I used to have a pet crawfish, so my friend made a mold of its

Hear now the curious yet profound words of Betsy Brandt, who declared: “I used to have a pet crawfish, so my friend made a mold of its claws and bronzed a key chain for me out of it.” At first, these words may seem lighthearted, even strange—a tale of a small creature turned into a token of memory. Yet beneath this simplicity lies a treasure of meaning: the eternal desire of the human heart to preserve love, to transform fleeting life into lasting remembrance, and to honor even the smallest companions with a monument of permanence.

For the crawfish, humble and overlooked, was no great beast of legend. It did not roar like the lion nor soar like the eagle. Yet to the heart of its keeper, it was dear enough to be remembered, dear enough to be immortalized in bronze. Here lies a lesson: greatness is not measured by size or strength, but by the love we attach to it. The smallest of beings may leave the deepest of imprints, and the least of creatures may call forth the highest devotion.

The act of casting the claws in bronze is symbolic of what all humanity has sought since the dawn of time: to preserve memory against the erosion of years. The ancients carved their heroes in stone, raised their gods in marble, and inscribed their stories on clay tablets, lest they be forgotten. Likewise, Brandt’s friend, in a gesture both tender and humorous, performed a ritual as old as civilization: the transformation of the temporary into the eternal. The key chain became not only an ornament, but a relic, a talisman of memory carried through the days.

Think of Egypt, where kings were buried with their pets and their treasures, believing that what they cherished in life must accompany them in eternity. Think of the Roman custom of crafting masks of the dead, preserving their faces for future generations. In each of these acts, as in the bronzing of a crawfish’s claw, lies the same truth: the heart of man cannot bear to let go of what it loves, and so it seeks to enshrine it, to carry it forward, to make memory tangible.

Yet there is also a deeper poetry here: that a friend performed this act. For memory does not live in solitude alone. It thrives in community, in the bonds of those who share our joys and sorrows. The friend who bronzed the claws did more than create an object; they sanctified friendship itself, proving that love multiplies when it is reflected in the deeds of others. What is remembrance if not the weaving of many hearts into the tapestry of one life?

Thus, the teaching is this: do not dismiss the small, nor belittle the strange. Whether it be a pet crawfish, a trinket, or a fleeting moment, such things may hold the weight of eternity if they are bound by love. The true monuments of our lives are not the towers we build, but the tokens of care we preserve—the laughter of friends, the memory of companionship, the relics of affection.

The lesson for us is clear: cherish the little things, for they are the true keepers of joy. Preserve your memories not only in your heart, but in actions, tokens, and rituals that give them form. Honor your loved ones—whether human or beast—with remembrance that outlasts their passing. And above all, nurture the friendships that help us carry these memories, for they are the guardians of our stories.

So let your action be this: look upon the small treasures of your life with reverence. Keep tokens of love, however humble, for they will remind you of who you were and who walked with you. Let your heart bronze the moments that matter, and carry them as keys—keys that unlock not doors of wood and metal, but the doorways of memory and the chambers of the soul.