Creep-crawlin' away

Ah, so many wonderful aspects of the country life to miss: the sound of frogs croaking at the lakeside in the morning, the smell of woodsmoke lying in the valleys, the feel of redwood bark under your palms….

But the sight of horny male tarantulas prowling around in search of good holes to sink their hooks into? Not so much. As this story in The Union Democrat reports, autumn is the time for lovin’ in the Sierra Nevada foothills if you are a lonely Theraphosidae.

I vividly remember this creepy phenomenon, coinciding with the dusty, dry time of year long after summer has withered away but before the rains of winter come. Once while playing tennis with my brother, our game was interrupted by a black, hairy, leggy creature scuttling across the court. I shrieked the way only a 12-year-old girl can, my brother laughed, and I demanded he get rid of it while I cowered near the fence. Turns out tarantulas curl up in a very disconcerting way when swept across a tennis court with a broom.

A better way to dispense with them is to run the eerie bastards over with the tires of your car. Or so I hear. Now, of course, I’m an enlightened, environmentally conscious adult who respects all living things for their place in the universe.

Or so I say.

P.S. I was going to include a picture of a tarantula with this post, but upon looking I realized they are just too damn shudder-inducing. Google it yourself and see.