Yesterday I had not one.. but two close encounters of the arachnophobia variety and around this place one sighting is WAY too many. The first, a BIG hobo spider ( actually MASSIVE !!) had clearly decided to practice the not exactly encouraged ( if you are a spider) sport of swimming. Harold the Hobo could have practiced being submerged in the pond…he could have paddled his eight legs in the culvert run off, he could have tried to drown anywhere..why did he have to pick Charm’s water bucket ? Then..just to make matters a hundred times worse, Harold the Hobo pretended to be dead and I thought I was safe. Bravely I even considered fishing him out ( very carefully !)…Carla’s obsession with anything with more than four legs and uglier than sin would possibly have made Harold welcome on a microscope slide. Predicament number 1…getting the “dead” eight legged monster out of the bucket and predicament number 2….what to do with said corpse pending her return. Fortunately for me, struggling with these monumental problems, Harold the Hobo resurrected…he was no longer dead…all eight legs were waving and I swear he was watching me!!!! Game over, sorry Carla, you’ll have to find your own specimen and I can safely say, Harold the Hobo spider will NEVER swim again !!
Barely recovered from my earlier trauma, we headed up to the house for lunch and out of the corner of my eye I saw it !!! Just waiting..still and menacing, black and hairy, big body and humongous eight legs !!!! NO, it was all just too much, I can deal with Ronald Rat, Mickey Mouse, Silas the snake and most any other barnyard bird or critter but don’t give me spiders !
Quietly doing what I do best, up to my knees in horse poop I happened to notice a sound that didn’t sound like it came from whence it should come. It seemed closer examination was required…but where was I going to look ? There it was again, a very distinct COCK A DOODLE DOOOO and it wasn’t from within the confines of the chicken pen. Big clues came from the roosters still firmly on the ground trying to round up the girls and glancing upwards at the bright red rooster playing king of the castle on the wrong side of the eagle net. Roger the Rhode Island Red Rooster had made it out through a small hole in the net but typically, his instinct for freedom had got him out but his chicken brain couldn’t find the way back !! Worse… his rooster testosterone had kicked in…and all the feathered ladies were back where he had come from. What’s a frustrated rooster to do but wander agitatedly around the pen trying to return to where he had escaped from. I think there is a moral here for a rooster with an independent spirit…just be content with what you have !
Time to go, Greg and I are home alone today..what trouble can we get into !!
Take care, keep safe, M