The spiders are stomped on immediately. They are spiders, they are fucking gross, and the thought of letting one live only to find it on my shoe later- that's a paralyzing thought for me. I'm a pussy, and life isn't fair. Sue me.
The frogs are never stomped on. Can't do it. They are way too big. And they're borderline cute- the way they hop around and shit, bumping their asses and taking their sweet time. They are just too big, full of too much blood, and too possessing of nervous systems and pain receptors. That's too much to put on my conscience. Or underneath my shoe.
We had a snake come through, once. Big one. Maybe two-and-a-half feet long, maybe an inch-and-a-half thick. He was pissed, but then- we were trying to kill him. We hurt him, and that's when he broke for the stairs. Hid under them, and he wouldn't come out. In the end we smoked him out with gasoline vapor, and Peter dealt him a death blow with the business-end of a shovel. Peter's from Vietnam, and I assure you that wasn't the first snake he'd killed. No fear. He made it look so effortless.
This other time, Kyle caught a baby rabbit in his hat. He was outside, mowing the grass in front of the shop, and he came upon a rabbit hole. He saw them before he got too close, and killed the lawnmower. Not the rabbit. He caught the rabbit in his baseball cap, and showed everyone, before releasing it. I couldn't believe it. It was cute as hell, and I couldn't believe that it allowed itself to be caught. Kyle is damn fast.
A great many june-bugs come through the bay doors of our shop. Really, these are the only creatures that I have to actually think about with regard to "yes" or "no". Life or death.
If they are fine, then fine. I'm not gonna kill a healthy june-bug just for wandering into the shop. A healthy spider, sure. Not a healthy june-bug. Fuck, spiders are ugly.
But often times the june-bugs are injured. Couldn't tell you how, it's just lots of times they are. It's easy to tell.
With the injured ones, a decision has to be made: 1) let them struggle on, and die their own way, or 2) do them in myself. I will watch an injured june-bug for ten minutes at a time. I will keep tabs on it as I move throughout the shop. I will flip it over, delicately, time and time again. I will give it every opportunity to show me it has got something left in the tank. Why, I've even been known to write entire paragraphs detailing how kind-hearted and compassionate I am toward injured june-bugs.
Anything to fend off the guilt that comes with stepping on them. Because in the end that's always what I do.
