I grew up in a house with an in-ground pool. Each year without fail, a variety of insects, amphibians, mammals, and even a few crabs, found their way into the watery depths. There, many a critter met its demise, but the lucky ones were rescued. Too often to count, I thrust my hands into the skimmer basket to pull out massive toads, which I'd kiss full-on before helping them to a safer home. I scooped carefully at the surface of the water to save the giant crickets and big, brown spiders floating around with no means of escape. They called me the bug lady, and I was fearless.
After an infected spider bite left me with weeks of swelling and a painfully oozing leg sore that drained mint green pus and congealed blood for almost a month, my affinity for bugs was decimated. Still, I loved small creatures. Throughout high school, I went out of my way to save the frogs and small moles and voles that found themselves trapped inside our pool. Even now, when a small creature gets itself caught in the window well for our basement guest room, I am happy to hop into the recess, rescue the beast and transport it to a safer location.
One creature that has always given me the willies, however, is the bat. When I was younger, my parents signed me up for a number of child-friendly magazines about natural science. One of those magazines had a long article about different kinds of bats. The only ones that I remember now are
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