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One shouldn't be too crabby about attending outdoor fairs
By Debbie Farmer
Last weekend I took my children to a local outdoor fair that had live music, craft booths and games. We started in the children's section, where the first booth we saw was decorated with a colorful display of bright starfish and sea horses.
"Look, Mom!" my daughter cried. "If I throw a ball into the bowl I can get a hermit crab!"
A pet might not be a bad thing, I thought; it might teach her about caring, empathy and responsibility. Besides, what were her chances of making it in?
Her first four shots missed and I already had started backing away when she turned and handed the last ball to me.
"Mommy, will you try? Please?"
I nodded. Then I closed my eyes, wound my pitch and threw it as hard as I could--away from the bowls.
"You made it!" my daughter cried, throwing her arms around my neck. "You won a hermit crab!"
My daughter looked into the tank and picked a perky crab that was crawling around on top of the others. Then the attendant put it in the Styrofoam container and handed me a piece of paper.
"These are the instructions for a healthy and happy crab," she said. "Read them carefully."
I folded the directions and stuffed them in my purse. After all, I raised two children--how hard could it be to take care of one tiny crab? When we got home from the fair, I opened the container.
"Why isn't it moving?" my daughter asked.
"Maybe it's asleep." I quickly found the directions and began to read: "Hermit crabs should be kept moist in a terrarium with vented covers." I got back into the car and drove to the local pet store before my daughter's 25-cent crab turned into a year of therapy bills.
I ran through the door and approached the woman at the counter.
"I need help," I cried. "Fast!"
The woman nodded knowingly. "The hermit crab terrariums are in the back."
When I left the store I had so many supplies I could barely carry them. I could've bought 10 crab-leg dinners for the same price. When I got home I prepared the terrarium, then called my daughter to see the crab thrive in its new environment.
"Why isn't it moving?" my daughter asked, peering through the glass.
"Maybe it's hungry." I grabbed the paper off the table and read: "Hermit crabs need a balanced diet of protein and calcium. They especially like organic peanut butter, fresh fruit and cheese."
As I staggered into the kitchen to prepare its meal, I wondered why I always refused to get a nice low-maintenance dog that ate table scrapes and licked the crumbs off the dining room floor.
Twenty minutes later I emerged with peanut butter and banana pâté spread on a hunk of brie cheese. I tossed it into the terrarium. We watched as the crab took a step toward it, took a bite and crawled back into its shell.
"Cool!" my daughter cried.
I picked up the instruction sheet and tried to find the part about hermit crab indigestion, then I saw the fine print along the bottom. I read: "By following these simple care instructions you will keep your hermit crab for many wonderful years of enjoyment." I tried to interpret what they considered to be "many" and I figured this was going to be the most expensive, high-maintenance pet we ever had.
"Look! It moved again!"
"That's nice, honey," I said weakly. Then I crumpled up the paper, staggered to the sofa and vowed that the next time there was an outdoor fair in the neighborhood, my family wasn't leaving the house.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
