I never knew I would become involved with a ritual-serial-killing family. I loathe hunting and unless there is the need to feed a starving family or suffering from a plague of rabbits, death as a sport is beyond my comprehension. However, last night Jonno and I found ourselves staring into Archie's latest homemade terrarium, face to beady face with yet another Praying Mantis. Its little hooky feet were desperately trying to pierce through the stretched plastic wrap and its legs skittered helplessly against the glass.Suddenly neither of us could bear it any longer, to watch this miraculous emerald, green bead of nature turn yellow and die under the watchful gaze of a small child. It was too much. So Jonno carefully lifted a corner of the glad-wrap and we walked away whistling and saying our own little prayers of escape to this chosen Mr. Mantis.
This morning when I came downstairs I witnessed its escape. No attention was brought to its plight as it began to scale my green jug in search of some camouflage. Hopefully it will be a little while before my insect mad boy will bring another in. Maybe it is time to introduce him to the whole catch and release program. Hmmm, good idea me.
