Odd Pets—It's in The Genes

When I was a child we were taught to be kind to all animals, excluding pesky flies, deadly scorpions, and spooky spiders. Even those were to be dispatched quickly and with as little pain as possible. were spared at all costs, and wasps avoided.

But, none of them were pets. Our pets, my parents insisted, were to be in the realm of “the standard;” that is, cats and dogs. My siblings abided by this rule, but I did not. And, as always, my grandmother, Momo, sided with me.

I always kept my eyes open for what I called “,” and kept shoeboxes prepared for “garter snakes” and snapping turtles. I didn’t want to keep them, I just wanted to study them for half a day. Because they were not allowed indoors, Momo taught me how to treat this parade of creatures, by showing me the shadiest places in the yard, and making sure I always had water for them to drink, essential in the brutal Phoenix summers. Most of all, she taught me to let them go after a short time, gently explaining that shoeboxes weren’t permanent homes.

So, when our 6-year-old granddaughter Katie told me a month ago that she had decided to make pets of some backyard snails, I wasn’t surprised, and I prepared an old plastic shoebox into whose top I had punched several air holes.

The next time she came to our house she grabbed me when she was 6 inches inside the front door. “Grammy, do you have any snails I can have?”

"I thought you might want to look," I said, "So I'm ready for you!"

Without a word, she and Sarah grabbed the box and bolted out the patio door.

In less than 10 minutes they found 26 snails, and carefully placed each on a bed of leaves and grass inside the box. We looked at each one and compared sizes, speed, and speculated about gender. And Grammy! Did you know a snail can live 20 years! And I can pick them up if I’m responsible about washing my hands! I even brought one in the car!

Mothers aren’t so fond of these childhood forays, because they have to clean up after them. But I smiled, willing to do my part, and knowing, as my grandmother surely did, that this too shall pass. And so it has.

Last week Katie told me she let all her snails go, and I confessed I had done the same. Now she wants an ant farm.

Her birthday’s in October.