Thursday was Animal Club day.
For most children in Reception and Year 1, this was excellent news.
For Mr Henley, the teacher who had somehow volunteered to run the lunchtime club, Thursday had become a weekly exercise in managing his own expectations.
The Animal Club had started with two guinea pigs.
That had seemed like a sensible idea.
The guinea pigs were small.
They were furry.
They were friendly.
They did not require much explanation.
What could possibly go wrong?
Quite a lot, as it turned out.
The children had been so excited about the guinea pigs that Mr Henley had spent most of the session saying things like:
“Gentle hands.”
“Don’t pick her up like that.”
“Don’t sit her next to the male guinea pig please!” (This sentence happened a lot!)
And, memorably:
“Don’t let them out of the room!”
The guinea pig had looked at Mr Henley afterwards with the expression of an animal wondering why humans had been allowed to become the dominant species.
So last week, Mr Henley had played it safe.
He had taken the children through to the school reception area and shown them how to clean the tropical fish tank.
There had been fish.
Water.
A filter.
A holding bucket.
A clear set of instructions.
Most importantly, there had been no furry animal available for Barry to dress.
It had gone surprisingly well.
Mr Henley had almost begun to feel confident again.
This week, however, he had decided to try something different.
Stick insects.
He had spent considerable time preparing.
He had a tall enclosure.
He had checked the temperature.
He had prepared suitable food.
He had collected fresh privet, ivy and bramble.
He had checked that the plants had not been treated with pesticides.
He had prepared a fine misting bottle.
He had written down the important rules.
And he had reminded himself that stick insects were extremely low-maintenance.
They didn’t bark.
They didn’t squeak.
They didn’t require walking.
They didn’t swim away.
They certainly didn’t have the general attitude of guinea pigs.
There was, however, one small issue.
One of the guinea pigs had recently begun looking slightly wider around the middle.
Mr Henley had noticed.
He had looked at her.
She had looked back.
He had considered whether this might be something he needed to discuss with the children.
Then he had decided he absolutely did not have the time.
Or the inclination.
There were some subjects best left for another day… or for parents to have.
At lunchtime, the Animal Club children gathered.
Barry and Marmaduke were among them.
Barry was already excited.
“What animals?”
Mr Henley smiled.
“Stick insects.”
Barry stared at him.
“Sticks?”
“Stick insects.”
“Are they sticks?”
“No.”
“Are they insects?”
“Yes.”
“Do they look like sticks?”
“Yes.”
Barry considered this.
“That is very confusing.”
Marmaduke smiled.
“I think that’s the point.”
Mr Henley held up the enclosure.
Inside were several long, thin stick insects.
The children gasped.
Barry’s mouth fell open.
“They’re HUGE.”
“They’re not huge.”
“They are.”
“They’re actually quite small.”
Barry pointed.
“That one is basically a branch.”
Mr Henley nodded.
“That’s because they camouflage themselves.”
Barry looked impressed.
“So they’re spies.”
“They’re insects.”
“Secret spies.”
“They’re insects, Barry.”
Barry nodded.
“Secret insect spies.”
Mr Henley decided to move on.
“Today we’re going to learn how to care for them.”
The children gathered around.
Mr Henley explained that stick insects liked to climb.
This was why the enclosure needed to be tall.
“They spend a lot of time climbing upwards,” he explained.
Barry looked into the enclosure.
“Why?”
“To get around.”
“Where are they going?”
“Nowhere.”
Barry looked confused.
“Then why climb?”
Mr Henley smiled.
“Because that’s what they like to do.”
Barry nodded.
This apparently made perfect sense.
The children were then shown the food.
Fresh privet.
Ivy.
Bramble.
Mr Henley explained that the plants needed to be fresh and completely free from pesticides.
“You must never pick plants from somewhere that might have been sprayed with chemicals.”
Barry nodded seriously.
“Because they could get poorly.”
“Exactly.”
Marmaduke looked at the leaves.
