Barbara Green, age 11, of Des Moines, Iowa, for her question:

Is there really a creature called the vineparoon?

There is indeed such a creature among our native earthlings. But you are not likely to meet him in Iowa, or in the northern or eastrrn states. The vinegaroon is a creature of warm winter climates. The rather small, leggy fellow enjoys life in our summery southwestern deserts.

The real life vinegaroon is a first cousin of the scorpions and, like all his kinfolk, he gives off an odor, especially when cornered. The natural perfume of the true scorpion is far from pleasant to the human nose. The vinegaroon is less offensive. At least his fragrance reminds us of somethin  eye know and accept. If you have guessed that he earned his folksy name because he s ives off a vinegarish scent, you are correct. The true scorpion has another quality that makes him less endearing. He carries a nasty stinger at the end of his tail, and the vinegaroon does not.

Scorpions and their kinfolk, the spiders, the ticks and the mites are eight legged members of the vast Phylum Arthropoda. Scientists tell us that their leggy ancestors were the first animals to leave the ancient seas and cope successfully with life on the dry land. The family tree of the crawlers dates back some 400 million years. Like all arthropods they have no spines or bones to support lare body frames. Their soft internal organs are held in shape by sturdy coverings. Their legs and other moving parts are jointed with rings of pliable leathery material.

The vinegaroon has a glossy, dark brown body and eight jointed legs clad in dark, hairy hose. He measures about six inches, half of which is a tapering whiptail. His large pincer jaws are fitted with rows of mean toothy spikes. They poke forward somewhat like the curved horns of a cow. He has no antennae, but he uses his two extra long front legs to feel out the path ahead. The vinegaroon uses only six of his eight hairy boots for walking.

Mr. Vinegaroon usually spends his day dozing under a desert rock. He wakes up as the sun sets and comes out to dine. Feeling his way along with his pair of front legs, he can scurry around through the darkest hours of the night. 'Scientists class spiders and insects as arthropods, but the vinegaroon seems to disavow this kinship. Bugs  make up the major part of his meaty menu. He also disavows the careless egg laying family life of the insects. Mrs. Vinegaroon gives birth to live babies and takes the trouble to educate them. During the day, she shares her den with the growing youngsters and at night they ride perched on her back when she goes out foraging for groceries.

Some people claim that the vinegaroon makes a good pet. The interesting character certainly is more alert than his insect kinfolk. When properly treated, the little captive may learn to accept food from his owner's hand without nipping the fingers. He needs a sandy home, warm and dry with a few stony hiding places to spend the day. And his daily menu is a supply of assorted bugs and spiders    alive and kicking.