I get sentimental over these little guys~

Recently some of my bugs have died. I failed Luther, my Dynastes Tityus grub, and that stung. Some of my Odontotaenius Disjunctus have died as well, but of old age.
Talking about it with a friend, I said a thing, and figured I should put it here:

"I've lived caring for bugs long enough, most of which have short life spans, I understand how it goes.
At this point, what matters to me is how happy I can keep them. If I can keep them alive and well... I am happy. If they die of old age... I am happy. As fragile little bugs, there's so much that could've gone wrong. They could have had a much more violent, painful death at many points along their lives. But the fact that they die of old age gives me a sense of satisfaction, for I know that they made the most out of their lives as they could.
I'm sad to see them go, I miss them a little some times. But in the end, I feel and hope that I am doing a good job with them."

Odontotaenius Disjunctus Accomplishments!

They're going places!

First of all... this little guy.

While doing homework, out of the corner of my eye, I watched the poor thing spend a couple minutes clawing fruitlessly at the slick side of an apple chunk. It's claws just weren't made for that. It almost seemed pointless, but then:

millipede updates also I'm dumb

AAAAAA!
this blog slipped from my mind
also so did an alarmingly large portion of this year! weee...

Anywho! What happened to my millipedes?

a confession (plus more words)

So, uhhh...
You know that thing people sometimes say when they see something cute, like babies or whatever? "You're so cute, I could eat you up!"?

As weird as a compliment it is, I say it to my desert millipedes. At least, the latter portion, and I put my own twist to it:
"I could slurp you up!"
Get it? Cuz, they're like, noodles with legs! eheheheh...

Oh, what a nutter I must be.

Well, I used to, at any rate.
A few weeks ago they buried themselves to molt. At least, I know for certain one of them did. I managed to catch glimpses of it half-buried and working its way into the dirt. The other two simply disappeared, and I can only imagine they did the same. Though, for all I know, they could simply be hanging out underneath that one log with most of my bess beetles.
So now I'm just waiting for them to reappear someday. I can't deny, I'm a bit worried that they won't ever. As absurd a fear it may be (I mean... millipedes aren't known for being hard to keep), since this is the first time I've experienced any of my millipedes molting, I fear that despite me reading so much and following guides as best I can, I've somehow messed up.
Ah, well. Just gotta be patient...

A Remembrance of Spike

      Figured I should start this blog with a post remembering one of the more important insects in my life, whose company was/is probably responsible for my great interest in them today. I mean, even if I had never kept him, I still would have an interest in bugs, but perhaps it wouldn't be to such a great magnitude.

      He was a Dynastes Tityus that my classmates gave to me in the 5th grade. One morning late in the spring, I arrived at school, to be greeted and given him. He was inside a little empty plastic ham container, accompanied by some sort of biscuit/bread. They told me that they had found him crawling on the sidewalk outside, and knowing my interest in bugs, they captured him and kept him for me. (Even back then I was known for that. I was the one to provide and keep Armadillidiidae for use in some science class projects, and I was the one that was always called upon to carry a beetle or spider outside whenever one was found in a classroom. I also remember being the one to protest the squishing of spiders occasionally found on walls.)

      I was delighted, since I found him to be fascinating. He was so large, and I had never seen a bug with such an interesting shape before. Later that day, when I arrived home, I ignored my usual routine of doing schoolwork, and instead excitedly prepared a more permanent enclosure for him. My solution? A gallon ice cream bucket. It was the largest container I had available at the time, and it would be what he lived in for the majority of the rest of his life. I poked several holes in the lid, and I put an inch layer of dirt in the bottom. Another little important detail is that I took a rock I found outside and placed it in there too, as decoration of sorts. I placed him in it, and then I did a quick google search to find out what he actually ate. (I had the faint idea that he didn't actually eat bread, but what exactly, I did not know.) Afterwards, I sliced up an orange and placed it in the bucket. He crawled onto it and began feeding. I watched with fascination, before proudly showing him off to my mother and grandmother (the latter was staying at our home at the time for a temporary visit).

      When it came to naming him, I oh-so-creatively named him Spike, for reasons I'm sure you'll never be able to guess~

Oh, the things I did with that insect.