At Least They're Not Snakes

For someone who is irrationally terrified of many things lately (e.g., falling into the toilet, taking a bath, sprinklers, faucets in general - hmm, see a theme there?...) Grace's newfound love for WORMS is surprising. She has caught several dozen over the last month as Marty turned over the garden beds. She carries them around - sometimes individually, sometimes in squirming, tangled masses - and talks to them. Often in the third person.

"He-he! He's so beautiful. I love him!"

{Giggle} "He tickles me!"


She feeds them...

"Here you go, worm. Eat your dinner now."


Sometimes she is a little, um... too loving.

"Da worm is tired. He needs a nap."

Uh, Grace... You squeezed him too hard. He's not sleeping...

"Yeah, da worm is dead now. He's really, really dead."




She gently places the limp worm in the mass graveyard shade beneath the maple tree. (She'll continue to check on him periodically, to make sure he's still dead.) Then she's off to search for her next pet.