We had a 10-gallon empty aquarium in the garage that my daughter wanted to do something with, so I added sand, aquarium rock, and seashells. I thought it would be a good idea to have around when we caught insects and small animals that she wanted to observe before setting them free again.
The next day I was brushing down the walls of the swimming pool and saw something clutching the tile just above water level. It was a lizard that sort of looked like a snake without the slithery tongue, so I scooped it up with the net and dropped it into the tank. The snake-lizard was lively at first, scaling the glass walls, but we gave it a few crickets from our snow leopard’s stash, which calmed it down considerably.
The very next day, Olivia took a break from filming a stop motion video to hold the lizard who we now called, Lucy. So she picked her up and held her firmly between two clenched hands. But unfortunately, Olivia mistook tameness for relaxation.
The moment Olivia relaxed her grip, Lucy slipped right out of Olivia’s hand and made a run for it. She landed on top of the cage, scampered to the edge, and stopped. Lucy looked back at Olivia, nodded her head. And when Olivia motioned to reach it, Lucy plunged over the edge. Gone forever.
Freedom was inevitable for Lucy anyway, so it was no big deal. I’m not crazy about keeping animal life captive for an extended period of time anyway. It always ends up in death, and I don’t like blood on my hands–not even black widow juice. Olivia, she likes to observe her captive’s life completely, yet she forgets about them, loses interest, which usually means a shorter lifespan. In any case, Lucy ended up being small game compared to our next captive.
Last night, Olivia and I went for a swim. We were in the hot tub warming up and decided it was time to go inside. Olivia was first out, and after taking two steps, she screamed and fell back into the hot tub.
“TARANTULA! Oh my god, a tarantula!” She screamed, continuing in this way about seven more times loud enough to inform many of our neighbors.
This is ridiculous, I thought, and yet with heart pounding, Olivia in hysterics, my eyes squinting. I proceeded with caution. I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
There was no question. It was a tarantula all right, a black one with bristles all over it. I later read in Field Guide to the Spiders of California and the Pacific Coast States written by R.J. Adams, in late fall male tarantulas often roam the landscape in search of a female.
“After reaching adulthood, a male spider weaves a small sheet of silk known as a sperm web, on which he deposits a drop of semen. He then dips the tips of his palps into the semen and draws it into the emboli, which are syringe-like structures used to transfer sperm to the female. His palps now “charged,” the male leaves the safety of his web or burrow, pursuing females by following the pheromones wafting off their webs… During mating, the male transfers sperm either into the females’s gonopore or into her epigynum, where the sperm is stored in the spermathecae until she is ready to lay her eggs. The sperm is released and the eggs are fertilized only when they are being deposited into the egg sacs”(10).
The empty aquarium could not have come at a better time. My wife went for a flashlight to get a better look and I went to the garage to find something to catch it with. I grabbed an empty box, when suddenly appeared Lucy, our snake-lizard. She was staring up at me.
“No offense, little one, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” I said, tearing off a box lid and ran out the side door.
So there I was bare-footed, box in one hand, card board lid in the other, trying to lift the tarantula, 4-inches away from my hand, into a cardboard box with nothing but cardboard lid.
Meanwhile, the flashlight operator who is lacking the correct skills for the job, mind you, is causing the tarantula to move in and out of darkness. I couldn’t tell if the tarantula went into the box or onto my foot.
Once in the box, my next task was to slide the tarantula out of the rectangular box and into a round two-gallon bucket. But glimpsing the tarantula in the dancing light, I could see it was now upside down, clutching it with apparent ease.
Finally my wife chimed in, “Why don’t you just put it in the aquarium instead of the bucket?”
Right, yes. Square peg-square hole. Straight into the aquarium. Skip a step. Lose the panic. That’s right. Into the aquarium. Straight away.
Sometimes stress has a way of rendering rational thought ineffective.
So holding the box with two hands and far enough away from my face, I ran straight for the garage. I angled the box into the wide open aquarium and coaxed the tarantula out with a few gentle taps on one end of the box.
Finally, Charlie, the Tarantula, released his grip and slid onto the soft white sand with a gentle thud. It was all right, its two front legs stretching out, scenting its surroundings. It was going to be fine. It was alive. And I was relieved.
Olivia was euphoric. What a find! Something that had come directly from nature.
For the conservationists out there, you’ll be happy to know we managed to keep Charlie alive for the next two weeks, and he ate very well on a steady supply of crickets with plenty of water always.
After seeing Olivia lose interest in Charlie, visiting him less and less, I began the arduous task of convincing her that it was best for Charlie to get back into the wild and find his female, and perhaps live happily ever after or be killed in the process.
Needless to say, it was much easier letting him go into a nearby ravine than catching him the first time. I still remember those chills.