Life is a mystery.
And I don't mean just the Big Questions. What is the purpose of life? Why do the evil prosper? Why does "i" come before "e" except after self-important "c?"
I find the small questions to be just as intriguing. Take yesterday morning.
I was walking to the gate that opens to the walkway around the laguna. And right there in the middle of the path was a body. Well, not a full body. Just some extremities.
Two claws and two spiny legs. What a diner might leave behind at a Red Lobster franchise.
Oh, yes. There were also ants. Busy living up to their Solomon description. Nature's little clean-up squad.
I knew enough that that the parts once belonged to one of the odd land crabs that has been reconnoitering the lay of the land before the rest of the crabby crowd show up when the serious rains start.
The mystery is -- what happened to the rest of Mr. Crab? There should be a crab shell. Somewhere.
I ruled out a body part rapture for crabs. Crabicide sounded far more likely.
My money would be on some four-legged Hannibal Lecter. A cat. A raccoon. A coatimundi. I am giving the squirrels a pass.
Plenty of suspects abound. Agatha Christie could have spun quite a tale. With a denouement on the andador.
As soon as the rain begins, there will be land crabs (scuttling and scuttled) everywhere for a few days. That should give our crab killer a shot at serial history.
And the inevitability of another crab post.
Agatha Christie should have been so fortunate.
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