Chapter 1: A New Beginning with Hermit Crabs

During my childhood, my mother and I resided in an apartment where pets were not an option. I don’t recall ever asking for a pet, but I relished the times I could play with friends' animals. It wasn’t until we transitioned to a house that I finally got my chance—two hermit crabs.

Mom brought these little creatures home from Myrtle Beach on Memorial Day weekend. She presented them to me in a small enclosure along with detailed instructions for their care. One crab was reddish with a beautifully swirled shell, while the other sported a bluish hue and a shell reminiscent of ocean depths.

I found them utterly charming and named them Dewey and Louie, inspired by the nephews of Scrooge McDuck from "Duck Tales," leaving out the third nephew, Huey, since I had only two crabs. Dewey was the red one, and Louie was the blue.

Taking care of them was straightforward. They needed their special hermit crab food (which I couldn’t specify) and a wet sponge for hydration. I also had to clean their habitat and replace the aquarium pebbles. As an eighth grader, I didn’t think much about the less pleasant aspects of hermit crab care, like their waste, but I quickly learned it had an odor, much like any other pet.

Although they weren’t interactive like dogs, I enjoyed taking them out; their tiny legs would tickle me as they crawled across my skin. At night, they would retreat into their shells. I noticed something fascinating: when placed in opposite corners of their enclosure, they would eventually move toward each other and curl up together in a single corner to sleep.

After Independence Day, my mother, Dewey, and Louie set off for a family reunion, a tradition we upheld every year. We checked into our hotel in Virginia, but the door was a bit finicky. We had to pull it hard to secure it, but we figured it out. This was pre-cellphone days, so we ventured out to find relatives, ensuring we locked the door behind us.

Upon returning, we were startled to find our room door slightly open. Entering cautiously, we discovered it empty. My mother began searching for any missing items, and then she asked the unusual question, “Where are the hermit crabs?”

I assumed they were in their enclosure, but they were nowhere to be found. This prompted bewilderment—who would steal hermit crabs? Where could they have gone?

After sharing our predicament with family members at the cookout, we hoped someone might have seen something. Later that evening, my godmother arrived at our room with two hermit crab shells. One shell contained a crab curled deep inside, while the other was empty.

Dewey was gone.

While the joy of family reunions is reconnecting with loved ones, the downside is that with large families, it’s hard to know everyone. In this case, some mischievous kids had entered our room and taken Dewey and Louie. They returned Louie along with his empty shell, but it was clear that Louie was traumatized—he had lost one of his antennae and took a long time to emerge from his shell.

At thirteen, I was not indifferent; I was deeply aware of mortality and empathy. It was evident that Louie was frightened, having endured a harrowing experience while Dewey had been lost. Unfortunately, there was no way to hold those kids accountable for their actions, and the absence of justice left me feeling powerless.

I ensured Louie had food and water, placed Dewey’s shell in his favorite spot, and when night fell, I checked on him again. To my heartache, I found Louie had crawled over to Dewey’s empty shell, seeking solace and comfort.

That sight broke my heart, and I cried myself to sleep that night. Louie passed away the following afternoon during the family banquet, leaving only two of us to return home.

Years later, I would realize that Dewey and Louie imparted a profound lesson: everyone desires empathy and companionship, regardless of how small or seemingly insignificant.

The intricacies of human existence often cloud these simple truths. Many people use competition, wealth, and power as barriers against empathy, likely because they were never shown it themselves.

Imagining Dewey being forcibly removed from his shell and Louie’s antenna being torn away made me feel their pain. Despite the sadness, Louie's instinct to seek comfort in Dewey’s empty shell showcased an undeniable need for companionship.

I didn’t recognize it at the time, but that weekend marked a turning point for me. The experience laid the groundwork for my understanding of the importance of being present for others, which can significantly impact one’s life.

Empathy can build confidence, empower individuals, and lighten the burden of grief, helping to alleviate everyday struggles. The loss of my hermit crabs ultimately shaped me into a more compassionate partner, mother, daughter, and friend.

I may not always succeed, but my efforts are sincere. Thank you, Dewey and Louie; your lessons will forever remain with me.

If you enjoyed this article, please read “We Should Help Those That Want to Help Themselves.” For more insights, visit my website, The Wicked Orchard.

Listen to my podcast: The Wicked Orchard Presents: Reality and Fiction. Connect with Sidra Owens on Facebook and Twitter for discussions on American Politics, Race Relations, Religion, and more. Explore my partner's work at Comparative Reasoning on Spreaker, YouTube, and Medium!

Chapter 2: Learning from Nature's Creatures

In this video titled "How to have an ACTIVE hermit crab! | By Crab Central Station," viewers can learn how to keep their hermit crabs engaged and healthy, ensuring they thrive in their environment.

The second video, "Guy Finds Hermit Crabs Living In Plastic And Offers Them New Shells | The Dodo," highlights the importance of compassion and care for hermit crabs, showcasing a touching story of rescue and empathy.