The October sun is sitting low in the sky. It is evening. A gentle breeze strokes the tops of the mesquite trees. Everything seemed normal, quiet and orderly, but not for long. Something is about to happen.
Ava plays in the sandbox with sand, scoops, a few rocks and a plastic dump truck. I watch.
Hours before E proudly shows me a captured scorpion. It was found in the kitchen, killed and preserved in clear glue. A mini fossilized biological specimen. It looks menacing with its venom bulb bursting with deadly poison. Ugh.
Suddenly and without warning Ava is freaking out, “Get it off, grandpa, get it off, get it off, help.” I look and see nothing, nevertheless in my mind she is being attacked by a 6-inch poisonous scorpion. I can just see myself explaining this to her parents, “Well I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching your daughter very well. I never saw it crawl up her leg until it was too late.”
Whatever it was I was going to get rid of it, so with hands flying, I vigorously brushed around her feet and legs, sand went flying, sand toys scattered. Then I carefully lifted her out of the sandbox, went back, and sifted for the offending creature. After a few minutes I found it: an ant. After killing it, I looked up at Ava.
“Thanks for saving me, grandpa,” she says with total sincerity.
No comments:
Post a Comment