“How do you know if they’re safe?”
“You need to know where they’ve come from and make sure they haven’t been treated.”
Barry picked up a leaf.
“This one is safe.”
Mr Henley immediately took it from him.
“How do you know?”
Barry shrugged.
“It looks safe.”
Mr Henley looked at him.
“That isn’t how we decide.”
“Oh.”
Mr Henley demonstrated how to place the fresh leaves into the enclosure.
The children helped.
Then came misting.
Mr Henley showed them the spray bottle.
“Stick insects need moisture, but we don’t want the enclosure soaking wet.”
He sprayed lightly.
Mist settled over the leaves.
The children watched.
Barry’s eyes widened.
“Can I do it?”
Mr Henley hesitated.
This was perhaps not his strongest moment of judgement.
“Yes.”
Barry took the spray bottle.
He gave the enclosure one gentle spray.
Then another.
Then another.
“That’s enough.”
Barry stopped.
Mr Henley took the bottle.
“The enclosure should be damp, not wet.”
“Why?”
“Because if it’s too wet, mould can grow.”
“And mould kills them?”
“It can.”
Barry looked suddenly serious.
He stared at the enclosure.
“No mould.”
“No mould.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
Marmaduke smiled.
“We’ll keep it dry enough.”
“Damp enough,” corrected Mr Henley.
“Damp enough.”
Then Mr Henley explained something else.
“You must never put the enclosure in direct sunshine.”
“Why?” asked Marmaduke.
“Because it can get too hot.”
Barry looked horrified.
“They’ll cook?”
“Not exactly.”
“But too hot.”
“Yes.”
Barry nodded.
“Definitely no sun.”
“Correct.”
Mr Henley felt things were going remarkably well.
Then came the part the children had been waiting for.
Holding the stick insects.
Mr Henley carefully demonstrated.
“You support them gently.”
He let one walk onto his hand.
The children gasped.
It was extraordinary.
The insect looked like a tiny piece of moving wood.
It slowly walked across his fingers.
Barry whispered, “It’s amazing.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“It’s walking on him.”
Mr Henley smiled.
“Yes.”
“Can I hold it?”
“Yes.”
Marmaduke went first.
He held his hands still.
The stick insect slowly climbed onto him.
Marmaduke grinned.
“It’s tickling me.”
“That’s normal.”
Then Barry’s turn.
Mr Henley placed the insect carefully onto his hand.
Barry stared.
It walked slowly across his palm.
Barry’s face was completely fascinated.
“It’s really light.”
“They are.”
“Can it fly?”
“Some species can.”
Barry’s eyes widened.
“This one?”
“No.”
“Can it jump?”
“No.”
“Can it run?”
“Not particularly fast.”
Barry nodded.
“So it’s basically a walking stick.”
Mr Henley smiled.
“Yes.”
Barry was delighted.
Then Mr Henley gave the most important instruction of the session.
“Now, there is something you absolutely must not do.”
Barry looked up.
“What’s that?”
“Never pull on their legs.”
Barry froze.
“Why?”
“Because their legs can come off.”
The children gasped.
Barry immediately stopped moving.
“They come off?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“They can sometimes regrow when the insect moults, but we don’t want to hurt them.”
Barry looked at the stick insect.
“I won’t pull its legs.”
“Good.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“Me neither.”
Mr Henley looked at Barry.
“Especially you.”
Barry looked offended.
“Why me?”
Mr Henley said nothing.
The other children laughed.
Barry carefully moved his hand.
The stick insect continued walking.
Then Barry suddenly asked:
“What happens if it gets outside?”
Mr Henley looked directly at him.
“You must never release a stick insect into the wild.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
“It is not a pet that you can just put outside.”
Barry nodded again.
“Never release it.”
“Correct.”
Barry looked serious.
“Even if it asks?”
Mr Henley paused.
“It won’t ask.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it can’t talk.”
Barry looked at the insect.
“Are you sure?”
Mr Henley decided not to answer that.
