Oh Crab! Petsitting, Resurrection, and Weight Loss

Two years ago, Grandpa Dick gave Connor three hermit crabs for his birthday. There was a teeny-tiny crab that had a shell painted black with a batman logo, a medium sized one painted like a ladybug (Helen picked this one out - it may have been hers), and a larger one painted with Angry Birds on it. He was also given a couple of extra shells in case the hermit crabs grew and needed a new shell. We were very hopeful crab owners. So hopeful, that after about a week, I got an old aquarium out of our basement and dumped a bunch of sand in it. Having the crab live on the rocks that came with it just seemed like a bad idea - plus it sort of freaked me out when I would hear them walking around at night.

Angry Bird, as he was known, died a few months later. He was in the care of a friend, and his friend felt awful. I, however, wasn't too sad. One down...two to go.

Batman died about six months ago, I think, though I'm not exactly sure when.

Ladybug marches on. And these past few weeks with her have been quite exciting.

First, we went on vacation. We left the crab with Connor's friend (not the one who had to deal with the death of Angry Bird, we chose a different victim this time). Connor's friend was super excited to have the crab for two weeks, and we feared he nearly loved that crab right to its death. When Ladybug was returned, she was not looking good. I dropped her in a water dish, thinking maybe she was just a little dry, but when I saw her - I was confident she was dead.

The mom, of course, felt awful. I admit to feeling not awful (except I felt bad that she felt bad). I was free of another pet. It was the end of the weird pet chapter of our lives. Nobody actually cares for the crab except me. I do get a kick out of it when I walk into the room and she drops her shell, as if she's not there. Sneaky... This is the only interaction anyone in our home has with the crab. Ever.

After a few hours of letting Ladybug soak herself, I was ready to pronounce her dead and perform whatever last rites seemed appropriate. Only when I retrieved her from the bowl, she reached out her teeny-tiny claw and gave one last hurrah of a wave. Surprised, I put her back on the sand, covered her house with a blanket (it seemed the respectful thing to do), and told everybody that they were to ignore the crab (as if they need this instruction) to hopefully give a chance for the resurrection to take hold.

And behold! She didn't move much for a few days, but occasionally she moved, and I said a silent cheer for her.

After a few days of this - she simply walked outside her shell. I am obviously not a hermit crab expert, but this did not seem good. She spent most of her time sitting in the water dish, which I feared I would find her floating in some morning. I did not photograph this because I assumed she was getting ready to die, and that just doesn't seem like a good thing to photograph.

And then one morning, she did what none of our crabs did over the past two years (or however long they were with us), she switched shells. Holy cow is this exciting. And, if you think I'm kidding here, it is because you must have a normal pet that actually interacts with you. We were thrilled. Seriously.

Just like that, Ladybug became Baseball.

And that makes sense, as you can see below, because Baseball is bigger than Ladybug. I figured she (actually, the kids now refer to the crab as "he") would live for at least a for more weeks in his new digs. A photograph did not exactly seem urgent.

Only that baseball shell? It is not housing the crab formerly known as Ladybug. Where, you might wonder, has Ladybug / Baseball gone?

To become Batman reincarnated.

At first, I tried to reason with Ladybug / Baseball / Batman. I told him/her that there was no need to pretend like she was of the age that corsets were required. I told her it was OK to wear the bigger shell - it looked good! Everyone liked it on her.

But Batman was all - I've squeezed myself into this thing, I intend to live here a while. And just to make her point that she fit just fine, she dropped a claw. As in, there is a crab claw sitting on the sand right now, that is no longer attached to the crab body.

I have to hand it to Ladybug / Baseball / Batman - that's a lot of sacrifice to wear that cute shell. Having lost some weight last year, I do admire the way she has literally sunk her whole self into her weight loss goals. I have run many miles, but I have never even considered just chopping a leg off.

Elaine

Sometimes you win...sometimes you lose

A few years ago, Ed's mom gave Connor a coupon to redeem for a transparent tadpole. We were supposed to mail the coupon in and watch the tadpole grow into a frog. We were supposed to view its organs as it grew. Creepy? Yes. But also awesomely cool.

Connor also received "Frog Planet" that same year. I can't remember who gave him this (Linda?), but in any case, we sent away for the tadpoles for that setup first.

Frog Planet was ridiculously disappointing. Our tadpole was weirdly large, and that thing lived for a LONG time - maybe even a year, definitely more than six months. It NEVER turned into a frog. A woman at our local nature center was giving a talk on tadpoles and insinuated the things turn into frogs rather quickly. We asked about ours and her first answer was "are you sure it's not a fish". Well, no, I wasn't sure. Eventually, she decided it was probably a bullfrog, because that was the only thing hearty enough to ship in the winter. By the end of the tadpole's life, it looked like it was trying to grow some legs - but it died before it got to enjoy full frogness. Totally. Disappointing.

That was five years ago.

