Mad as a Crawdad

Monday, June 30, 2014

So a few days ago my Husband, Mike, went on an all day canoeing trek with a couple of friends. When he came back home he was not alone. 

He brought home four crayfish from the river, to put in our sons' fish tank. I realize that when I was a young girl I used to pull them out of the creek with my brother and sisters, but now they freak me out. I have no desire to have four creepy crawly creatures that look like pure evil and move in unpredictable ways.

But, the crayfish were a hit with the boys (for a whole day). So I tried not to balk. 

A day or two later Mike startles me awake at 6:30am. "One of the chickens is bleeding," He tells me. If there is one thing people warn you about chickens, it's that if one is bleeding you must seperate it from the others. Chickens have a natural tendency to be canabalistic when one of their own is wounded, and they will very quickly kill the wounded chicken. 

So I jump out of bed, throw on some gloves (bloody chicken? eeww!), and hurry to the poor hen's aid. After separating her from the flock, I head back inside to research what to do next and get ready for the rest of the day. By this time, Mike has left for work and I begin to make my way down the hallway when I saw it.

A horrible, repulsive, nasty, spawn-of-satan looking crayfish staring at me with its evil, beady eyes like its going to jump and attack me . Until then, I had no idea that I had the ability to scream without even opening my mouth. I had froze up, clinched my teeth, and clasped my hands over my mouth. OH! And the way they move! I can't stand that creepy back and forth movement that is intensified by its many appendages. I can still hear its nasty little legs tapping on the wood floor. UGH! Moving back and forth, side to side. It was calculating how to take me down. I could tell. 

I muster up the courage to sprint down the hall past it (screaming a little with each step). "He can't be far," I think. "He just left,'' I tell myself while reaching for the phone. I call Mike.
"Hey Babe!"
"Mike!!! Oh you gotta turn around now!! Come home, come home, come home!"
''Slow down Stef, and stop screaming at me, I can't tell what you are saying."
"The crawdad GOT OUT, come. home!"
"It got out?"
" I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T CARE! Are you coming home?"
"For a crawdad? No. Just pick it up."
"AAAHHHHH! You did not just say that, don't say that!! It gives me chill bumps just thinking about it. Seriously, you better come home."
"Stef. Put on your big girl panties, and just pick it up."
"Say that again and you won't be seeing my big girl panties!!!"

It was obvious I would be getting no help from him, so I called in reinforcements. One of the many perks of being a boy mom. The problem was I now had to run past that thing again to get to the boys' room. So I took a deep breathe, shivered with chills, and ran past it as fast as I could. Poor Bode, was sound asleep even thru all of my screaming, shrills, and shouting. I tap him on the shoulder, and with my best effort calmly told him that the crawdad  had gotten out and Mom needed his help. My sweet little hero jumped into action, "Sure thing Mom! You just tell me where it is!"

That's my boy!! 

So I showed him where the vicious, Mom-eating, creepy crawly crawdad was and said, "Michael, we no longer will be keeping that thing, so please just take it out of the house and get rid of it!" "Sure Mom," he says, "since it scared you." 

Again, that's my boy!! 

So Michael bravely and swiftly picks up and disposes of the creature. We call his Dad so he can brag about how he saved Mom from her near death-by-a-crayfish experience.

Then we go to the tank to make sure the others are all there. 
Guess what? 

They're not.

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