Article: Fiddler crabs to rhinos. (personal narrative of wildlife expert)

"Ouch!" I jerked my finger out of the fiddler crabs burrow in the black mud. Hanging on was a little fiddler, with its outsized pincers biting into my finger.

At the time, I was four years old, exploring with my grandfather. I held up my finger for him to see. "I guess this one didn't know me, Grandpop," I said.

My grandfather carefully pried open the big yellow pincers, relieving my pain. The fiddler scurried back to its burrow.

I was lucky. My family had a cottage that stood on pilings in the New Jersey salt marsh, within sight of the ocean. We went there to escape the stifling summer heat of the Philadelphia area.

My parents sat on ...

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