I never bothered sending away for the transparent tadpole, perhaps because of the great disappointment of the first tadpole experiment. Perhaps because I end up taking care of all the things that live in this house, and I'm not interested in any more care taking responsibility. Perhaps I was just too lazy to mail the card in.

Connor found the transparent tadpole container a few weeks ago and Ed and the kids excitedly sent away for the tadpole. It came! Only the folks sending the tadpole had written the wrong address on the label, and how it eventually came to us is a bit of a mystery. By the time we opened it, things did not look good for the tadpole that would be named "Bob".

"Bob" lasted fewer than five hours outside his shipping container.

Sorry, Bob. Ed has sent away for your next of kin. Hopefully they have a little better go of it than you did. The kids, at least, are very excited to watch that thing turn into a frog. I'm skeptical that will actually happen.

Elaine

The Guinea Pigs Move On

A year and a half ago, Connor and Helen gave me guinea pigs for my birthday. They named them "Sparkle" and "Pussy" but thankfully, Pussy's name changed to Ella. Despite their initial enthusiasm for a pet, the excitement quickly faded, and probably for the last year, they've been a maintenance issue that offers no actual up-side.

Connor and Helen only notice the guinea pigs when they have a friend over, and then all the kids will play with the guinea pigs for about fifteen minutes before moving onto the next thing. Ed did the lion's share of pig maintenance (a condition of my approval in the first place), but I was regularly annoyed by bedding that escaped their house, or the smell that lingered at the top of the stairs when it was time to change the bedding.

Finally, I decided we were done with the guinea pigs. I told Connor and Helen I was getting rid of the guinea pigs, and Connor did feign sadness for a few minutes. This was easily appeased by agreeing to a fish, instead. Hopefully he'll forget about this, but even if he doesn't, I'd rather a tiny fish that will likely die within a couple of years than a guinea pig. Connor's main argument for why he ignored them most of the time was because he didn't have time. I agreed. We do not have enough time to play with the guinea pigs. He was right.

I advertised the pigs on a list I'm on, and there were no takers. Then I begged my friends to take them, and even one who adores guinea pigs refused.

I was starting to lose hope, so my friend and I started a campaign to convince another friend to take them. She did not fall for our clever claims of homework help and potty training assistance.

And then I advertised on another parenting list and 3 people wanted my pigs. THREE! Oh, how to choose the best home? I chose the one where there was an adult interested in having them. I figured that would make the maintenance tasks less tedious. Also, this family had a 5 year old kid, which Connor and Helen found appealing.

On their last night in our home, we played with the guinea pigs and took photographs. Connor and Helen were interested in them for about 20 minutes. I haven't heard a word about them since then.

Farewell, guinea pigs.

Elaine

Dogsitting

Connor and Helen would love a dog. Occasionally, I start to think maybe my home needs a dog. Then, I remind myself that dogs shed, need nearly as much attention as a child, and jump on the counters to snatch food. I, most definitely, do not need a dog.

My sister, who adores dogs, once found herself at her home, completely exhausted from dealing with two very young children. She decided to treat herself to a steak dinner after she had settled the two children into bed. Unfortunately for her, her basset hound decided it was more deserving of the dinner than she was, and the basset was also quicker. This pretty much sums up dogs for me.

But…just in case I was wrong about myself not wanting a dog, I decided to answer an ad looking for a dogsitter for an old, blind dog. This dog seemed perfect for my family since she would no doubt, not be a high energy, high demand dog. The dog came to live with us about three weeks ago. My babysitter was completely thrilled at the opportunity. She told me that she had once investigated getting a puppy but since it would be very difficult for her to take that puppy back to Sweden with her when she moved back home, she decided not to get it. I almost had a heart attack right there, and all I could think of was “do you not actually know me?” because I’m pretty sure I would never allow a dog to live in my home.

After the dog’s arrival, she spent a couple of days sitting on our screened in porch in the scorching heat. I think she was waiting for her family to come back for her. Then, she gave in and decided she was stuck with us, so she spent the next several days trying to figure out where to sleep. If the kids slept upstairs, she slept upstairs with our babysitter. If the kids slept in the basement (which they did first, because they thought it would be fun and later, because we had no power for 30 hours and their second floor bedroom was just not an option), she slept outside the basement door (when there was no power), or outside my door (when there was power). She refused to go upstairs with the babysitter until Ed and I were home for the evening, which is a pretty nice trait.

In her short time with us, the dog scored one extra breakfast (Helen’s French toast) and helped herself to a few verboten licks of dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She also spread tuna pasta sauce on the playroom rug when Ed left our swim bag there as he went to brush the kids’ teeth. Ed was mad at the dog. I was mad at Ed.

And, while I’m glad we had the opportunity to take care of a dog, I also reaffirmed for myself that I’m not a dog person. The kids had great fun with the dog. The babysitter enjoyed the dog a lot. I don’t think Ed had an opinion on the dog except he was mad about the mess of the pasta sauce and having to remake Helen’s breakfast.

For the record, a dog can eat a piece of French toast in two bites. I hope my sister’s dog savored her treat a few bites longer than that.

Elaine