I live in a very pretty, semi-rural part of New Zealand called “Titirangi”, which in English means “The fringe of heaven.”
Our backyard is primordial forest, with huge 100-year-old kauri and rimu trees, and a smattering of nikau palm trees.
All of that is great.
What’s not so great lives on the dark side of my house, in an area known as “Spiderangi”.
Translated, that means, “The fringe of 10 billion huge friggin spiders.”
Last week I was using the 20-foot-long extension brush to remove some industrial strength spider webs from our tallest picture window.
In the process, and without malice, I knocked down a spider that was so big it made a “thud” when it hit the ground by my foot.
Not even Michael Jackson moonwalked faster than I did, as I simultaneously pulverized the general area where the spider had thudded.
At first, Spidersaurus tried to play possum, which wasn’t hard, because he was that big and hairy.
But my persistent pounding with the extension brush, and my girlish squeals of terror, eventually prompted Spidersaurus to take off.
Running like a friggin Raptor, I tell you.
Thankfully, it was running away from me.
If it had been running toward me and the Moosedawg, Buddy would have died, no question.
Because he’s old and crippled, and I can outrun him when I’m terrified.
Don’t judge me! It’s survival of the fittest in Spiderangi!
My Close Encounter of the Arachnid Kind was about a week ago.
But I keep worrying about what to do about Spidersaurus and his 10 billion spider buddies.
Surprisingly, Clean Green New Zealand companies sell some seriously lethal spider spray but, man, is it expensive!
Even if I was shelled out $100 bucks for a bottle of this stuff, I don’t think I’d trust it enough to launch a frontal assault on Spiderangi.
Maybe if I had a flamethrower, and I’d spent many hours fortifying myself with adult beverages, I’d be prepared to battle these creatures.
But even then, I’d want to call in air cover and napalm.
So here I sit, left in limbo.
I am too afraid of Spidersauruses to go all Rambo.
And even more afraid to do nothing.
But something has to be done because I am getting really twitchy, even in the sunny front yard.
Every time I walk under the archway and get a face full of spiderweb, my primal brain screams KILLER FRIGGIN SPIDER! RUN! RUN! RUN! AT LEAST FASTER THAN THE MOOSEDAWG!
I’m having nightmares about huge giant arachnids, especially the one who is pissed at me for whumping it with the extension brush.
In my dream, Spidersaurus entwines me with steel-like web, envenomates me with spider juice, hangs me upside-down to cure, and patiently waits for my innards to liquify.
Then Spidersaurus and his mates slurp me down like a Smoothie.
People, this is not how I planned to go.