My friend and her son were tending to one of her many beehives, in between the blackberry bushes one day, during my visit to her house in England several years ago. I was looking from what I though was a good distance away, taking pictures while on hold with my cellular company, to resolve an issue with my phone. When all of a sudden I saw a bee, leave the comfort of his hive, to make a “beeline” toward me. I turned around to flee just as the man on the phone came back to hear me, not necessarily screaming, but maybe having certain words to say. The bee stung me on the back of my neck before I could clear the bushes. It had been years since I had been stung, but the memory of that feeling came flooding back. I apologized to the man on the phone for my words, explaining I had just been stung by a bee, and hung up, since he had resolved my issue. After a few minutes I started to hear a buzzing sound. Realizing it was coming from me, I tore off my shirt, thankfully having another under it, and there caught in the material, with his stinger still partially attached, was the BEE. Despite the stinging hot feeling on my neck, and the traumatized tissue beginning to swell, I felt a pang of sadness as I watched the bee die. I was the one who invaded his space. The bees are used to their hardworking and thoughtful caregiver. They they were not use to me trying to get a glimpse and a picture.