Lazarus

We have hermit crabs.  Four of them to be exact.  We'd much rather have a chocolate lab, I think, but thanks to my allergies to all things with fur or feathers, hermit crabs it is.

Hermit crabs have gotten much more expensive since I was a kid.  Used to be, you'd buy a crab on the boardwalk down the shore, stick it in a wire cage, and he'd live about a week -- two, if you were lucky and remembered to feed him.

Today, hermit crabs (ours, anyway) live in tricked-out habitats with a mix of coconut soil and sand, a gauge for humidity and one for temperature, and a thermostat and heat lamps to keep things at a cozy 80 degrees.  They require two types of water: salt water and dechlorinated water.  And their diet has changed, too -- no longer satisfied with those little brown pellet things, hermit crabs these days dine on a range of foods, from coconut to fresh fruits, from popcorn (yes, really!) to peanut butter.

So yesterday, as my eldest was spraying down the habitat to boost humidity, she called to me that it smelled like someone had died.  Sure enough, as I dug around to see if I could locate our four little friends, I found (gulp!) body parts -- enough to make one crab.  The kids were grossed out and ran to Daddy.  I was pretty grossed out, too, but kept digging. 

I found four live crabs and was perplexed.  This was brand-new soil that we just put in last week, so where did these body parts come from?

My husband, a Jersey shore boy, is very wise (sometimes).  He told me that all crabs shed body parts when they grow.  Really?  I figured they grew, just like our kids, in the same skin and just moved into a new house.

Sure enough, one of the crabs, "Sam" (or "Samuel" when he's feeling formal) sported a new, pink pincher that formerly was purple.

Guess we learn something every day.