If you know me in real life (or even just read this blog or my Twitter occasionally) you’ve probably figured out that I have three dogs who are equal parts crazy and awesome (and by equal parts I mean 97.4% crazy, 2.6% awesome). They occasionally wreak havoc on the neighborhood, but once in a while will do cool things like keep me from getting a speeding ticket….or save my life when my husband isn’t home.
A bit of a back story:
I am terrified of spiders. Terrified may not be the right word, more like completely phobic of them. It’s seriously irrational and absolutely ridiculous, but I cannot control. In Psych I learned that I qualify for an actual diagnosis based on the DSM criteria for specific phobias.
One summer night after my freshman year of college I was staying at my mom’s house overnight while she was out of town or something. After I ate dinner that night I walked around the corner and into the hallway to find what can only be described as an octo-legged, girl-eating monster staring me down from the rug. My first inclination was to run for my life and scream for someone to kill it.
Then I remembered I was home by myself for at least the next 24 hours and at some point I would probably need to go down that hallway, considering it was the only way to get to the either of the bathrooms in the house…whose idea was that design?
This wasn’t just any spider, either – it was a wolf spider. If you’ve never encountered one of these satan-filled creatures be warned, they not only have the ability to jump Mr. Chow-style right at your face, but they are also not more afraid of you than you are of them…especially if you’re me.
Now, I never kill spiders if I have a choice, but if I’m the only one around I’d rather knock the sucker off on my own than let it run under a couch so it can hunt me down while I sleep, therfore Raid is a staple in my house.
Unfortunately, I was staying at my mom’s house and while she did have Raid, it was the type that’s meant for taking down wasp nests…basically it shoots chemicals out with the force of a fire hose in attempt to drown an entire nest of flying aggressors before they can attack you in buzz-filled anger.
I seriously considered going to the neighbors house and having them come help me out, but I was afraid it would disappear before they came and then I’d be forced to sleep in my car.
Anyway, I used the Wasp Raid from approximately 12 feet away to knock the creature off (along with his friend who appeared in what I can only assume was an attempt to save his buddy or claim revenge on the buddy’s murderer) and it got the job done…in fact I’m pretty sure any insect within a 30 feet radius likely encountered rolling waves of bug-killer emanating from the pond created by my weapon of choice.
I then proceeded to leave the body on the floor under a large bowl until my mom could get home and dispose of the body the next day. That night I tiptoed past the body, locked the bedroom door and slept on top of the covers with my chemical-filled fire hose in hand.
Because I was afraid it would wake back up and come for it’s revenge? I don’t know…it seemed like a good idea at the time.
A bit more recently I was sitting cross-legged in my desk chair reading about the Kreb’s Cycle or something equally interesting and was totally ignoring Wrigley, who was playing with what I thought was a toy right under my chair.
When he started growling I almost didn’t even hear him, he does it all the time – usually when he’s playing or trying to get my attention.
Why does he growl?
Because, by failing to appropriately channel my inner Cesar Milan, I praised him for it when he was a baby. Come on! It was just so cute. Imagine a little 2-lb baby Wrigley growling at your toes.
You know it’s cute. You would have encouraged it, too. Stop judging me.
When the growling evolved into a manic bark accompanied by insane cat-like scratching I finally glanced down to figure out what all the commotion was about. I’m sure you can guess what I found – a (slightly smaller but still rather large) creepy arachnid hanging out right where my feet would have gone had I uncrossed my legs.
It was in about four pieces by the time I looked down, which was totally gross, but I guess that’s my fault for ignoring the dog’s initial warnings of what I would call danger and I’m sure Wrigley would call total-excitement-slash-yummy-snack.
So, my 20 lb dog basically saved me from the heart attack that would’ve occurred had I set my feet down on top of that thing and since then he’s alerted me to numerous other offenders in the house.
It’s like he can sense that I need someone to protect me from them…
or he likes to eat bugs.
Either way it’s a win-win…and that’s why I no longer get onto my dog for eating bugs.
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What’s your biggest fear?!