contemplating potato bugs

“Do you think potato bugs think,” I asked my Dad as he was programming a sprinkler clock. “I mean, is there any sense or reason to their wanderings, any pattern or purpose, or do they just go in circles with no direction?”
“I don’t think they think anything,” he replied.
I arched my self over the bug and put my head against the concrete to get a profile of him. “He’s got one white leg and the rest are grey.” I blocked his way with a wire. His little feelers probed about in front of him and detected the obstacle and he turned to go around it. “I don’t think they have any eyeballs.” I bumped his side with my finger and he sped up. I bumped him a little more gruffly trying to get him to roll into a ball and succeeded only in flipping him over. His legs were all a wiggle as he flexed himself in and out of a ball and arched his back trying to flip over. I thought he must be getting exhausted so I flipped him back over. He must be brave because he didn’t roll up into a ball and play dead like the ones in the backyard do. He looks like a little tank. I suppose his plated armor gives him confidence.
“You don’t think they have any intellectual abilities?” I asked again.
“Nope.”
“You don’t think he is wandering in circles pondering the meaning of life?”
“Nope, the Book of Mormon says that the potato bug is the stupidest of all creatures.”
“oh.”