The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

“All these creatures are completely harmless, Calpurnia, and they have enjoyed the river for many more eons than you. In addition, console yourself with the thought that you swim in the river proper, and these animals are not happy in flowing water.”

“All right,” I said. But still.

The bushes rustled, and Father’s dog Ajax trotted up, pleased with himself for having found us. He had no doubt been out courting Matilda, Mr. Gates’s bluetick hound, she of the unique yodeling cry that could be heard all over town. He greeted us in turn, nosing us for a pat, then splashed into the shallows and slurped at the brackish water. A fist-sized turtle plopped off a rotting log and Ajax charged clumsily after it. He enjoyed the game of chasing turtles and other small river creatures, but I’d never seen him actually catch anything aquatic. He was, more properly, a specialist in avian studies. But this time he surprised me by ducking his whole head underwater and coming up, startled, with an equally startled turtle in his mouth.

“Ajax,” I said, “what are you doing? Stop it. Put that back where it belongs.”

He pranced back to us, pleased with himself, and dutifully laid the turtle at our feet before shaking water all over us. He sat and looked up at me expectantly.

“He thinks he’s doing his job,” said Granddaddy. “You had better praise him or all your father’s training will be for nothing.”

“Oh, Ajax. Good boy, I guess.” I gave him a pat. “What are we going to do with your turtle? Travis already has one in his room, and I doubt that Mother will tolerate another. Perhaps you should hold his collar while I let this one go.”

“I’ll walk him up the bank,” said Granddaddy. “He shouldn’t see you letting it go, or he will come to question the purpose of his work and eventually grow disheartened.” He led Ajax away, and when they were both out of sight I inspected the turtle. Why had it allowed itself to be captured by such a large, dumb land creature? Was it old? Was it sick? There was nothing obviously wrong with it. It looked like every other turtle in the river. Maybe it was simply stupid. Maybe it was better that it died so that it wouldn’t produce more generations of stupid baby turtles. But too late, I had interfered and thus made myself responsible for its safety. Wondering if I was, in my own small way, promoting the survival of the unfittest, I pushed it into the water, where it disappeared in a wink.

“It’s all right,” I yelled over my shoulder. “You can let him go.”

I climbed up the bank after them, and Ajax met me at the top, sniffing at me for his turtle. “It’s gone,” I said, showing him my empty hands. “See?” I swear he understood me because his ears drooped and he turned away.

“It’s gone, Ajax, I’m sorry. Come here and be a good dog.” I ruffled his coat and thumped his sides the way he liked, even though I knew I would stink like a wet dog for the rest of the day. “There’s a good boy. You’re a good boy.” This cheered him up some, and he forgave me enough to walk with me while we caught up to Granddaddy.

Ajax found the biggest burrow I’d seen in a long while. It looked and smelled like a badger’s hole, and badgers were getting rare in our part of the world. He amused himself by sticking his muzzle deep inside and sniffing in excitement.

“What do you see there?” I called out to Granddaddy, who peered with interest at a small, uninteresting plant. “Come on, Ajax.” I hauled on his collar to keep him from losing the end of his nose to a swipe from the burrow’s notoriously irritable tenant.

“Vetch,” said Granddaddy. “It looks like hairy vetch, but it may be a mutant. Look, it’s got this odd dependent leaf at the bottom.” He pinched off a couple of inches of stalk and handed it to me. “Let’s save that one.”

A boring plant, but I put it in a jar and printed HAIRY VETCH (MOOTANT?) on the label.

He said, “I’ve also got a woolly caterpillar over here. Have you ever raised one of these?” He held up a twig on which squirmed the biggest, fuzziest caterpillar I’d ever seen, a good two inches long. (Or, more properly, five centimeters. Granddaddy had told me that true scientists used the Continental system, which would soon come into widespread use in America.) The caterpillar was covered in dense fur that looked as plush and inviting as a cat’s pelt, but I knew better than to stroke it. I’d been told my whole life that woolly caterpillars would sting you badly. I just didn’t know if it was a little badly or a whole lot badly.

“What kind is he?” I asked.

“I’m uncertain about the species,” he said. “There are several that look alike to the naked eye, and you can’t know what you’ve got until it emerges as the winged imago.”

“So how bad is their sting?”

He said, “I suppose you could touch him and find out. Which raises an interesting point: How far are you willing to go in the name of science? This is something for you to ponder.”