When I was young, I had a dog who followed me everywhere. We often walked along the sand, and the waves would drown out the outside world. Sometimes, I would find a crab, and toss it to the dog. Canines crushed its carapace; an afternoon snack. Once, though, I caught a big one. I pulled it from its den, and held it by its claws above the maw of death. But I stopped; and, slowly, I ripped off one claw. There was no-one around. I could smell the salt in the air, and felt the drip of dog saliva. I pulled off the other claw, and held this helpless thing in my hand. The dog whined. My fingers closed around it; a child's hand shattered the shell, and crushed the goop within.
This happened on the beach in Madagascar when I was 10 years old.