The Universal Pet
THE choice of a household pet is one of the most perplexing problems confronting the average city dweller. Because of the limited dwelling and yard space available, the selection necessarily is narrowed down to creatures that are small in size and not too volatile and active. Generally speaking, apartment dwellers are restricted to dogs, cats, birds, and fish, each of which has its advantages and disadvantages. It is always extremely difficult to choose a pet that will be affectionate and playful, and at the same time will not get its owner into a jam with the neighbors, the landlord, or the board of health.
To persons in this dilemma let me recommend as the ideal and universal pet the Mexican jumping bean. True, the Mexican jumping bean has not come into general favor, but that is solely because so few people know its merits. In the Mexican jumping bean you have something that can be kept in the smallest room, that can be taught a variety of pleasing tricks, that is affectionate, hardy, and self-sustaining. There is no feeding problem because it doesn’t eat; no housing problem because it furnishes its own habitation; no sex problem because the Mexican jumping bean in the bean phase of its career has no amatory interests. It presents no housebreaking or sanitary or veterinary problem with attendant trouble or expense.
Even the worst kind of neighbors could find nothing objectionable in the Mexican jumping bean; it doesn’t bite, dig up gardens, bark, meow, howl, screech, or sing. There is no exercise problem because the bean can keep in perfect condition just by jumping against the sides of a matchbox. There is no neglect problem because you can either take it in your pocket wherever you go or leave it at home without fear that it will be lonesome and unhappy; one of the strong points of the Mexican jumping bean’s character is that, while highly social on occasion, it is thoroughly self-sufficient and can be happy with no other company than its own meditations.
The bibliography of the bean is meagre to the point of negligibility. The principal reason for the paucity of information regarding the little creature lies in the fact that botanists and entomologists cannot agree on which department it properly belongs in. They have passed the buck in a manner that would do credit to a couple of vice presidents. The botanists have argued that, since the bean is impelled on its journeys by an insect agent, the matter obviously is one for the entomologists. In rebuttal the entomologists have insisted that the bean is per se a vegetable, even though equipped with a motor, and is therefore properly to be listed under botany. As a result of this difference of opinion, which at times has become so acrimonious that blows have been struck, the public has been left in bleak ignorance of a subject that should be of general knowledge, and pet lovers have been deprived of rare opportunities.
Because of the inability of the botanists and entomologists to agree, I have had to collect my information from both of these rival fields of science, and have been put to tremendous labor trying to reconcile conflicting opinions and allegations. Much as I dislike to cavil, it seems to me that there is something akin to the hen-and-egg priority controversy involved in this discussion. At first glance, one seems inclined to agree that the Mexican jumping bean belongs to the botanical realm, since plants preceded insects, most insects live on plants, and, were there no plants, there would be virtually no insects. But the entomologists counter with the statement that, if there were no insects to traipse around and scatter pollen, there would be no plants of certain kinds, the sex life of these species being extremely vicarious, not to say hit-or-miss. Furthermore, the entomologists point out that certain varieties of insects are absolutely independent of plant life, subsisting entirely on woolen clothing, with a marked preference for white flannel trousers. Then, too, there is the common flea, which carves out his career on the back of a dog and cares nothing for vegetable life in any of its forms. In fact, the flea positively dislikes plants because some of them furnish the burrs that lodge in the dog’s hair and thus divert his attention from the flea, causing intense jealousy.
From the foregoing it will be seen that the Mexican jumping bean is not a bean in the strict sense of the word. It is, however, indigenous to Mexico anil it jumps, so the name is partially descriptive. The botanists and the entomologists agree that the chassis of the bean is the fruit of certain euphorbiaceous plants of the genus Sebastiania; the motive power is supplied by the larva of a small moth, either Carpocapsa saltitans or Grapholitha sebastianiae. In other words, the jumping bean before it begins to jump is the seed of a bush three or four feet high, closely resembling the coffee plant. The blossoms, originally of an olive-green tint, change to buff or gray when they ripen. Each blossom has three seeds. Two of these are doomed to the sedentary and colorless career of mere seeds, but the third is born to adventure.
