The following events occurred about 3 years ago, when I lived in a rented flat. The flat itself was one of six that had been converted in an imposing Victorian semi (semi-detached for all you non-UK readers).
It was the height of mid-summer and my housemate was away with his girlfriend for 10 days, leaving me to find novel ways of amusing myself, and filling the lonely hours before bed.
In the days before my housemate’s departure, we had noticed a large (20cms a side) spider’s web appear, triangular in shape and attached on one side to the bath (well really the shower screen that was on top of the tap or “business” end of the bathtub), and another side to the wall of the bathroom. The longest side of the triangle was held aloft, suspended betwixt the two.
Between the corner connecting the bath itself and the bathroom wall was a crack, maybe 2.5cms long and 1.5/2cm high). It was here, I postulated, that the creator of the web must reside.
On returning from work one evening I went for my usual ablutions, and noticed a middling-sized house spider sitting in the centre of the web. The web was between the W/C and the bath, and so from my seated position I could observe the arachnid with some clarity. No movement, even when I peered in for a closer look. What I did think, however, was that she looked decidedly hungry. Where I got that idea from I have no idea.
Anyway, the evening progressed and when I was brushing my teeth at the end of the night I glanced towards the web, lo and behold the spider was still there.
I left for work the following day, and returned at the usual time. Spider still there.
And the next day.
And the next.
After 4 days of observing this creature, it struck me that there obviously wasn’t enough flies / gnats / silverfish or whatever the usual food source was, in this particular area of the flat and that if I didn’t do something the outlook for my eight-legged companion was not good.
I can’t explain my next actions, I can only describe them:
I leaned over from my seated position and began a conversation:
“Hello there little fella, you look like you haven’t eaten for a dog’s age. Would you like me to get you something to eat? If you respond to me in a way I can understand then I will see what I can do for you”.
Within a couple of seconds Spiddy, as she later came to be called, turned to face me full-on, reared up on her hind 6 legs and waved her two front legs at me. She then proceeded to get back onto 8 legs and rock the web for maybe 5 seconds.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Slightly bemused (though not at all shaken, stirred, anxious, or frightened) I left the bathroom and went out for the evening.
Coming home from work the next day I was turning off the motorway, when I suddenly remembered my commitment to Spiddy. I knew full-well that I could return home that evening and not fulfil my promise, passing off my conversation the previous night as an attack of the vapours. But something deep inside me said that this wasn’t right, and that a promise was a promise after all.
I knew from prior experience that spiders don’t eat bacon, ham, or any other processed meat, preferring living prey, and this presented me with somewhat of a problem until I thought about it for a while longer and remembered there was a pet shop near to my parents house. This would only necessitate 45-60 minutes of time, so after getting “Dogano’s” number from directory enquiries, I set off down the trail.
Upon my arrival at said pet shop, I asked the lady behind the counter what types of food they had in for spiders.
“what type of spider is it love, tarantula, wolf, or similar?” she queried
“common house”, I replied.
Her eyes twitched, momentarily, but then she was back into full sales assistance mode.
“well, we supply crickets for a number of customers”
“oh no, I can’t have them jumping all around my bathroom”, I responded “haven’t you got anything slower?”
“Maybe Waxworms?”
The deal done, I took my little plastic pot of waxworms back to the flat.
And there she was, still sitting in the centre of her web – looking more and more dejected.
I opened the pot, removed one of the succulent beasts and dropped (from a distance of maybe 10cms) dinner onto the web near where Spiddy was sitting.
It was like something out of “Starship Troopers”.
Racing over to the offering, Spiddy proceeded to rear up a couple of times before sinking her fangs into the helpless entrée. At this point I decided to leave her to it, reasoning it wasn’t the done thing to watch a lady eat.
I returned to the bathroom just before bed, to brush my teeth and whatnot, and saw that one half of the waxworm’s body was now a deep grey (rather than the opaque whitish colour previously).
The next morning I looked in before work and she was still there, eating her fill.
When I got back from work that night, both the spider and the waxworm were gone.
I left it for a day or two (reasoning she wouldn’t have finished her repast), and then dropped another waxworm onto the empty web. By the time I returned home in the evening, that too had disappeared.
The following morning (a Saturday) I had a leisurely time tidying and cleaning the house, eventually getting to the bathroom, which I had left for last. And there Spiddy was. No longer the lethargic, puny specimen of yore. She now had a coat that literally shined, with all of her black and grey markings fully visible. Her abdomen was swollen and glossy and even her legs looked thicker. I stated that I hoped I had been of some assistance, and that sooner or later I was going to have to hoover the web up, as my flatmate was returning in the next day or so. I’d like to say that she did a chorus-line dance of appreciation, but she didn’t, merely sat there looking full of vim and vigour.
I went out for the rest of the day and on my return there was no sign of her. I never saw Spiddy again, but some weeks later (end of August), numerous small spiders were seen by me and my housemate, emerging from the hole by the bath. I always had a notion that they were Spiddy’s children, making their own way in life.
Now, I know that there may be dozens of potential explanations concerning the events above. Coincidental timing of the spiders “response”, arachnid excitation to the carbon dioxide from my mouth but I honestly felt I connected with this creature, on an intellectual level. IE: I asked a reasoned question, and I got a coherent reply.
Maybe communicating with animals requires some heightened levels of “need” (for want of a better word), on both sides?
This story is completely true, and recollected to the best of my ability. I’ve told a couple of close friends about it and got responses ranging from “you suffered a minor psychological breakdown”, to wry smiles.
