poeticwisdom.com

Legs, the Centipede

Centipedes have a hundred legs. Or so it seems when you see one walking down the bathtub. Imagine having to buy shoes and socks for all that lot! And think of the time it would take to put them all on in the morning!

Centipedes are all wriggly and moving. Nobody knows why they have so many legs. I just hope they don’t get rheumatism, that’s all.

Legs was a great one for walking. He thought it was definitely the thing to do. Walk, walk, walk, all day long. Sometimes, of an evening when he was tired, he would have loved to sit down and put his feet up. But this, he realised, was not possible: there just weren’t enough tables and stools in the house.

Now although Legs loved walking, there was, he had noticed, something very peculiar about the way in which he walked. When striding down the road he kept curving away to the left. So, in order to avoid walking into the wall, he would have to stop, turn half-right, then start again. Can you imagine having to walk along in a series of curves instead of a straight line?

He told his friends about it. They all watched in amazement, shook their heads and said, “Extraordinary!”
“I wish I knew the reason,” said Legs, “It’s very annoying.”
His friends agreed that it must be annoying but none of them could think of a remedy.

Finally, in desperation, Legs went to see the centipede-doctor, who frowned and said, “Very odd! Walk round the surgery a few times, will you?”
Which Legs did, curving always to the left.
“How many legs have you got?” the doctor asked. Legs gave him an old-fashioned look as though to say, “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Well?” said the doctor.
“Enough, I would have thought,” said Legs.
“Let’s find out,” the doctor said and began to count. “Have you ever counted them yourself?”
“No, actually,” said Legs. “I wouldn’t have thought that any centipede in his right mind…”
“Keep still while I’m counting!” the doctor said. “There, I’ve lost my place.”
And he had to start again. When he had finished he did another count just to make sure; then another; then another. But each time he kept getting a different number.
“I’ll never get this right if you don’t stop fidgeting!”
He went to a cupboard. “Here, swallow this pill and go to a sleep for a bit.”

Centipedes don’t fidget in their sleep, so the doctor could now do his counting more easily. When Legs woke up the doctor said, triumphantly, “I’ve found the answer. You’ve got 101 legs!”
Legs just looked at him and blinked. “So?” he said.
“Well, there you are! Fifty legs on the left side, fifty one on the right. One too many. You’re walking further with your right legs. This is why you keep curving to the left.”

Legs looked over his shoulder in wonderment at his fine array of limbs stretching away into the distance. “What do you suggest I do about it?” he asked.
“Have one off,” said the doctor.
“What?” said Legs, horrified.
“Yes, you need pruning. I’ll cut one off now if you like.”
“You won’t!” Legs answered and rushed out at great speed, his numerous feet a blur across the carpet. But his curve took him right round the waiting room and back inside the surgery.
“Gotcha!” cried the doctor, pouncing like a cat.
“Not yet, you haven’t!” shouted Legs, wriggling free and running outside again.

But he was in too much of a hurry. Going down the stairs he tripped over his feet. And when a centipede trips over his feet, that’s really something! Bumpity bump bump, bang bang CRASH!

Down at the bottom he discovered that one of his legs had come off. The doctor, smiling, handed it to him. “There,” he said. “Keep it as a souvenir.”

Legs, rather dazed, took it and walked home in a straight line. When his head cleared he felt quite pleased really.