I would have sworn to you that I already posted this, but I couldn’t find it in my archives, so maybe I just dreamt I posted it. When I dream that I emailed someone, but never did in reality, I call it a dreamail…but a dreapost rolls off the tongue less gracefully.
Anywho, this is a story about a sweet little juvenile tarantula that I briefly adopted in Arizona last year. You probably already know that I love tarantulas, and this little baby one was just the sweetest tarantula I’ve ever met. I kept it in a little vial in my pocket for days, and let it out periodically to walk all over my arms and head until it wanted to retreat back into my pocket. And I named it My Sweet One, after this Phish song:
Eventually, I released My Sweet One back into the desert, with a tear in my eye. I hope My Sweet One is still out there, living a sweet and happy life.
There’s a post script to this story, which is that not all tarantulas wandering around in Arizona deserts are as sweet as My Sweet One…I later encountered a larger, frazzled looking tarantula on the road with a couple of classmates. We pulled over to check it out, and I crouched down to the road and held out a hand flat against the pavement. I figured if the tarantula was interested, it could just walk over my hand and keep going and if not it would avoid me.
Instead, it walked right up to my hand, put its first two legs on my palm, and then curiously began probing my skin with its chelicerae (fangs). I decided this wasn’t a friendly tarantula, so I gently but firmly withdrew my hand.