A PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSION WITH A HERMIT CRAB REGARDING DEATH

Old Bob, my remaining hermit crab, pet of 13 years, peers out from his new shell which used to belong to Young Bob, now dead, who was Old Bob’s terrarium-mate for the past 10 years.  That’s Old Bob’s old shell pictured.  One way I could tell them apart because Young Bob spelled his name backwards.

  

  Bob the hermit crab died the other day.

  I don’t know what day he died.  The only way I knew anything was different in the hermitcrabatorium he shared with Old Bob is that Old Bob seemed very frantic to get into the sand where Young Bob was.  Young Bob had gone underground to molt.

  Another thing I noticed was there was a strong shrimpy smell in the terrarium.  I lifted up the rock where Young Bob had gone to see his shell and his old skin.  Well, I thought it was his old skin.

  It wasn’t.

  It was big, bulky, not like a shed skin.

  Young Bob was dead.  Probably for a few days, mold was growing on him.

  “You think I should leave him for Old Bob to eat?” I asked The Lady of the House as I held Young Bob up by one leg for her to see.

  “I don’t think we should encourage cannibalism,” she said.

  “I’ll take him outside somewhere for a ‘sky burial,’” I said.  I learned the term from a book by Chinese author Xinran.  It’s a way of disposing of remains in Tibet.  Gravedigging is out of the question in the hardscrabble land of that region so bodies are left in the open to be taken care of by scavengers (like vultures) and the elements.

  “Don’t feel bad,” said The Lady of the House.  “10 years is a pretty good run.  Lots of animals that molt sometimes die when they do.”

  I went to sit in front of the hermitcrabatorium and looked at Bob.

  He was ambling around the aquarium.

  I imagined a conversation with my pet of 13 years.

  “You didn’t have to take his carcass away, dude,” said Bob.

  “We don’t believe in encouraging cannibalism,” I said.

  “It’s NOT cannibalism,” said Bob.  “It’s recycling.  That shell is full of good stuff, good nutrition.  Hell, you don’t object when we eat our own skin after we shed it.”

  “Well no, but it’s YOURS to eat,” I said.  “Besides, I’m pretty sure I saw where you’d already been eating on him.”

  “He’s dead, it’s of no use to him.”

  “How’d he die?” I asked Bob.

  “Dude, how the hell should I know,” said Bob.  “All I know is that this morning the smell of death was in the air.”

  “Smelled like shrimp to me,” I said.

  “You insult us,” said Bob.  “Shrimp smell like us.”

  “I see you wasted no time in getting into his old shell,” I said.

  “It’s a skosh bigger than my old one…wait,” said Bob, “Are you throwing shade on me for moving into Dead Bob’s unused shell?  Man, you’ve really got to get off this anthropomorphizing trip.  Don’t apply your moralistic, human stuff on us.”

  “Ah,” I said.  “You have a point.”

  “I would have liked to have eaten Dead Bob, lots of nutrition there.  And maybe I DO harbor some resentment about the time he ripped off my claw when I was molting a few years ago, so maybe there would’ve been a ‘Ha ha, I’m alive and you’re dead’ thing going on there.

  “Bob is dead.  Bob has gone on to The Next,” Old Bob continued.

  “The Next?” I asked.

  “The Next lifeform he will take.  Will he be an octopus next?  A fish?  A toad?  Lizard?  Elephant?  Only The Next knows.  But know that sometime in the distant future in one of your incarnations to come someone will be very kind to you.  That may be Young Bob, having finally attained humanity and extending Karmic kindness to you for the kindness and care you have shown to us over the years.”

  “I’d a-set y’all free if I coulda gone where y’all are from if I’d a-known where that was,” I said.

  “Somewhere where it’s warm and humid night and day all year,” said Bob.

  “Does it bother you that Bob is dead?”

  “No,” said Bob.  “We’re born, we die.  It’s the deal we get when we come here.  I mean I will miss our deep philosophical chats but I’m not gnashing my mandibles or rending my shell.  You humans are so strange with your drama and crying and funerals and stuff.”

  “How do you know about these things?” I asked.

  “There was that time you guys had us set up in the living room near the TV,” said Bob.

  “People get upset if you’re too straightforward about death,” I said.

  “Oh, I can imagine,” said Bob.  “In its simplest form it’s a transition.  Besides, you need to heed what your mother said to you when she showed up in your dreams after she died.”

  “How do you know about that?” I asked.

  “We see shit,” he said.  “We’re better in tune with The Next.”

  “Whoa,” I said.

  “Remember?  She said ‘Don’t take life so seriously,’” said Bob.  “You REALLY need to follow that advice.”

  “Having a conversation with Bob in your head?” asked The Lady of the House, she had come into the room behind me.

  I laughed a little.

  “You know they’re social creatures,” she said.  “You need to decide if you want to get another one so he won’t be alone or if you want to see if there’s someone out there who’s taking real good care of some and wants to add him to the ones they already have.”

  “Yeah,” I said.  “Something to think about.”

  The Lady of the House turned and left the room.

  “By the way,” said Bob “I’d really like more of that meat in gravy canned catfood.  That’s good shit.”

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