Originally published: . Volume 11, No. 8. Source pages: 2.
Some years ago, Archimedes and I splurged on a backyard lap pool, and Covid-19 being what it is, the pool has turned out to be a great investment, helping us cope with the self–isolation required to avoid the Russian roulette for those over 60.
Less fortunate, however, are the various and sundry creatures that accidently wind up floundering and struggling to escape the watery death trap.
My Irish–Catholic father lived by and instilled the moral code that, "If you kill it, you have to eat it," for co-existing with other living creatures. So, with some mixture of altruism, concern for all life, and to avoid the idea of having to eat whatever dies in the pool, I spend 15 minutes a day rescuing various wildlife before I swim my hour of laps.
The most frequent victims are spiders. I’ve become an expert at liberating larger and larger plain, brown, garden-variety tree spiders that apparently fall or are blown from the trees surrounding the pool. At first they can spread their legs and actually walk across the surface of the water for a while. However, soon they have to resort to rolling themselves into a ball to continue to float. After that it’s pretty much curtains.
The first few times I rescued a balled-up spider it shocked the hell out of me because they unfold to about four times their size. With practice I've been able desensitize myself so that now I can airlift a spider the size of a silver dollar over to the side of the pool, the thing riding comfortably and peaceably on the back of my hand. I've even chauffeured a mother spider out of the pool, her back covered with tiny babies, which makes her look rather vicious if you are seeing this for the first time. Getting those tiny babies out is a time–consuming nightmare so it's efficient to free the mother before she sinks.
The grasshoppers are the most fun to save because they go jumping off your hand like they’ve been shot out of a cannon. The frogs are sweet and passive. The beetles are the bread & butter victims, the epitome of resilience and calm. Neither the bees nor the ants inspire much sympathy in me––the bees will sting you as you’re rescuing them––but it's better than finding them in your swimming suit during the workout.
Once a baby possum found its way into the leaf skimmer. Archimedes went straight to work to protect his woman. Striding confidently into the middle of the situation, he yelled "Stand back!" as he commenced to capture the thing with the leaf net, presumably imagining a danger for me similar to the Killer Rabbit. I was already "back," standing all the way on the other side of the pool. The baby possum would have had to swim across, somehow climb out––obviously the whole problem in the first place––and then decide to go after me, bent on revenge. I didn't point out the logic problem, being that I'm generally a fan of male protective instincts.
I've also encountered a suicidal lizard. Most lizards are goners by the time I find them but I once rescued a green-gray, striped lizard. It did an instant about-face and dove headfirst back into the pool. Once committed to a rescue, I seldom give up, so I fished the thing out again and walked it to a grassy area past the pool walkway. The lizard promptly scurried back and launched it self directly into the water again, sinking in a vertical, Christ- like position. I was left with no alternative at this point but to retrieve it a third time. So I walked the little lunatic across the yard, tossed it in the bushes, and pledged no more codependency in our relationship.
One other type of creature has a connection to the pool. Some days, as I'm swimming along, I turn to take a breath and catch a sideways glimpse of the sky. There, circling above me, are the vultures. They're checking to see if I am a floundering, struggling, dying animal. An eerie feeling––I'm thankful that they would have to kill me before they eat me.
Covid-19 and the backyard waters remind me of Ecclesiastes 9:11: "I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all."
This article is part of a historical newspaper archive. Read the original issue for its original layout, photographs and graphics.