Why We Need a Puppy, Or Why My Children Will Need Therapy

Last winter, we became caretakers to a spider living on our porch.

This winter, I have captured--I mean, rescued--a dozen ladybugs and put them into a screened-in butterfly habitat.

To say I am obsessed with the ladybugs may be a tad understated. Every morning, I mist their leafy world and wet a piece of paper towel. Daily, I replace their hunks of apple or pear or pieces of raisins. I even move them to sit on the stove under the warm lights so I can watch them run around in the heat.

(the giant ladybug on top is not real; I thought it would make them feel at home)

For a few weeks, all was fine with our new pets. And then, a couple of nights ago, we settled down to a dinner of Dirty Rice, a name which seems pretty apt given what happened next: my oldest, Belly, was about to take a big mouthful when she screamed, "There is a ladybug in my rice!". We all gasped and looked and, sure enough, there was a ladybug nestled there in the brown-colored rice.

I grabbed her plate and apologized to the poor ladybug. I cooked a pet! But, as I carefully removed it from her dinner, the little critter started running on my hand. Not cooked! Just enjoying a little Cajun cooking! Phew!

I returned the ladybug to her (his) home and decided to keep them away from dinner prep in the future.

Do you think they are planning a jailbreak?