|WOODY: Backing out comes natural to crawdads
|Posted: Sunday, July 1, 2012 5:57 am
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By now I guess you’ve heard the big news and – if you’re like me – a bit drowsy from being too excited to sleep for the past several nights.
Somebody found a crawdad in a creek.
It made all the TV news cycles. The only way it could have been bigger is if the crawdad had been discovered sharing a hot-tub with Paris Hilton.
This particular crawdad was found in a creek in Maury County and what made it such a big deal was that it was a species that was heretofore unknown.
Back during my creek-wading days there were two kinds of crawdads: the kind that was latched onto your toe and the kind that wasn’t.
Over the years I stopped wading creeks and I confess that I gradually lost touch with my inner-crawdad.
I guess that’s why I found the story of the unexpected find so interesting – sort of like the time we discovered my Uncle Lou living in our attic when we thought he had joined the French Foreign Legion many years ago.
The discovery of the new crawdad was made by a team of aquatic biologists from the University of Illinois and Eastern Kentucky.
The story didn’t explain what led them to that specific creek in Maury County.
Did they receive a hot crawdad tip?
Deep Craw: “Listen up. I’ve got some hot inside info on the whereabouts of a certain crustacean --”
Biologist: (interrupting): “Say, is this a Red Lobster commercial?”
Deep Craw: “No, I’m talking ‘dads.”
Biologist: “Keep talking.”
Deep Craw: “Uh, that’s about it. There’s a crawdad in a creek in Maury County.”
Biologist: “Do the Russians know about this?”
The story didn’t say who footed the bill for the Great Crawdad Hunt but I have a sneaking suspicion. Can you say “Federal Crawdad Grant?”
The story said one or two species of crayfish are discovered every year. That’s a lot of new crawdads since, say, the Truman Administration.
How many crawdads are out there? Who knows?
But it’s something our alert government officials had better keep a close eye on, since they don’t have any more pressing matters.
Crawdads are delicious when broiled.
In Louisiana they are served by the bucketful, steaming hot and bright red. You peel the tails and eat them with a dash of Tabasco sauce.
Raccoons feast on crawdads in the creek behind my house.
The bank is littered with crawdad shells and empty Tabasco sauce bottles.
Our Tennessee crawdads are a protected species, so don’t bother them. You don’t want to do hard time on an illicit crawdad rap.
The newest member of the crayfish family is described as being about five inches long with “unusual bearded antennae covered by tiny, hair-like bristles.”
I sat by a lady like that on the bus the other day.
The biologists christened the new crawdad “Barbicambarus simmonsi” – or “Barbs” between friends.
I’ve always found crawdads interesting, ever since I scooped up my first one as a kid and discovered what those big pinchers are used for.
Society has even coined a phrase based on the crawdads’ tendency to dart backwards: to “crawfish” means to change your mind or lose your resolve and back out of a deal.
It’s not a flattering term. But don’t blame the crawdads; for them, backing out just comes naturally. That’s why you should never do a deal with a ‘dad.’
Larry Woody can be contacted at email@example.com_vinson56@yahoo.com.