Herbie the hermit crab came home with my youngest daughter the other day. Her name was drawn in the last day of school pet giveaway. She was so proud of him. She had to show him to me as soon as I walked in the door. (Actually, I'm not sure he's a him...if you know what I mean.) She showed me everything about his cage - the purple sand, the water dish, the extra shells. It was fun to see her excitement. (Only slightly less exciting was spending $23 on new sand and other "crabby" paraphernalia that night while on a date with my wife.) A few days after his arrival in our home, his home freshly cleaned, Herbie molted. His exoskeleton looked rather macabre laying in front of his shell. Weird stuff, this molting. Kind of cool in a gross sort of way.
So out came the new "how to take care of a crab" book. What do you do with a molting crab? Leave it alone. We left Herbie alone. He didn't move for quite awhile...days! Finally, I decided it was time to check his pulse. (Actually, I just picked him up and poked him.) He didn't flinch. Since he'd been in the same place and looked rather dried up, I pronounced him dead.
The wailing began immediately. Herbie's proud owner was grief stricken. Her older sister wrapped her arms around her. (I'm proud.) They cried together like sisters should at their dad's funeral. Finally, they headed off for bed.
Just minutes later I looked in the cage. Herbie had moved. The silly thing was alive! I shouted out the good news. The once bereft girl could hardly contain herself. "Herbie is alive!" she screamed after confirming the fact for herself.
Resurrection crabs should show up at everyone's house.
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