Masha du Toit

I found a freshwater crab in Wynberg Park this evening.  He was on the road near the parking area.  I spent a embarrassing amount of time faffing about whether I should leave him alone to take his chances with cars and dogs.  He was a fairly big crab, each leg about as long as my little finger, and his claws almost as fat as my thumb.

I used to think nothing of picking these up when I was a little girl.  But for some reason my 37 year old self was well, actually quite scared of the little bugger. Herding him off the road was no good as crabs somehow dont go in the direction you expect them to.   I finally nerved myself to pick him up.  Either I had forgotten how to pick a crab up so it cant pinch you, or they’ve learnt a trick or two since I last tried.  He got a fairly good grip on my finger and gave me a stywe pinch.  Which was the moment I lost all my fear of him.  I think there must be a life lesson in there somewhere.

I just swore at him in a friendly way and carried him over to a safe spot.  Not all the way to the little river as I had intended, just to the nearest lot of shrubbery.  He sat there among the Agapanthus leaves, very disgusted with me.  There is something about having your eyes on stalks that gives you the edge when it comes to expressing hurt dignity.