My father was a member of a sailing club at Keystone lake near Tulsa and to get to the bathrooms you had to climb up this hellish path supported by railroad ties. In one spot on the wood of a tie I saw a tarantula living there. She (???) and I became great friends. I'd spend all summer hunting down crickets and such and I would bring them to her and call her and she would come to the edge of her home and I'd give them to her. I met her when I was six and we left the lake when I was 13 and we'd been friends all that time. When I said goodbye I was sitting on the tie talking with her when I started crying. For the first time she came all the way out of her home, crawled onto my knee and petted my arm with her front legs. I just cried and pet her back gently until someone was coming and she dashed back into her home.
I know she is long gone now but I hope her babies are still there. That really formed my deep love of spiders.
Now we had a neighbor who flopped down on a couch in her basement and was swarmed by fiddle backs. She had bites all over her legs and stomach and watching those horrible sores fester and die to her bone and muscle over a year made me very reactive to those aggressive little buggers. I learned well what they look like and they are not allowed to live in my space. Nasty spiders that give all the rest a bad name.
Awwwwww. Xoxo
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