The children continued holding the insects.
Marmaduke was exceptionally gentle.
He let his insect walk from one hand to the other.
Barry was equally fascinated now that he had established that he was not supposed to pull anything off.
He watched the insect’s legs move.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
Mr Henley interrupted.
“They have six legs.”
Barry counted again.
“Five.”
“Six.”
“Excellent.”
Then Barry looked up.
“What if it escapes?”
“You tell me.”
“What if it goes outside?”
“You tell me.”
“What if it gets released?”
“You tell me.”
Barry nodded.
Mr Henley smiled.
“Good.”
Barry looked thoughtful.
“I think I understand.”
Mr Henley was beginning to regret everything.
The children helped clean the enclosure.
They removed old leaves.
Added fresh ones.
Checked the enclosure.
Made sure it wasn’t too wet.
Misted the insects carefully.
And returned them safely.
The session had gone extraordinarily well.
No guinea pigs had been dressed.
No fish had been chased around a bucket.
No stick insect had lost a leg.
No one had released an insect into the wild.
Mr Henley was quietly amazed.
Then Barry raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“If I found a stick insect in my garden, could I keep it?”
Mr Henley thought carefully.
“If you find one outside, you should leave it where it is and tell a grown-up.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he asked:
“What if I find one in the house?”
“Tell a grown-up.”
“What if it’s in my bedroom?”
“Tell a grown-up.”
“What if it climbs on my bed?”
“Tell a grown-up.”
“What if it wants to live with me?”
Mr Henley smiled.
“Stick insects don’t make decisions about where they live in quite the same way we do.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
He paused.
“Can I have one?”
Mr Henley laughed.
“Ask your parents.”
Barry grinned.
That was exactly the answer he had been hoping for.
At home that evening, Barry burst through the door.
“Daddy!”
Mr Brand looked up.
“What?”
“I need a stick insect.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know why.”
“I know enough.”
Marmaduke arrived behind him.
“We learned about them at Animal Club.”
Mr Brand looked at Marmaduke.
“That sounds interesting.”
“It was.”
Barry began counting on his fingers.
“They climb.”
“Yes.”
“They eat leaves.”
“Yes.”
“They need misting.”
“Yes.”
“They need a tall tank.”
Mr Brand frowned.
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“They’re amazing.”
Barry took a deep breath.
“And they can’t talk.”
Mr Brand nodded.
“Excellent.”
“They don’t run very fast.”
“Also excellent.”
“They don’t need walking.”
“Very good.”
“They’re basically perfect.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“Except you don’t need one.”
Barry stared at him.
Marmaduke tried not to laugh.
Then Barry remembered something.
“Oh!”
“What?”
“We mustn’t put them in the sun.”
“Why?”
“They get too hot.”
Mr Brand nodded.
“Good.”
“And we mustn’t make them too wet.”
“Why?”
“Mould.”
“Excellent.”
“And we mustn’t pull their legs.”
Mr Brand paused.
“I should hope not.”
“And we mustn’t let them out.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“Well, I’m pleased you’ve learned something.”
Barry nodded solemnly.
Then he looked at Marmaduke.
“We know a lot about stick insects.”
“We do.”
Barry smiled.
“Maybe we’re ready to own one.”
Mr Brand sighed.
“No.”
Barry frowned.
“But we’re experts.”
Mr Brand laughed.
“You’ve attended one lunchtime club.”
Barry considered this.
“One very good lunchtime club.”
From her basket, Snowball opened one eye.
Barry looked at her.
“Don’t worry, Snowball. We’re not getting a stick insect.”
Snowball closed her eyes again.
She had lived through the guinea pig stories.
She had survived the fish tank era.
She had watched Barry become fascinated by guitars.
And now he was considering adding an army of six-legged sticks to the household.
For once, she was grateful that Barry had been taught one very important rule.
Never release a stick insect into the wild.
Because, frankly, if Barry ever acquired one, the wild would probably be considerably safer than the Brand house.
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