Creepy Crawler

I was tidying my room recently, preparing for a visit from PC buddies over Halloween. I picked up my fallecido (dearly departed) computer and noticed something blackish-brown and furry lurking in the computer´s vacated spot.

Like the Michigander idiot that I am, my mind first concluded that a fake tarantula was in my closet. Next I wondered who could have left a fake tarantula in my closet, and where on Earth they had found such a realistic looking one. Finally, and startlingly, it dawned on me that I live in the tropics and, by golly, they have real tarantulas here! The monster in the closet (if not yet under the bed) was real! Mierda! Puta madre!

I stood doing nothing for a few moments, carefully watching the beast to assure myself that it wasn´t about to scurry off. I fumbled about for my camera and got in as close as I dared to capture this very anti-Hallmark Moment. Picture secured (see right), I got out the flashlight for a better view. The harsh LED crank light didn´t make the critter look any friendlier, and while I remembered reading a blog about a tarantula catch and release undertaken by a PC couple in similar straits, I knew I needed backup.

Luckily, Silvia, the farm manager´s wife was outside reading a magazine. I approached her painfully conscious that a proper ecuatoriana would deal with the stupid thing on her own, but I had to admit to myself that I am not, nor do I anticipate approaching, proper ecuatoriana status.
Silvia came back with me to my room and watched on as I shone the flashlight into the closet depths once again. A few seconds of observation assured her that the gringa did, at least, know what a tarantula was, and said I should "matalo, no más" (kill it, of course). In a flash, she grabbed my machete, made a quick chop, brushed the creature onto my shovel, and deposited the remains outside. All that was left to do was find some papel higenico (toilet paper) to clean-up the small mess left by the machete action.

I thanked Silvia, confident that her assistance would be amply repaid in amusement. I also, and quite foolishly, inquired further about the general prevalence of tarantulas in the area, particularly preoccupied with worries of this fellow's friends or descendents sharing his home. Silvia recommended shaking out my clothes, then recounted a story about a child who was bit in the neck by a tarantula and died. If you think it odd that Silvia would relate this story at such a time, you need to meet more Ecuadorians. Of course, who knows if my species was even the same species (Silvia grew-up in Peru) and I am at least twice as big as Ecuadorian adults, but still, my skin still occasionally crawls at the memory of my furry visitor.