In June of 2006, I posted these haikus:

Ants don’t like living
Trapped in Ziploc sandwich bags,
Even ants must breathe.

It’s nice you named them
Cutie, Star, Climby, Chompy,
and R2-D2.

Plus “George” and “Lucas”
All respectible ant names.
But ants are not pets.

They will not do tricks.
I realize you love them.
Say your goodbyes now.

Mean mommy hates ants,
One last ditch effort plea cries:
“Educational!”

The Ziploc opens
Over a backyard dirt patch.
Farewell, little ants.

My children will make pets out of anything that inches, flits, or creeps through our backyard. I think my favorite part of watching my kids eagerly adopting God’s creation into our family are the names they bestow. Their latest pets are a pair of roly-polies (aka pill bugs) named Shrimp and Leslie.

There was some sort of rodent living in one basement window well, outside. The kids named it Cutie Junior. Considering that Cutie Senior is an ant (see the blockquote) I can honestly say that strange things are afoot out there in the wilds of our suburban lawn. Cutie Junior is gone, which disappointed all of us. He was a good mystery rodent, drinking water out of a mini Darth Vader helmet one of the kids dropped down for him and eating lettuce from our fridge. One day, he was gone. Godspeed, Cutie Junior.

I wait anxiously for Cutie the Third to come into our lives. I hope he is rabies-free, doesn’t eat our dog, and doesn’t dig holes.

A butterfly would be nice.