“I just about had a heart attack!”
My husband came running into the room panting. He began rummaging around our dresser. Papers were being tossed about. He was frantic.
“What happened?” I was not worried. This pretty much happens every time my husband goes outside. He is quite the adventurer.
I could guess it would have something to do with spiders. It has been our obsession for the last three weeks. We have had an unfortunate infestation of brown widows in our backyard. They have made every crevice under every piece of our furniture their luxurious breeding ground.
My husband had gone outside to try to remove more webs. The exterminator was coming to spray for the third time (this month) everything down with a delightful mix of poison which seems to do nothing except make the ground wet for five minutes.
“There is the biggest green spider on the fence! I thought it was a praying mantis. So, I went to pick it up. But right when I almost touched it, I realized it was a spider!”
He paused here to catch his breath. Then he exclaimed excitedly, “I’ve got to get a picture of it!”
He grabbed the camera from his bedside (don’t ask) and dashed outside. Not one to miss seeing a creature in my yard (or a funny story in case it jumped on him), I followed.
It was a magnificent spider. One of its legs was missing. I could only hope this was a war wound from a victorious battle it had had with a brown widow.
After my husband finished taking pictures, I looked at him.
“The exterminator is coming!” I proclaimed in my best voice of panic. To which I seem silly. I guess I am a hypocrite killing one species and wanting to protect another. But this green spider couldn’t land my family in the hospital.
We looked at the beautiful spider and pondered our next move.
“Well, you’re just gonna have to move it.” I said.
My husband did not seem pleased. But he realized it was what he had to do. That is his role in this household, designated spider mover. He has had plenty of practice with the daddy long legs we keep all over the house. My role is to scream, wring my hands, and give unhelpful advice.
I am available for hire.
My husband finished taking his pictures and delicately moved the spider (which we later looked up and realized was a Green Lynx Spider) to the trees behind our house.
“With his hands?” You ask.
Oh no. That would be taking this little grand sad adventure too far. On a stick. The spider was moved on a stick.
A very long stick.
We spent the entire day waiting for the exterminator to arrive so we could ask him not to spray the trees and watch to make sure this was actually carried out. Yes, we wasted spent the entire day protecting this one spider.
Again, available for hire.
As for me, I am sitting here watching the wet ground where the exterminator has just sprayed. It is drying.
I swear I can hear a web being made.
My husband is very excited.
* I shared this on The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue.
