I take it back

Last month, I was waxing poetic on the subject of triops. It's true that I'll never forget how cute Betsy was when she first spotted the little guys swimming around in their tank. We'd been sure that we wouldn't get any hatchlings and we were all more than a little thrilled that the experiment was actually working. We named the triops after the Penderwick girls: Rosalind, Skye, Jane and Batty.

On Tuesday of this week, I decided that perhaps we should have named them things like Rocko and Lefty, as these are tough little creatures. Aggressive little creatures. When I discovered, a couple of days ago, that we were down to two triops in the tank, my stomach did a flip. Somehow their cannibalism didn't seem quite as bad when they were tiny things ... since we saw no remains, and ... well, you get the picture. But now. Oh. Yuck. I told Atticus that not only did I no longer find them exciting or interesting, but I now actually found them to be repulsive. He suggested that we get the remaining two out of the house before they come after us. I had visions of our whole family bound and gagged while two mini-prehistoric crustaceans emptied our freezer and taunted us with "You're next!"

Next time I'm up for a living science experiment, it's Sea Monkeys. They're smaller. They only have to be fed once a week. They're kind. They don't eat their siblings. That's a rule in this house. Next time, our instant pets will be worthy of their names.