Shortly after publishing yesterday's post, I heard the rustling again. MUCH CLOSER. In fact, it was about a foot from my feet. I called for The Pony. "I see it, Mom! I see what it is. It is coming toward you." All I had to say to that was "EEEEEEEEE!" The Pony was calm. He was an explorer discovering a new basement species. "It's one of those millipedes." YUCK! We had one of them before, you know, discovered by the boys when we got home from school one day. Here's the original post, from my Redneck Review blog, back when The Pony was only 6, and #1 was 10 years old. Just a side trip down memory lane, with pictures by #1.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Where is your soda? (Gotta get all the food groups, you know.)
I couldn't get one loose from the ring thing. Oh, and there is a giant
worm down there.
A big worm. It is by the TV.
#1! Go get your brother a soda. You were supposed to take them
loose from the plastic, so now you have to get it for him.
This got no argument from #1 son. Verrrrry unusual. No doubt, he
wanted to see the worm. He ran down and got the soda.
Hey! There's no giant worm down here!
Yes there is. Look on the rug by the TV.
Is it like a fishing worm?
No. It is shiny.
Does it have legs?
I don't know.
Is it slimy?
No, just shiny. It is crawling.
He came running up the steps, squealing like a little girl. Then he
grabbed his camera and took off back to the basement. Nerd.
He snapped a pic and brought it to me, because I refused to go
down there or even look.
I called my Hillbilly Husband, who had just left work for the 40
minute drive home. He would know what to do.
Is it a snake?
Is it moving? You better watch it or it'll get away.
No way was I watching that thing for 40 minutes. I got a glass
sun-tea jug. #1 said, "That won't fit."
I got a glass soup bowl.
Can't you get a plastic one?
Yeah. If you want it to get away!
Get the glass one!
It's a good thing you didn't step on it. Then you would get the heart
and the colon and the organs all over your foot.
#1 took the bowl and trapped the worm. Then he said it was moving. Nobody would go back downstairs. We could see the bowl through the stairwell. HH got home and his buddy, Buddy, called. "Get off the freakin' phone! You can call him back!"
HH picked up the worm with his bare hands. That's what he is good for. Buggy things and cleaning up vomit. He held it in his palm. "It's just a rolie-polie bug." MY A$$! It was a rolie-polie bug four inches long, curled up like one of those big colorful lollipops on a wooden stick. Only he was battleship gray. And probably not so tasty.
HH waltzed him around the kitchen, near my food, and then took
him out to the porch to set him free. What's this world coming to?
Climb into the handbaskets, people, for the long slow ride to HELL.
Can we not even kill a BUG anymore?
Here he is in all his glory, crawling across our 2 x 6 porch
boards. So he can come back in, I guess.
I know it is a millipede. This is as good as any textbook photo.
Props to my 10-year-old photographer. So I know it's not a
bug, it's an arthropod. I used to teach science for cryin'
out loud! These things are creepy. I do not want them in
my house. There is a mysterious case of the open basement
door that I have yet to investigate. I will keep you posted.
The latest millipede was not so imposing, though he was nearly as long as this one, only not so fat. He marched relentlessly toward me on his theoretical thousand legs. I screamed to The Pony to do something about it. "I'm not touching him." I grabbed a bendy straw and an empty Sun Chips bag. Those bags are made of foil-like stuff. "Here. Take this. And this. Scoop him in!" The Pony was up to the challenge. He imprisoned that impertinent arthropod before it strode across my toes. I grabbed that bag and folded the top and stapled it with my free two-inch mini-stapler from the teacher's pack at Office Max a couple years ago. Mission accomplished. We're a couple of MacGyvers, The Pony and I. And not like they portray him as MacGruber on SNL or the Pepsi commercial.
The Rustler will be going on a long trip tomorrow, courtesy of Waste Management. Let's hope he's not one of those freakish pets that find their way home, no matter how long or how many miles it takes.