- Editor's Note -

Anything with eight legs is a goner
in my book

By Amanda Huber

 
It is no secret to family, friends and those of you who have read my columns over the years, that I have a definite fear of spiders. I react the same upon seeing this creature, whether it is in real life, in a magazine, on television or even in my dreams – I tense up, my heart beats rapidly, my breath gets short and fast. Essentially, I panic.

Just this past week, I dreamed I was eating take-out barbecue from Texas. When I opened the box, out crawled a tarantula. I reacted the same in my dreams that I do in real life, and when I woke up the next morning, I could not turn my head. My neck was completely stiff, and I’m sure the reason is that I tensed up in my sleep upon seeing the evil beast that stalks me in the night.

They stalk me in the day, too. We have a paved driveway, and it provides a good place for me to walk for some exercise. Every now and then, a Wolf spider will be sitting on the asphalt, seemingly sunning itself like an alligator does. I’m convinced they come out because they know I will be walking along.

Last season, you likely felt targeted and had your own nightmares about the insatiable worm attacking your peanuts. Like a bad B movie, you couldn’t kill it with your usual insecticide spray.

“What kind of beast is this devouring my very livelihood?” you may have said in a very William Shatner-like dramatic tone.

However, it turns out that it just wasn’t the worm you thought it was, and that’s why you couldn’t kill it. Read more about this in, “What’s Buggin’ Your Fields?” on page 16.

As for me, I have found that a name-brand wasp and hornet spray works on spiders. I can stand 15 to 20 feet away and fire down, soaking the wicked monster. I did this recently to one of the Wolf spiders on the road. However, as I coated it thoroughly, emptying half the can, the insecticide splattered all around, leaving an oily circle almost a foot and a half in diameter on the road.

Later, my dad, having seen the splatter circle on the road, asked what happened, and I told him what I had done. “Was it really this big?” he asked facetiously, holding up his hands a foot and a half apart.

“Yep,” I answered. “But now it’s dead.”