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Show PAGE 14 THEZEPHYRSEPTEMBER 1990 the story of Mr. Scorp by Kris Chick were shaking the floor boards. Just about the time the dancing brought our poor foundatlonless house up to about a 6.0 on the Richter scale, a friend emerged from my bedroom and said, "Guess what I Just found In your closet? Putting aside the first disturbing question that came to mind, (what was my friend In my closet?) I took a peek Into the coffee mug she was holding. doing I that lasted approximately one week. Instantly got a case of the heebie-jeebi- es A 5 Inch long Desert Hairy Scorpion had Just crawled out of my shoes and was running around In little circles In the bottom of my favorite 32 oz. coffee mug (a quart of the stuff Is usually about what It takes to get me to start forming sentences In the morning). This raised several Interesting questions: 1) Would I ever drink coffee from that mug again? 2) How many eggs did It lay In my Converse 3) Would I ever get over the feeling that something was crawling on me? 4) What should we do with the thing??? The first three questions still remain unanswered. To the fourth question, we saw several possible options. Option 1 : Squishing. Somehow this Idea did not sit quite right, probably because a 5 Inch scorpion actually strikes you at first as something that might be quite Juicy and unpleasant to squish. One friend reported that they squished nicely In his garbage disposal when he had a similar experience, but we don't have a garbage disposal. Option 2: Death by flushing. Such a watery death seemed an unfitting end to a mobile desert creature. Besides, we didnt want to risk having the toilet overflow, surfing the scorpion (Hang 8!) back Into our lives. Option 3: Setting the little guy free. Not within 10 miles of my closet you dont! It was.,? rocking house party, and we All-Sta- rs? And we were still trying to host a rocking house party. Option 4: Chill out This Is what we decided to do. We put the mug In the refrigerator and simulated a winter for our poisonous little party crasher. The next morning I was reaching for the o.J. and ylkesl The sight of the makeshift scorpion tank shook me out of my once again blissful Ignorance of the existence of 5 Inch arachnids In my home. We removed the mug from the fridge and set It on the counter. The scorpion was dead. We shook the mug, poked him with a pencil: no reaction. We put a lid on the mug and forgot about It for a couple of days. "He's alive, said Ace. Just for grins, she had been shaking the mug, and Rip Van Scorpion woke from his deep chilly slumber. It had taken him a couple of days to thaw, but there he was, once again the picture of scorpion health, running around In little circles In the bottom of my favorite 32 oz. coffee mug. We were back to square one, and squishing still was not appealing. I thought of a brand new option. Floyd, my beloved goldfish, had been gone a couple of years (after having met the White Paw of Death, my roommate's cat), and I was sufficiently recovered from the loss to get his bowl out of storage. A little sand, a few rocks, and vollal We had created a scorpion home. He was somewhat more happy In the bowl than In the mug, If you can gauge scorpion happiness by a lack of constantly frantically trying to escape from present surroundings. Now, when youre In a profession that takes you out of town from one to eight days a week, you dont feel quite right about getting a pet like a puppy. The poor thing would get lonely and starve and tear up the house. Perhaps this explains why we began to get affectionate about the scorpion we have a lot of pent-u- p pet nurturing. We named It very Mr. Scorp. For all we know, he could have been a creatively female, but the book How To Sex A Scorpion was checked out when we went to the library. So Mr. Scorp stayed. He was probably the best-fe- d scorpion In the neighborhood. Although we are Impeccable housekeepers, we get an occasional roach, cricket or spider sneaking In when we arent watching. So each day we would catch Mr. Scorp a veritable smorgasbord of Invertebrates. He seemed to prefer spiders, and sometimes Just snacked on a few legs at a time to tide him over until mealtime. One time It took him almost all night The roachs It stayed alive until It was antennae kept moving throughout most of the ordeal, too nothing but a roach head. Soon Mr. Scorp began to get spoiled, and would complain, "You call this roach medium rare? and "This cricket could use some more garlic, and "You should know by now that I like my spiders served with red, not white wine. Although he was getting fat he still was not happy. We sometimes saw him try for extended periods to climb the steep glass walls of his scorpion prison. Once I came home and caught him on the phone with a travel agent making plans to go to Baja, although he denied It later. Last night we decided that It was time for scorpion emancipation. We loaded up the bowl and drove out Into the desert We tipped the bowl and let Mr. Scorp crawl to glorious freedom. I had envisioned him crawling off Into the distance, and watching him disappear In the moonlight but he unceremoniously crawled under the nearest rock. Well, Its his freedom and he can do whatever he wants with It We toasted Mr. Scorpion and stood for a moment looking up at Scorpio In the west Heres to Mr. Scorp we learned many things from you. I miss my pet today. The bowl seems big and empty. And there's a cockroach In bathtub thats making me my Just exactly how desperate for a pet I am. re-ass- ess would not be a complete trip to Moab without a visit to Rim Cyclery, name of the mountain bike guru of Utah, Bill Groff. Whatever you want to know about mountain biking... this is the place to go and the man to see. Looking like a cross between Santa Claus and Bigfoot, Bills humor and expertise make his shop, already a class act, worth going to. It The Salt Lake Tribune Moabs Complete Outdoor Store 94 W. 1st No. 259-533Ci'm"",11 i 'ifjir.r.fiijs ra Jv 3 |
