Shoebill vs Hairy Frogfish vs Velvet Ant vs Long-Eared Jerboa: A Statue That Swallows Crocodiles, a Fish in a Bad Wig, a Wasp Named After Killing Cattle It Never Killed, and a Rodent That Is 80 Percent Ears

Today's cage match has no theme, no logic, and no respect for the tree of life. I reached into four totally unrelated corners of the animal kingdom and pulled out a five-foot bird that stares at you like unpaid rent, a fish wearing a bad wig that swims worse than I parallel park, a wasp so mean people named it after killing livestock it has never actually killed, and a desert rodent that is roughly 80 percent ears. They will be judged on the only three axes that matter around here: how cool, how weird, and how gross. Someone gets crowned. Everyone loses a little dignity. Let's go.

The Cool

The shoebill hunts like a lawn ornament with a grudge. It stands motionless in the marsh for hours, then detonates that giant clog-shaped bill (which ends in a genuine sharp hook) onto whatever swims past: lungfish, catfish, snakes, and yes, baby crocodiles. It has been doing this for something like 30 million years and it shows.

The hairy frogfish owns one of the fastest bites on the planet. High-speed video clocks its gape-and-suck strike at about 6 milliseconds, faster than you can blink, faster than a scorpionfish. Elastic ligaments around the jaw store energy like a loaded mousetrap; pop the latch and the mouth lunges forward, dragging in a pressure wave and the prey with it.

The velvet ant, aka the cow killer, is basically a tank in a fuzzy sweater. Its sting lands a 3 out of 4 on the Schmidt sting pain index, and its exoskeleton is so absurdly reinforced that insect collectors have to drill starter holes just to get a pin through it. When threatened it runs fast, evades, and squeaks at you (stridulation) as a warning.

The long-eared jerboa is a pocket-sized rocket. Those enormous hind legs let it bound impressive distances to escape predators, and it hunts flying insects by using sound to find them and then launching itself into the air to snatch them. It is a tiny nocturnal insect-seeking missile with a satellite dish on each side of its head.

The Weird

The frogfish barely swims. It prefers to walk, shuffling across the seafloor on limb-like pectoral and pelvic fins. The shaggy fuzz that gives it its name is not hair at all but whisker-like dermal spinules that help it disappear into the reef. Then it goes fishing: it wiggles a built-in lure (the esca) on a little rod (the illicium) to mimic small prey, and can enlarge that lure by about 35 percent when it really wants to sell the bit. You know what they say, never trust a fish with a hairstyle.

The jerboa is a design mistake in the best way. Its body is only 7 to 9 cm long, its tail can be up to twice that, and its ears are roughly two-thirds the length of its whole body, believed to be the largest ear-to-body ratio of any mammal. People call it the Mickey Mouse of the desert, which is unfair to Mickey.

The shoebill, despite the name, is not really a stork; it is more closely related to pelicans. Its main form of conversation is a deep, rapid-fire clatter of its bill that sounds like two big sticks being smacked together, used for greetings, threats, and flirting alike.

And the velvet ant is not an ant. It is a wingless female wasp cruising around in loud warning colors, which is the insect equivalent of walking into a bar in a hazard-orange jumpsuit that says DO NOT.

The Gross

The shoebill swallows baby crocodiles whole and later coughs up the bones and indigestible bits like a nightmare owl. And when it gets hot, it defecates on its own legs to cool down (a real thing called urohidrosis). Cool assassin, disgusting hygiene.

The frogfish has a stomach that inflates like a balloon, letting a four-inch fish swallow a meal nearly twice its own length. It is a soft, walking, hairy stomach with a lure. I love it. I am also slightly nauseated.

The velvet ant's relatives set the gold standard for sting horror: the cousin species Dasymutilla klugii has a sting described as feeling like hot oil from the deep fryer spilling over your hand. That is not a bug bite, that is a kitchen accident with legs.

The jerboa, meanwhile, commits no crimes grosser than eating insects. It is here as the palate cleanser, the one contestant your grandmother would let inside. Its innocence is, frankly, suspicious.