Azo, the Creative Amoeba

Near a lake and by a pond is a puddle. Sunshiny spiders skitter across it. Wee things crawl about its edges.

Wiggle! Plop! Plunk!

Azo, the amoeba, lives in the puddle. His puddle home is very small, but so is Azo. He is so tiny that the furry creatures of the forest don’t see him.

Scurry! Skip!

Little feet and skinny tails whizz through the puddle.

If the fuzzies and the spiders and wee wigglies see Azo, they pay no attention. Could you see Azo if you looked in the puddle?

No, not without a microscope—that’s an instrument that makes things look bigger.

Does Azo care if no one sees him? Not a bit. Azo is busy tending his own puddle.

Azo is much like other amoebas—a teeny blob with no skin or bones or teeth or eyes; just a blob with a dark spot in the middle.

Most amoebas remain round blobs or oblong blobs or leggy blobs.

Not Azo.

“I will be different,” says Azo. “I will be creative.” And he creates a “daisy” of himself. When a speck of food comes near, Azo’s daisy petals curl around it. The food is now inside Azo. He doesn’t need a mouth. He doesn’t need a tummy. Azo doesn’t really need to be creative; this is just something special that Azo does. It makes life interesting.

Every day he works at being creative. He can be a diamond or a triangle or a square or a circle. Often he’s a bell or a shell, a crown or a coil.

Oh! Oh! What’s happening? Azo’s dark center feels strange.

“I’m coming apart!” Azo cries.

The dark spot in his middle is coming apart. It splits down the center! Half of Azo goes with half of the dark middle. The other half of Azo goes with the other half of the dark middle.

Now in the puddle there are two Azos. Each one can now be a flower, a moth, a star, or a moon. Or they can create two new lovely shapes that have never happened before.

Oh! Oh! What’s happening now? Summer is here. No rain falls. The puddle grows smaller … and smaller … and smaller.

Can the Azos move without water? No. Can the Azos eat without water? No. What will they do?

They know. Each one rolls into a tiny ball and goes to sleep.

Do spiders skim the puddle? Do wee wigglies waggle here? No. All is quiet. The puddle is gone.

Look out! Here comes a breeze. SWOOSH!

Up goes the dust from the dried puddle. Away sail the Azos. One Azo lands in the warm water at the edge of the pond. He stretches and is happy in his new home.

Where is the other Azo? Oh, here he is in a new puddle. He wakes up and sees his puddle is small. It is not a pretty puddle with grass or flowers growing about it.

Does Azo feel sorry for himself? No, of course not. He begins making himself into all sorts of lovely shapes just to see if he can still be creative.

The furry creatures don’t see Azo in his puddle. If the fuzzies and the spiders and wee wigglies see him, they pay no attention. But Azo knows about himself. He knows where he is.

“I won’t be a blob,” says Azo. “I’ll be creative.”

Hurray for Azo! He has made one tiny spot on earth more beautiful.