THUNK!
I started.
Something big had dropped from my oak, and it wasn’t acorn season.
I wrestled with the urge to go look or simply assume it was something dropped by a squirrel and keep reading. Curiosity got the better of me in an instant, my inner Pandora making herself known as I leaned over the armrest of my swing. A spider, a massive spider, with a large, bulbous body and legs easily as long as my fingers, sat at the base of my tree. As much as I like spiders, I couldn’t help but creepy-quiver at this one’s size and at the realization that such a large arachnid had lived all that time over my head. Thank the good Lord, it had fallen beside me and not on me. My skin prickled. I shuddered again. Fully skeeved, I looked closer. The spider had either almost been someone’s lunch or been hurt in the fall. Part of its body was dented, poor thing. It began its laborious crawl back up the trunk, but it moved slowly, dragging itself more than skittering.
What to do? Let nature take its course or put it out of its obvious misery? There’s a squirmworthy thought. Killing such a large spider would mean squishing and crunching and other terrible things.
Sitting back down, book in hand, I pondered how much of the fate of this injured bug was now my responsibility.
Around the side of the chicken yard came Sigyn to say hi.
The dying spider fell.
Sharp-eyed Sigyn darted, deciding its fate.
Up came my determined hen, screaming her warrior cry, the body of the spider held fast, the long legs, so many legs, wrapped around her head. She raced around, clucking loud, declaring her prize to her sisters, legs still there like an alien face-hugger. She paused, silent, and then the spider was gone, swallowed in one gulp. Only seconds, but the image of my chicken and all those legs will haunt me forever. It’s not even October.
(Obviously, I wrote this long before October, and it’s now October. Such is life.)
