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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Run, Ralph, Run!

In a place like Mississippi, where it's warm and humid, insects are just a part of everyday life. Outdoors, there's the constant battle with red wasps and fire ants. Indoors, whatever happens to squeeze through a doorframe or under the eaves and survive the poison long enough to tromp or fly through the house until one of us manages to exterminate them.

Our youngest child has always surprised us when it comes to dealing with insects.

Once, when he was two years old, as Will sat playing on the floor in our den a large bug walked past our fearless toddler. He quickly grabbed a shoe and started whacking the bug. As he pummeled the doomed insect with surprisingly accurate aim, he shouted, "It's a bug, it's a bug, it's a bug!"

The rest of the family was in hysterics as I walked over to where William sat and lifted the shoe. "Well, no," I said, looking at the mangled mess, "It was a bug."

I was reminded of that incident the other day while I was folding laundry. I was sitting on the floor, reaching for a sock in my laundry pile when a black spider jumped out near my hand. I let out a small shriek and pulled my hand back . I'm not afraid of spiders but the way it leaped out at me caught me off guard.

Eleven-year-old William was standing behind me. "Oh, don't worry about him," Will said. "That's just Ralph."

"Ralph?" I repeated. "You've named a spider?"

"Yeah. He's our pet."

"Would you mind getting me a Kleenex or a paper towel so I can smush Ralph?" I asked.

William gasped and I had to wonder if he was serious, at this point. "You're not going to kill Ralph!"

"Ralph deserves to die because he's inside and he belongs outdoors," I answered. "Do you see this spider very often?"

"All the time," Will said. "And his children, too. Some of them hang out in my bedroom. He has lots of children." Okay, he was definitely toying with me.

"How do you know it's a he? It could be a Ralphine or Ralphette," I said. William chuckled. "Just get me a paper towel, please."

Will obligingly brought me a towel and I moved the socks aside to look for the spider, who was obviously in a mood for a game of chase. He ran like the dickens, across the floor and up the fireplace bricks.

"Oh, no! Not Ralph! Run, Ralph, run!" Will was bouncing up and down as I moved my small sock mountain out of the way. "Ohhh," he said as I caught the escapee. "Too bad."

I asked Will if he would throw the paper towel away. He held out his hands defensively.

"Ewwww!"

"Okay," I said, hauling myself off the carpet. "I'm the murderer, I suppose I should dispose of the body."

A few days later, I asked Will if he'd named any other bugs in the house.

"Not really," he said, "except for Phil the Flea."

"But we don't have any fleas," I said.

"What did you say?" Will said, scratching behind his ear like a dog and grinning.

"He's pulling your leg," my husband said.

Yep, he was definitely pulling my leg. But, I think Will has it right. If you're going to live in a place that's brimming with insect life, you might as well have a sense of humor about it.