most stimuli, and frequently stumble and fall from the branches they are walking on. Essentially, the ants act absolutely drunk, indeed, the researchers described the behaviour of the "zombie ants" as a "drunkard's walk" in their paper. Another weird thing that infected ants start doing is their tendency to crawl all over and bite into leaves - something which healthy ants don't tend to do. There's a good reason why the fungus steers the ant towards leaves and afflict it with this oral fixation - it is preparing it for the next step in the fungus' development.

For the fungus to successfully reproduce, the ant must die - but it must die in a particular position to maximise the viability and dispersal of the fungal spores, specifically in the humid understory, hanging from the underside of a leaf, about 25 cm (about 10 inches) above the ground. But once the fungus maneuver the ant into position, how does it get the host to comply and stay there? The researchers made fine histological cross-section of the infected ant's head and found that once the fungus has made the ant locks its mandible in place, it busily gets to work dissolving the muscles which control those mandibles, ensuring that the ant will be locked in a death grip forevermore. A few days after the ant dies while gripping onto, the fungal stalk emerges from the head of the ant, ready to spray its spores down to the soil below to create more drunken "zombie ants".

Image from the Wikipedia.

Reference:

Hughes DP, Andersen SB, Hywel-Jones NL, Himaman W, Billen J, Boomsma JJ. (2011) Behavioral mechanisms and morphological symptoms of zombie ants dying from fungal infection. BMC Ecology 11:13

Postscript: A few hours after I wrote this post, I found out that Carl Zimmer has already written about this study (why, of course! *facepalm*), so if you want to read his version instead, you can see it here.

November 4 - Camptopteroides verrucosa

Camptopteroides verrucosa is a species of fairyfly (family Mymaridae) - which is to say that it's not a fly at all, but rather a tiny little wasp. The very largest of these wasps only has a wingspan of 3 millimeters, so we are definitely talking tiny! Although not much is known about them, it has been observed that they can move and even mate underwater. The females inject their eggs into those of other insects and use an enormous variety of different hosts. These little parasitoids have recently been used in biocontrol efforts.

June 17 - Caenocholax fenyesi

Strepsipterans are really, really freaking weird insects. They have sexes that are dimorphic to the extreme, have eyes that are unlike those in any other insect (resembling those of trilobites more), and have been a phylogenetic nightmare, including being one of the textbook cases of long-branch attraction observed in early molecular systematics studies. The life cycle, too, is really, really weird. Let's start with the first-instar larvae - these are the stages that seek out a host. In Caenocholax fenyesi, the males parasitize ants, so they seek out this host, penetrate the cuticle, and grow. Eventually, the male will pupate and emerge as an adult, which looks at least fairly insect-like, but he will only live a few short hours and spend the entire time searching for a female. What about the gals? C. fenyesi females parasitize orthopterans - grasshoppers, crickets, and mantids. When the first instar larvae of a female invades, she remains neotenic and never develops the characteristics of an adult insect. No, she is just an egg-, or rather a larvae-producing blob-like machine. The eggs that she produces hatch inside of her and can freely move about in her hemocoel. Eventually, the larvae will emerge via her brood canal. Females produce phermones to help the males find them and they are inseminated into this same brood canal. Strepsipterans castrate their hosts and the females can make up as much as 90% of the volume of the host insect's abdomen. Males of C. fenyesi were first reported in 1909 and then were subsequently frequently found parasitizing ants throughout the southeast U.S. But, the females remained unknown for 94 years. Finally, in 2003, Jeyaraney Kathirithamby from the University of Oxford and J. Spencer Johnston from Texas A&M found a female that they suspected might be C. fenyesi in a cricket and confirmed the match using DNA sequence data, where the two individuals were 100% identical.

Image is of a male Caenocholax fenyesifrom this site.

January 18 - Diachasma alloeum

Cataloguing biodiversity is an important task – but so is understanding what causes it. Recently, scientists working on the parasitoid wasp, Diachasma alloeum, showed that speciation in the hosts has resulted in the formation of incipient species of the wasp. The hosts in this case are parasites themselves – apple maggots in the genus Rhagoletis. The D. alloeum parasitoid wasps use volatile compounds that the fruits emit to locate them and then they probe the fruit to find the maggot fly larvae within. The female wasp lays her eggs into the maggots, which eventually crawl out of the fruits when they fall to the ground. When the maggot pupates, the wasp larva consumes the maggot, pupates and then overwinters to wait for the next season’s fruits. Recently, the maggot flies have switched from hawthorns as their fruits of choice to domesticated apple trees. Genetic tests of the wasps that use maggot flies in apples vs. those that parasitize the hawthorn maggot flies (as well as in other recently diverged host races) shows that the wasps are following the speciation events of the flies and even show behavioral preferences for the volatiles of the new fruits. This process has been termed a speciation cascade.

Read more about this here.

Parasite nomination and photo by Andrew Forbes.

January 5 - Peristenus digoneutis

If you liked the movie Alien, then you might be a fan of parasitic wasps, such as Peristenus digoneutis. These insects, sometimes incredibly tiny, capture and kill other insects (in this case little plant bugs) that they then lay their eggs into. The larvae hatch out and eat their hosts from the inside out. Although it's rather gruesome, these parasitoids have been developed as biocontrol agents to combat insect pests.