In the month of May, a moth selects this lucky seed as the nursery of her progeny. She lays her egg on the petal of the flower, and as the flower goes to seed it forms a triangular shell with one convex side. Snugly enclosed in this apartment, the egg produces a worm, which in time grows to the length of perhaps half an inch with a diameter of maybe a tenth of an inch. As the worm grows older he develops inner longings. He determines to broaden his horizon. Finding his prison walls unyielding, he protests violently against his confinement, and his protest takes the form of coiling himself up and suddenly uncoiling in the manner of a spring. The uncoiling is done so spasmodically and with such force that the bean will jump clear off the ground provided the worm is a vigorous and earnest one. If he happens to be a worm of a less forceful and volatile character, he may succeed only in rolling over.
A worm worthy of the name is extremely firm — some might even call it stubborn — in his determination to get about a bit and subject himself to the broadening influences of travel. From May until November he keeps up his coiling and uncoiling. Then it dawns on him that trying to knock a hole through the side of the shell isn’t going to pay off. So he substitutes science for brute and misdirected strength and bores a hole at the top of his house with his teeth or such other tools as may be available. Once out in the air, he immediately develops into a very gorgeous moth, going in for all manner of striking color effects. This happens only in a warm climate, however. If the jumping bean is exposed to too much cold, the worm’s purpose to become a moth loses its fire and he dies in his shell. But he will live for about six months if kept in a moderately warm place in a temperate climate, and the warmer the temperature, the more he will jump.
In spite of his adamant determination to get out of jail, the worm insists on playing the game according to the rules. He won’t cheat or take any short cuts. If you bore a hole in his shell, say about an eighth of an inch in diameter, in order to give him a hand, he refuses to accept the unfair advantage. Instead, he immediately sets to work to close the hole with a cement that he carries on his person. A smart worm will make the repair in about an hour, which is less time than it takes for some tire repairs where the workmen have every mechanical facility at their command and use their mouths only for making faces at the tire.
A few hints on the care of the jumping bean may not be amiss at this point. As I have already mentioned, the worm does not have to be fed. Whatever he needs in the way of subsistence he probably gets from the inner walls ot his shell. Nor does one have to take him out for a walk. He is exercising twentyfour hours a day as it is, and one should be very careful not to leave him loose at night, because he will make a noise that sounds like mice gnawing, which means that somebody will have to get out of bed to investigate. Furthermore, he has a penchant, which cannot be matched even by a collar button, for hiding himself under furniture. The jumping bean is very susceptible to light, even though he never seems to get any through that shell. The humane owner will garage him in a dark box at the end of a hard day’s work. That immediately quiets him and gives him a chance to rest mind and body. On the other hand, beans left exposed to the glare of electric lights overnight have been known to jump themselves into a nervous breakdown.
The intelligence of these little creatures is remarkable, as is their capacity for affection. They soon learn to recognize the footsteps and voices of members of the family and to jump when spoken to. They are particularly fond of romping with children, but may protest violently if swallowed by an infant. This may cause a digestive upset of serious proportions in the interior of the infant, too. There are, to be sure, jumping beans that are sullen, morose, or actually vicious, just as there are bad dogs and cats. But ninetynine in one hundred will reward kindness with faithful and enthusiastic service.
Jumping beans come in a variety of colors and finishes, and you should be careful to select one that will harmonize with the furniture and decoration of the home in which he is to live. For example, a bean whose shell is dark mahogany never should be kept in an Early American room, nor should the Louis Quinze beans he permitted to roam around on Chippendale furniture. For beans that are to be kept in ultra-modernistic rooms with a lot of chrome trimmings, a coat of lacquer highly polished is recommended, but for other types of rooms persons of good taste prefer the domestic or dull finish.
The natural food of the jumping-bean moth is the maguey plant, a special cactus from which are obtained pulque and mescal, the Mexican national drinks. Any American who has indulged in even one good snifter of either of these beverages will realize immediately what makes the Mexican jumping beans jump.
E. A. BATCHELOR