Today I kicked #2’s hermit crab across the kitchen floor. It wasn’t intentional, and, if anything, it was totally #2’s fault. I didn’t mean to harm him, or her as I often tease #2, as she is a “her”mit crab. It just happened to be laying in the middle of the kithen floor when I walked in.
In fairness, I put her there. The sun just happened to be warm and hitting that side of the floor, and since they say crabs prefer warmth, opposed to our cold Central New York weather, I figured she might enjoy it. It was a great idea, in theory. Except that I put her there in the middle of am traffic. I’d finished breakfast and rallied the kids upstairs for teeth and face washing, while I cleared off the table. The crab, who’s been sitting on my kitchen counter in the little hermit condo we brought her home in August, was sitting there-her little red finger pointing out of the wire condo at me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I fed her and checked her little sponge for water. I stress the I because it’s the I who’s manages to feed 1, 2, & 3 and the dog and the husband and myself. Yet, here I am with another someone I am resposible to feed in order to keep alive. Of course #2 HAD to have this crab and PROMISED to take care of it. But we all know how that goes. We also all know that as much as we don’t want to care for another being-not caring for it and having to soothe your child’s broken heart when it dies of neglect is just as bad.
So, in the sun it went, with fresh food and water and a quick flick to ensure she was in fact alive, while I ran upstairs to check on the children who’s voices the neighbors could now hear.
After a toothpaste war intervention, and a fight about missing Pokémon cards, I managed to get the heathens downstairs, lunchboxes in hand, water bottles in tow, and ready for our school shuffle. But it was just then, as all three were in the car, and 1 announced he left his homework on the frigerator, that I ran back in and kicked Seany the Crab across the room. I didn’t have time to stop and check on the crab. I didn’t have time to look and see if the cage was upright or overturned, if the crab was in one piece or still in the cage at all. I had to go.
Scrambled, I jumped into the car and dropped 1 & 2 off and then #3. All the while I thought about Seany. If he was dead I was responsible, and if I was responsible I’d have to be honest and tell him about my accident, right? Or could I just claim the right to remain silent.
I skipped the quick office trip, skipped the milk pick up, and skipped the coffee date I’d planned. I ran in the house, patted the jumping dog on the head, and lifted the cage. I tapped on the crab, and waited. No little finger came out. No movement from inside the shell. I reached in and picked it up, brushing my finger against its red fingers. It moved. It wasn’t a huge move-in fact is wasn’t enough of a move to convince me that she still wasn’t dead. I laid her down softly, hoping not to disrupt her any further, and placed her cage safely on the counter where the sun was shining.
For the next few hours I checked on her. When she still didn’t move I swore at her.
“#2 brought you to school and dropped you down the stairs! He let a million kids poke you and hold you. If you didn’t die from that you are definitely not allowed to die on my clock!”
I’d like to say she flinched or showed some sign of life, but she didn’t. She stayed in her shell for 2 days! For 2 days I poked her, talked to her, and sprinkled warm water on her.
On the third day I ran into the kitchen to horrible screams. #2 had taken the crab out of its condo and was playing with it when the dog burst in and snatched it out of his hand.
“SEANY!!,” #2 screamed at the top of his lungs, as he chased the neglected dog.
The dog was well into the game of chase when I entered. I gave him all the commands, but the stupid dog stood there, crab in mouth, tail wagging like mad, waiting for me to make my move.
It took 5 minutes and one bruised shin before I finally caught the dog, rescued the slobbered crab, and comforted tearful #2.
I was afraid to look at the crab when #2 insisted we examine him. I was afraid of a cracked shell, or the streaming green goo that somethung that’s already been dead for a few days. But there it was, it’s long finger poking out of its shell at me.
When #2 touched it, it’s finger flinched back into its shell.
“See,” I assured #2. “I told you she’d be okay. She’s a tough crab like you.”
“Seany is not a girl mom! He’s a boy!”
“Okay 2,” I said, hugging him. “I promise not to call Seany a girl anymore. He’s a boy, just like you.”
2 scooted out to play with his brothers, while I stood beside the hermit’s condo.
“For something so small, you’re really a pain in the ass, you know,” I whispered as I pulled the condo into the stream on sunlight.
One more mouth, one more stressful headache, and one more added story for the nightly dinner table. I wish I was wise enough to end the story with a smart qoute, but let’s face it-I have pets, therefore I’m too tired for anything extra. Afterall, the pets took any of my extra that was left.
