THERE’S nothing like the shriek of a young child to get your attention.
We were heading out somewhere, packing the car, when it happened.
My five-year-old daughter was horrified at a blob on the door handle.
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“It’s just some bird droppings,” I said, going inside to get some toilet paper.
In the back of my mind I was wondering what the odds were on a passing pigeon landing a pile of poop quite so accurately.
It also sort of occurred to me that it was a rather odd shape.
I grabbed a handful of paper and was careful to scoop the offending excrement off the handle with the greatest of care.
However, as I did so, I could have sworn I saw some legs move.
Not my kids as they jumped back, but some small furry ones.
“What on Earth? I think that might have been a spider!”
My family, now morbidly fascinated, wanted to see.
So, I rolled out the paper and sure enough, it was a spider, not one of those tiny ones, but one which could probably have gotten a role in the 1990 movie Arachnophobia
The only problem was that it was still alive.
Legs spangled everywhere and it took a few groggy steps forward, not unlike a moon buggy creeping across unknown terrain.
This time I saw six legs make a run for it, my wife and two kids, with the former winning quite comfortably. (She’ll take on a snake though, just not a spider or gecko).
I admit I too got a bit of a fright.
I don’t like killing insects but this not-so-little creepy squatter simply had to go, graduating to the next life via the crunch of a shoe.
“You know I felt this sticky web stuff when I opened my door,” said my wife. “I’m not surprised it was a spider.”
Thanks, would have been nice to know that a little earlier.
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