Millipedia Manyleggeda

You may have heard them, they were squealing for the fun of squealing; EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.  It really depends on context, each of these children had seen bugs before; hell, most of them have seen rats, loose dogs, and crazy adults.  How is a bug, a relatively small creature, able to pull out screams not echoed between walls since I brought home that lab mouse?  Maybe it's a territorial instinct; I don't think millipedes have ears, thank goodness.

The science kit offered by the Board of Ed had a coupon for moss, water plants, insects (said the label, but wait...), and guppies.  I was the only teacher who ordered them for the kids, heck, what can happen with bugs and guppies?  The kit was to demonstrate the interdependence between species and kingdoms; water plants give off oxygen for the fish, the fish and snail excretions feed the plants.  The Circle of Life, in Room 219.  I'm not sure what circle the millipedes were to exhibit, they are nocturnal and have mostly stayed bunched up under the moss.  We also received a packet of Armadillidium vulgare, or what I called potato bugs when I was little.  Roly Polies.  The little grey bugs that roll into balls when disturbed.  You've held them, or should have.

I put the box covered with Warning!  Live Animals! stamps on a desk in front of everyone, and opened each box with ceremony and a short science lecture.  Say Arma. Dilli. Dium.  Very good.  Now try "Armadillidium."  Yes, ha ha that's fun to say, isn't it?  Okay.  Okay.  OKAYYYY.  STOP.  They were deposited in the terrarium and one of the kids was assigned to walk around with the small plastic case so each kid could get a look at something they've seen almost everyday during the summer.  This is when the squealing began if the bugs moved, which they did.

Well, okay, they'll be talking about this at home, telling their families what they saw today; let's open the millipedes next.  A white paper canister was loaded with damp sphagnum moss, and even I had a jolt when I lifted it and saw the size of these things.  Up to four inches long. Four, with anywhere from 80 to 150 pairs of legs.  They were curled up like cinnamon buns, just like the little millipedes that I was sort of expecting.  Hokay.  Segments, antennae, legs, blah blah, as I held one of the cinnamon buns in my palm.  It reacted to the warmth of my hand and without a drop of shyness, uncurled and started waggling its antennae, then took off on a trip up my arm.

It was fascinating to watch, and I believe my kids think I'm a physicist now that a bug has crawled up my arm.  It tried to go up my sleeve at which point I picked it up and put it back into my palm.  They don't move quickly, but this bug was determined.  It was a female, which is determined by the legs; females have an unbroken line of legs, the males have seven up front and then a gap before the rest of the legs are aligned.  They are rather graceful in a rippling gait, their little jointed feet moving like waves, with the antennae gently tapping and testing.  I have to say, I like them.

But they aren't bugs; they are arthropods, related to spiders, crabs, and barnacles.  This surprised me, for they sure look like bugs, but I have never read up on zoology, so the division of subphylums is a mystery.  They eat rotting fruits and vegetables or conveniently, a sprinkle of fish food; there is a tiny saucer of water that they can't drown in, and since one got out the other night and the maintenance engineer flushed it, the plastic container is inside a giant ziploc with holes poked.

The potato bugs need nothing but a spray of water to keep the environment moist, they'll be satisfied with the detritus from the leaf mulch that came with the pack.  Now, we tend to think these things are bugs also, but they aren't; let me tell you that if the cats began to bark, it would be as logical.  These little dudes are crustaceans, one of the few terrestrial species on the planet, cousins to lobsters, crabs, and shrimp.  To me, that is fancy.  They breathe through gills.

We did the snails without a lot of fanfare, I'll get some of my seashells out for comparison and wait till they wake up.  Then we got to the big event of the afternoon, the fish.  Good thing I had prepped the three gallon aquarium the day before, for the kit came with gallon tubs that had to be returned after we humanely disposed of the fish.  Plastic, they were plastic for heaven's sake; I get more in Chinese take-out, and the supplier wanted them back?  What, they cost more than 27¢?  And just how do you humanely dispose of guppies?  Flushing isn't it.

Anyways, as I lifted the plastic bag, there was quite a bit of thrashing.  These guppies were big, and there were nine males and nine females.  No one at the supply house had read of the two or three females for one male ratio in Guppyville, so if I don't split them apart, we will have very stressed fish, 18 in a small tank that are producing fry like bunnies.  I could have 100 fish in a month.  Some will have to come home to my tank here, but I have a feeling the angelfish will be a little too happy for the step up in its diet.  So this means I should get water plants for my own aquarium which means I'll probably have snails hitchhiking on the plants, which means a gabillion snails.  This circle of life has rippled out to my home address already.

There are nose prints on the outside of the glass tank, the kids are fascinated, and that is my reward.  I don't care what they learn about the critters, as long as they see them and know that you treat animals kindly, that's all I ask at six years old.  And what are the potato bugs called, I asked.  "Daffadillies."  That they got that far was amazing, it shows they were paying attention and gave it the old college try, belying curiosity and a pride in being the only classroom with pets.

I've been thinking of a snake for years, but would have to bring it home with me during the summer, and frankly, a growing snake should have room to slither about.  I don't mind feeding it a thawed dead mouse once every few weeks, just that wiggling the dead mouse to make it seem alive, well, I couldn't do it with a straight face.  I'd be making it talk like Mickey, and since I can't stand Mickey Mouse (I liked Donald Duck, who seemed more true to life, at least in my childhood), it would be dramatic and full of false hope.

Mickey:  "Help, help me, pleeeease."
Me, Wiggling the Dead Mouse By the Leg: "Oh Mickey, hang on, I'll save you!"
Mickey: "Oh thank you, thank you, I will never forget this. The Mouseketeers will throw a big party,
               and sure, you can bring your friends, too!"
Snake:
Me, WDMBL: "Aw, gee, Mickey!  That's great!  Come on, buddy, give me your hand.  Say, you think
                          you could get us a few bottles of Taittinger's, you know, to celebrate?"
Mickey: "Uh, I don't think Walt would like that..."
Me, WDMBL:  "Gee, Mick.  Too bad.  See ya."
Snake:
Mickey:
Me: "And I don't even care for Taittinger's."

The End, by Susan Coburn

The winds are blowing in a change of weather; tomorrow the temperatures are to remind us of gloves and mufflers, and to stick a snow shovel in the car.  Sleep comes easier under thicker blankets, and pillows are deeper; the world itself has gone into a dream, a somnambulant stage of stasis where millipedes and tiny terrestrial crustaceans have dug in and entered hibernation.  The birds have gone south but for the hardy red cardinals, the starlings, sparrows, and juncos.  Wild ones are in nests and caves, sleeping, metabolism slowed just enough to prevent freezing.  Take care of them, take care of yourself, sleep well; go down into the depths of cyclical sleep, rise and fall, ebb and flow.  The tides of night.  Let them come.