It's 7:30 in the morning, the kids are gone to school, exercise is over and I was sitting down to enjoy my coffee when I heard Olive and Sarah making weird upset barks. Yips. Not their usual frenzied barking.
I open the front door and start to step out to see if they are okay, when a big something falls straight down in front of my eyes. I jump back in the house and it is a big spider (not the biggies that roam our house emerging from under the couch to casually stroll across the living room, but those regular big ones that live outside). It almost touched me! Like it was right, RIGHT, in front of my eye.
So, it's slowing dropping to the ground and I think it's coming in on this side of the door, I've got to get it out. I grab a book and decide to just whack it. I'll kill it and feel slightly bad, but whatevs. It's just a spider. I whack it, smashing it between the book and the door jam, and it disappears. No spider guts on book or jam.
I look down, there it is, just laying on the porch. I stomp my foot by it, nothing. It's dead. I walk out, the dogs are super upset about the squirrel (I think it's been eating nuts in our yard again) and as I walk back in I think, that spider does not look smashed. I hope I didn't injure it but leave it alive.
I get the book and nudge it.
Oh yes. Hurt bad, but not dead. It does a broken leg dragging scrabble thing and I feel terrible. I have to kill it, put it out of it's misery.
That second smashing was so awful.
I don't even like spiders. What is wrong with me, that the older I get, the less I am inclined to smash things?
That was terrible! I had a similar response when the boys squished a snail. I hate snails for what they do to my garden, but I have a soft spot in them from when I kept some in my classroom.
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