Herman wasn't a very interesting fellow, as you already know. For most of the several weeks that he lived in the guest room, he stayed hunched into his shell, sucked up so tight I had no idea what he looked like. Only at night was there any sign of life in the Crab Shack, during which time he dug around in the superfine sand, sometimes burying himself completely, other times mounding it up like a volcano. He also liked to push his food dish to the opposite side of the shack. He crashed around in there enough to keep me awake many nights, but I never was able to catch him in action. If he detected I was near, he disappeared into his shell. In the early days, he liked to climb the mesh wall and hang on at the top for hours at a time.
Less than a week ago, I noticed he was unusually quiet, even for him. That's when the lady at the pet store told me to put him into a little bit of water each night. Surprisingly enough, the first morning after using this technique I found him outside of his shell and less intimidated - I got to see his claws and legs at least. A few nights of this water treatment made Hermann act almost drunk. I wondered about that.
And then yesterday morning he was dead. Just like that. He was hanging out of his shell like starched laundry. I was saddened, of course. I have put a great deal of effort into the happiness and well-being of Herman the Hermit Crab.
Last night, we took our boat out on the Columbia River. I asked for everyone to be quiet while I said a few words. Most of our passengers didn't pay much attention to me, but I did notice their voices were slightly hushed. I held Herman up by his shell, legs and claws dangling for all the world to see, in case anybody wanted to. Even his little red eyes were visible. "You were a good crab, Herman," I said. "Well, actually you weren't that great." And with that, I tossed Herman into the river. He sank immediately.
I was suddenly made aware that people WERE paying attention to all this falderal. Everyone on board has recently learned that absolutely nothing is to be thrown from a boat, not even potato chip crumbs. There was a unanimous chorus of "Oh, No! You are going to get a big fine for that!" Doug summed it up when he muttered, "Great. I'm going to end up paying $2,000.00 for the funeral of a hermit crab."
I like to think the current will carry Hermann's shell to the Pacific Ocean. And you never know, one day another little crab may take up lodging in that very fine abode.
No comments:
Post a Comment