This week for Science, my fourth-grade class is studying those fascinating creatures, crickets. Part of that study means to look at them under the microscopes... and so they have to be killed. I'm not against the idea, so long as it's quick and not cruel. It does help the kids to learn so much by looking at a real insect up close (that won't jump away). So I did what my colleague did last year; dropped the crickets in rubbing alcohol... supposedly kills them instantly.
I was morbidly curious to see how long it really did take after the crickets fell into the alcohol. I was surprised that it took up to 15 seconds for them to drown in the chemical. They scrambled around in the liquid, trying desperately to escape, then settled down into jerky movements as the alcohol poisoned them. By the fourth cricket I had stopped watching and was feeling queasy. Then today one of the "dead" crickets started twitching its antennae. Disturbing.
I replaced it with a different, smaller cricket so the students wouldn't be freaked out. I started wondering what the cricket was sensing: was it in the throes of dying? I don't think so; it seemed to be recovering somehow. Yet it didn't move its legs. So maybe it was in a vegetative state. Anyway, it took all the fun out of the experiment for me. Death (even of non-human creatures) is still disquieting. I think the Native Americans were right in being thankful for the life of the animal they killed; not that we should honour the creature, but instead be grateful to God that a life was given up for a real purpose. How much meat do we eat, without reflecting with gratitude? A farmer who has raised an animal, invested time and money and care into it, then butchers it, knows much better what has been sacrificed to put dinner on our tables.
So crickets must die. But maybe... maybe one day there won't be any more death. A good day to dream of.
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