Any similar experiences? Can humans commune with all fauna, if we just have the will and the desire to do so?
It was the height of mid-summer and my housemate was away with his girlfriend for 10 days, leaving me to find novel ways of amusing myself, and filling the lonely hours before bed.
In the days before my housemate’s departure, we had noticed a large (20cms a side) spider’s web appear, triangular in shape and attached on one side to the bath (well really the shower screen that was on top of the tap or “business” end of the bathtub), and another side to the wall of the bathroom. The longest side of the triangle was held aloft, suspended betwixt the two.
Between the corner connecting the bath itself and the bathroom wall was a crack, maybe 2.5cms long and 1.5/2cm high). It was here, I postulated, that the creator of the web must reside.
On returning from work one evening I went for my usual ablutions, and noticed a middling-sized house spider sitting in the centre of the web. The web was between the W/C and the bath, and so from my seated position I could observe the arachnid with some clarity. No movement, even when I peered in for a closer look. What I did think, however, was that she looked decidedly hungry. Where I got that idea from I have no idea.
Anyway, the evening progressed and when I was brushing my teeth at the end of the night I glanced towards the web, lo and behold the spider was still there.
I left for work the following day, and returned at the usual time. Spider still there.
And the next day.
And the next.
After 4 days of observing this creature, it struck me that there obviously wasn’t enough flies / gnats / silverfish or whatever the usual food source was, in this particular area of the flat and that if I didn’t do something the outlook for my eight-legged companion was not good.
I can’t explain my next actions, I can only describe them:
I leaned over from my seated position and began a conversation:
“Hello there little fella, you look like you haven’t eaten for a dog’s age. Would you like me to get you something to eat? If you respond to me in a way I can understand then I will see what I can do for you”.
Within a couple of seconds Spiddy, as she later came to be called, turned to face me full-on, reared up on her hind 6 legs and waved her two front legs at me. She then proceeded to get back onto 8 legs and rock the web for maybe 5 seconds.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Slightly bemused (though not at all shaken, stirred, anxious, or frightened) I left the bathroom and went out for the evening.
Coming home from work the next day I was turning off the motorway, when I suddenly remembered my commitment to Spiddy. I knew full-well that I could return home that evening and not fulfil my promise, passing off my conversation the previous night as an attack of the vapours. But something deep inside me said that this wasn’t right, and that a promise was a promise after all.
I knew from prior experience that spiders don’t eat bacon, ham, or any other processed meat, preferring living prey, and this presented me with somewhat of a problem until I thought about it for a while longer and remembered there was a pet shop near to my parents house. This would only necessitate 45-60 minutes of time, so after getting “Dogano’s” number from directory enquiries, I set off down the trail.
Upon my arrival at said pet shop, I asked the lady behind the counter what types of food they had in for spiders.
“what type of spider is it love, tarantula, wolf, or similar?” she queried
“common house”, I replied.
Her eyes twitched, momentarily, but then she was back into full sales assistance mode.
“well, we supply crickets for a number of customers”
“oh no, I can’t have them jumping all around my bathroom”, I responded “haven’t you got anything slower?”
“Maybe Waxworms?”
The deal done, I took my little plastic pot of waxworms back to the flat.
And there she was, still sitting in the centre of her web – looking more and more dejected.
I opened the pot, removed one of the succulent beasts and dropped (from a distance of maybe 10cms) dinner onto the web near where Spiddy was sitting.
It was like something out of “Starship Troopers”.
Racing over to the offering, Spiddy proceeded to rear up a couple of times before sinking her fangs into the helpless entrée. At this point I decided to leave her to it, reasoning it wasn’t the done thing to watch a lady eat.
I returned to the bathroom just before bed, to brush my teeth and whatnot, and saw that one half of the waxworm’s body was now a deep grey (rather than the opaque whitish colour previously).
The next morning I looked in before work and she was still there, eating her fill.
When I got back from work that night, both the spider and the waxworm were gone.
I left it for a day or two (reasoning she wouldn’t have finished her repast), and then dropped another waxworm onto the empty web. By the time I returned home in the evening, that too had disappeared.
The following morning (a Saturday) I had a leisurely time tidying and cleaning the house, eventually getting to the bathroom, which I had left for last. And there Spiddy was. No longer the lethargic, puny specimen of yore. She now had a coat that literally shined, with all of her black and grey markings fully visible. Her abdomen was swollen and glossy and even her legs looked thicker. I stated that I hoped I had been of some assistance, and that sooner or later I was going to have to hoover the web up, as my flatmate was returning in the next day or so. I’d like to say that she did a chorus-line dance of appreciation, but she didn’t, merely sat there looking full of vim and vigour.
I went out for the rest of the day and on my return there was no sign of her. I never saw Spiddy again, but some weeks later (end of August), numerous small spiders were seen by me and my housemate, emerging from the hole by the bath. I always had a notion that they were Spiddy’s children, making their own way in life.
Now, I know that there may be dozens of potential explanations concerning the events above. Coincidental timing of the spiders “response”, arachnid excitation to the carbon dioxide from my mouth but I honestly felt I connected with this creature, on an intellectual level. IE: I asked a reasoned question, and I got a coherent reply.
Maybe communicating with animals requires some heightened levels of “need” (for want of a better word), on both sides?
This story is completely true, and recollected to the best of my ability. I’ve told a couple of close friends about it and got responses ranging from “you suffered a minor psychological breakdown”, to wry smiles.
Any similar experiences? Can humans commune with all fauna, if we just have the will and the desire to do so?
