I was going to proudly tell you about the impending arrival of Mrs Golden Orb’s babies. She went to the maternity ward last Saturday (the other end of the verandah) and laid an enormous egg sac. Once it was safely anchored with some golden thread, she retreated to her web to recover. Mr Golden Orb has kept a tiny, proud eye on her. (When I say ‘tiny’ I actually mean ‘minuscule’.) Anyway, this morning, while I was still non compos mentis, the Old Boy killed the babies. That’s right; I’m going to call it as it is. I’m not prettying it up. He killed them because he didn’t want them taking up residence around our home. He’s a terrorist of the arachnid world.
I was quite happy to wait and watch. I wanted to see the end result. I wanted to see the Golden Orb offspring make their way in the world and thus the cycle be complete. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, they may well have flown away on the gentle Autumn breezes to other gardens, other bushes and other verandahs. I’ve come to know Mrs Orb quite well since she’s taken up residence outside our back door and I feel we’ve let her down. The Old Boy says she doesn’t feel any attachment to them and she’ll get over it but I say, “How do you know what a spider feels?”
I keep thinking, “What would Charlotte say?”
I shall recover from this shocking event but it may take a while. “Too sensitive,” you say? Well, forgive me for caring but that’s just the way I roll. The Old Boy and the Wonder Dog couldn’t care less.