The Ballad of Sheldon and Elizabeth
by R. Murdoch
At my family’s annual family reunion some years ago when I was still a teenager, the emotions of a five-year-old got the better of her and stirred up quite the talking point of our long weekend.
The reunion took place at my grandparent’s summer home on Findlay Lake. It was a hot July weekend which included much reminiscing, bon fires, swimming, three on three soccer matches, screaming children, and drinking. I was at the reclusive moody phase of my teenaged years, and with no one there close to my own age, I stayed on my own away from the group most of the time.
On out reunion’s final day, we had a feast planned that was to be followed by fireworks after the dusk. I spent the day swimming on my own, and returned in the late afternoon when I could smell our dinner being cooked on the grill. There was to be sword fish, tuna, salmon, crab legs, steaks, corn on the cob, and homemade fruit pies. Everyone had been waiting all weekend for this meal. My uncle, who worked in food sales, got us a case of live lobsters for the occasion. When the meats were put on the grill to cook, the lobster case was opened, and everyone could see the lobsters squirming all over each other.
My five-year-old cousin, Elizabeth, didn’t know we were going to be eating the lobsters for dinner. For in the half hour between the time the case was opened and the time they were to be cooked, Elizabeth had formed a close relationship with one of the lobsters. She named it “Sheldon.” When my uncle told Elizabeth that it was time to cook Sheldon, she went mad. She started sobbing in protest, claiming that Sheldon was her friend and she loved him. The tantrum lasted for another half hour; I stood and watched the incident from a distance, not really wanting to involve myself.
Family members tried to rationalize with her saying that it wouldn’t be fair to keep Sheldon as a pet, but how does one rationalize that to a young child? Everyone grew tired of Elizabeth and my uncle finally yelled out,
“Jesus Christ, someone get that lobster from her.”
No one did anything, so I took it upon myself to take control of the situation. I walked through the crowd of my family members that were clustered around Elizabeth and I crouched down and said nicely,
“Elizabeth, could I see Sheldon for a minute?” she sniveled and reluctantly handed him
over to me. As soon as I had the almost foot-long brownish-red crustation in my hands I sprang from my crouched position and darted across the porch where my uncle had a large pot of boiling water set up on a hot plate near the grill. As soon as I started my run Elizabeth was chasing after me screaming,
“No, no. Sheldon. No!”
I reached my uncle and shoved Sheldon into his hands, and he in turn quickly threw the lobster into the boiling water. When Sheldon hit the water we heard a loud hiss as the life was quickly boiled out of him.
The look on Elizabeth’s face was incredible when she saw Sheldon fall into the pot. I thought she was going to jump in after him, so I picked her up and carried her across the porch and gave her away to my aunt. I can still hear her screaming,
“Take him out, take him out, Sheldon!”
Elizabeth cried for a long time. The Sheldon incident, as it’s now referred to, sort of ruined the dinner that everyone had been looking forward to.
Sheldon was the last lobster cooked that night. My uncle got the distinct pleasure of eating Sheldon. When he cut into Sheldon, he found lobster eggs inside. Sheldon was actually a female, but no one ever told Elizabeth this.
