Walking with a 3-year old makes you do strange things. Things you would never imagine doing.
Me? Pick up bugs? With my own bare hands? Are you kidding?
Me? Scooping up dead fish that some kids had scaled and whose eyes they popped out and then put back in the lake to rot and gingerly disposing of it in a nearby garbage? Unthinkable!
But, a little boy is enough to make you swallow any sense of utter disgust just for the sake of a squeal of youthful joy. So, I bravely put my hand on the ground. Willing and ready for the fuzzy little thing to crawl aboard. I was game and ready.
Only problem is that it wasn't! It sniffed and decided that mine was not the hand to travel upon. It dared disobey and started to turn it's head. Now I was determined. I delicately lifted it and placed it on my hand. I was ever so proud and the little guy was delighted.
The caterpillar was not delighted. It curled up into a ball that got ever tighter when the miniature man in the stroller reached to feel the little orange hairs standing on edge with alarm. Then it pooed.
My virgin hand now held much more than a relative of Arabella Miller's favorite pet. A little trail of green slime from the petrified creature that I had disturbed on its way to the other side of the street. I wonder if I tried to pick up a chicken if I would end up with an egg for the same reason.
I probably traumatized the poor thing for the rest of its life. Fly little future butterfly. Fly. I'm sorry to have troubled you...
... well, no. Not really. You're a caterpillar and though you might have been terrified we meant you no harm and made a little person's eyes light up with wonder and joy for a few seconds. So, thanks and have a nice life.
I'm just glad people were watering their lawn not too far away and didn't mind my asking to rinse of my hand.
