I have been reminiscing lately.
When I was in fourth grade me and my friend loved catching grasshoppers. We fancied ourselves highly efficient grasshopper hunters, and decided there was no grasshopper that we couldn't catch. There was a big field near my home, and we would spend hours in the field catching grasshoppers, their speed no match for our catlike albeit childlike reflexes. We had stealth, we had skill, we the patience of a predator only the T-Rex hunter from The Lost World could rival.
My friend and I worked as a single unit. Armed with two mason jars pilfered from my mom's food storage we would catch a grasshopper between two cupped hands and the other would deftly open the jar without letting the currently captive grasshoppers out and the new prisoner would be introduced into the jar. We would retire to the front yard where we would examine our catch, pride ourselves on our skill and consider offering our services to grasshopper-hating neighbors for a nominal fee.
The next day we saw him. Instantly he was dubbed King Grasshopper. He no doubt consumed the same green ooze that made Teenage Turtles of the Mutant variety. He was easily 4-5 inches long, and his eyes were so big I could stare straight into his soul as he psychically posed the question as to why we were imprisoning his subjects. He just sat there and stared at us unafraid. He knew he was in no danger of us, and I felt like he could see our souls as well. King Grasshopper was not happy with what he saw.
We were terrified.
We ran back to the safety of the front yard and returned our attention to the mason jars with new insight. The jars were three quarters full of pure grasshopper, all crammed in there in one unforgiving mess. We could see stray severed legs here and there and a significant amount of grasshopper poo. The living conditions were horrific, at best. We knew what we had to do. We unscrewed the lids and released a tidal wave of grasshoppers, intent on revenge. An army of poo covered grasshoppers came after us, and ever since then I've had a higher respect for all of God's creatures. Not to mention a healthy fear of King Grasshopper, and now the sight of grasshoppers gives me the willies.
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3 comments:
LOL Good post! I hate spiders. I trapped one in a coke bottle once and set him in the middle of my floor. I wanted all his little friends to see him struggling in the old coke goo. I was hoping this would scare them away fearing I might catch them too.
Ah, the good old days! As I recall, we employed the use of Diet Coke bottles in our quest to unfairly imprison grasshoppers, as well as empty jars. We weren't intentionally cruel, though. We did put some grass in there!
Too Funny BriAnn! I wish I would have hired you to catch all of our grasshoppers.
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