I swept up the sand that had been ground into the carpet in the guest bedroom and swept up the sand in the dining room, following with a nice wet mop to remove any dust, and tossed the once revered crab home onto the pile of stuff that was going to be going to the local second hand shop. I posted something about the crazy crab happenings on Facebook and had to laugh a little that I really wasn't upset that the crabs had disappeared. My attention now was on their suspected killer, Buster, that he was going to be okay.
Twice a day I would let the pups outside and twice a day I watched for Buster to assume the all too obvious landing position that dogs take when they're about to do a poo. Nothing happened for 2 days. I was scared. It was time to take action I thought-- the next day I was going to have to call our local vet and explain the saga to him-- ugh.
Then, on the 3rd day it was like the poo gods had spoken and I saw Buster crouch. Poo Christmas! The Puggle meandered around a bit-- delivering some here and there, kicked his back feet and was finished. I happily went out to inspect the gift he had left in my lawn. I know, really?! I grabbed a fallen stick from the giant maple tree and approached the leavings. What the heck? I didn't see any crab shell remnants. No claws, no shell, nothing but sand and the original water sponge that had been in the crabitat. Hmm, I thought, surely they weren't stuck in the dog were they?!
No matter, Buster's poo workings were working and that was a good thing for now. I'd just have to wait a bit longer I thought. I left the dogs outside that afternoon since it was a cooler than normal day for July and started to clean around my house-- trying to get some sort of order back from all that had transpired a few days prior.
As a sympathy gift, the young friend who had originally won the crabs with me at the fair, just happened to play the crab game again and ended up with a tiny crab which he brought to my house in its own little container in the days following the crab catastrophe. I was less than enthused, but I set up the little home and just figured that I could make do with a tiny crab and would work on getting better digs later.
I don't have a mud room per see in my house, so a corner of the kitchen near the back door holds my jackets and gardening/yard shoes. I was straightening these shoes on the small rack when I saw a glimpse of a familiar item. A SHELL! Omigosh! A shell! I pulled the shell from the dusty, fur bunny corner and recognized it immediately as Steve's shell. The Puggle hadn't eaten Steve!
My thoughts then turned to the idea that the poor crab had dried up trying to get away and I hadn't found him in time. Everything I had read about crab care had said that if the crabs aren't misted daily and provided food they die quickly. I flipped the shell over to look at what was left of the little crustacean, continuously cooing "so sorry Steve." Amid random cat and dog hairs I noticed the crab's large purple claw tucked deep within the shell. "Poor guy," I said as I tapped the claw.
The action of what happened next was nothing short of a crabby miracle. THE CLAW MOVED! Wait, what?! Yes, that was correct-- THE CLAW MOVED! STEVE WAS ALIVE!!!
I quickly removed the random hairs from the shell's opening and ran to grab the small crab container, which housed the sympathy crab I had received a day or so before. I had to get Steve to food and water and fast!
YAY STEVE! I kept repeating as I placed him in the small container with the other tiny crab.
Once Steve felt the sand beneath his shell and noticed the moisture within the container, he stretched out of his covering and eagerly began to drink. He would reach out with his smaller legs, dab at the water droplets on the side of the container and move it towards his mouth. He was still creepy to me, but for some reason in his weakened state I felt what could only be described as sympathy for the poor fellow. Steve was alive!
Newly found Steve
I took pictures of the newly found crab, rejoicing that he had survived over a week with no food or water and posted them on Facebook-- touting that it was a "Crabby Miracle!"
Amid my rejoicing, my thoughts then turned to the other crustacean that had disappeared that fateful evening. If Steve was alive, why couldn't it be possible that George was still somewhere to be found?
I resumed my search for the missing crab with a new fervor. I rechecked under the beds, in corners, under the refrigerator, behind doors-- no George. I then checked one place that I hadn't before.
As I've said before, I live in a late 1880's Victorian bungalow. These old homes have air intakes in the floor that are quite large and have openings in the grates that are at least 1/4 inch wide and hardly navigated by something so small as a crab without falling to the depths below.
I got on my knees and peered under a bookshelf that sits atop one of these air intakes. It was Crabby Christmas! I noticed a shell amid dust, pet hair and just grossness. "GEORGE!" I exclaimed as I reached back and plucked the shell from its hidden corner. "Are you alive too?" I said as I flipped over the shell, noticed the same type of claw, tapped it and saw movement as well. OMIGOSH! I had scored big! Both crabs had survived a dog attack, no food and no water for a week!
I placed George within the same small container and saw the now familiar movement as I had with his other crabby friend. He would stretch, reach out and drink hungrily.
Newly found George
Ahh, I had the crabs secured, fed, watered and in a tiny container! Now what?!
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