Well, well, well. We had our first tarantula in the house last night (Dianna doesn't know about it yet - she was sleeping). I had just finished the previous blog entry and was turning lights off, getting ready for bed when something moving beside the front door caught my eye.
A big chocolate-brown spider, about two and a half inches across was slowly going alongside the wall.
Being the great white hunter that I am, I grabbed the machete just in case. I nudged him (her?) a couple of times. She could move fast when touched, but only an inch or two, then she slowed down or just plain stopped.
She didn't really seem all that threatening, but even so, I didn't relish the idea of going to sleep with her roaming all over the house - probably hunting geckos. Of course, my imagination pictured Vincent Price being overwhelmed by tarantulas in some movie. Not tonight. Out she goes - but how?
Inspiration struck. I got a plastic tub and dropped it over her, then slid a piece of cardboard under it. Viola! I picked her up and tried to open the locking screen door... Ooops. Big mistake. As the door opened, everything went flying.
Where the Hell was she? I looked low, I looked high. Oh, there she was crawling gingerly over the cushion of one of our chairs on the front porch. I recaptured her and promptly pitched her outside onto the patio, where she resumed an almost leisurely pace. "Good night, Ma'am, and good hunting - outside", I thought as I securely closed and bolted the door.
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