Last week, while doing some important business in the bathroom, I noticed a ladybug trapped between the storm windows. Normally, finding a ladybug would be cause for celebration, especially considering I have yet to redeem myself for an earlier ladybug transgression. But, my several attempts to return one to the farm have ended poorly. I had to ask myself how many ladybugs I was willing to sacrifice to right my previous wrong.
I sized up the insect:
Me: Are you getting enough to eat in there?
Me: Looks like the spiders have it pretty well locked up, huh?
Me: If I told you there was a place far, far away with an all-you-can-eat buffet of juicy bugs, all arranged by type in neat little rows, would you believe me?
Me: It takes a special kind of ladybug to survive the journey, though. It’s not for the faint of heart. Lesser beetles have died in the process. Perhaps you want to sleep on it?
Me: All right, then. If you’re still here tomorrow, I’ll take you.
Not only was the ladybug still there the next day, but she brought a friend. So, five minutes before departure, I emptied out the Preschooler’s bug house, which had half a moldy corncob and two dead corn worms inside. In went the ladybugs.
Me: If you make it there alive, I only ask that you deliver the following message. (whispers)
Then I handed them off to the Preschooler, who carried them with us to the fields and deposited them on some tomato plants. One stayed put while the other flew off in the direction of the tractor rumbling in the distance. That’s two ladybugs to replace the one we viciously stole.
That should make things even between the Farmer and I, don’t you think?