Arachnid Repair of Sheetrock

What is she looking at? I watched my dog, Clara, staring at the baseboard but saw nothing. She finally went into the living room while I made the bed. I smoothed the fitted sheet and pulled up the top sheet, light blanket, and comforter. Doing what my husband, Jake, loves to see but hates to do, I propped the decorative pillows and pillow shams in two colors in their proper places. I opened the blinds and watched the birds flitting about their hectic lives, from tree to tree, the hummingbird from flower to flower.

It was time for some French Press. I felt like a smooth, large cup of coffee and had time to make it, although I usually use a Nespresso pod. I let Clara out back before I ground the beans.

When the French Press was complete, Clara was at the glass slider door, staring at me through the glass, willing me to open it. I did.

"Come on, girl. Here's your breakfast." Clara's tail beat on the cupboard and my leg as I mixed the food and set it down for her. She gulped it down in less than a minute and a half, smiling at me, tongue licking her nose and then my hand. "Good girl! I have to check my email."

While scrolling on my laptop, I heard Clara in the other room. She was sniffing and snorting, with an occasional low growl. "Clara! Stop!" I yelled to her. She quieted for a minute, but then I heard scratching. "Clara, what are you doing?" I scolded, as I went to have a look.

To my horror, she had scratched the sheetrock above the baseboard next to the electrical socket. Her nostrils were pressed against the destruction she caused, leaving nose slobber on the wall, as she was zoned in on an odor she picked up. I smelled absolutely nothing. I used non-toxic, fragrance-free products throughout my home for cleaning and laundry. "All right, that is ENOUGH!" I shouted, grabbing her forest green collar. "Out you go!" and I shoved her outside. She ran off to the yard's edge, chased an errant squirrel, peed on a missed dandelion, delicately stole one strawberry off my plant, and laid down in the grass, rolling onto her back.

"Janet, it's me. Clara ripped the sheetrock in the kitchen, after some imaginary odor only she can smell."

"Dogs can smell a drop of perfume at the bottom of a lake."

"Shut up Janet, where do you get this crap?"

"I read it in a science blurb. It's true."

"Well great, fine. The issue though is that this is my kitchen wall and she has messed it up badly and I have to fix it!" I replied with an ultrafast blurt of words.

"First you need to figure out what she smells. If you fix it and it's still in the wall, she will rip it up again. Right?"

"Damn, do you always have to be right?"

"Can't help being right, I just read a lot. Do you want me to come over?"

"Nah, that's okay, I just needed to vent. I'll call ya back later."

Clara came inside and immediately stuck her nose on the ruined sheetrock. This time, though, she walked away and went into the bedroom.

I watched her throughout the day, and she never returned to sniff the kitchen wall; she slept most of the day in her bed until we went for our evening walk.

Clara loved to run, so I took her to the field near the creek and unhooked her leash. She took off on a scent trail, leaping over fallen logs and small boulders, splashing into the water, and running back to me. I threw her toy, and she tucked her bottom under, flattened her ears, and ran full-out to get it. When we got home, my fifty-five pound, ten-year-old (or sixty, or is it sixty-six years?) dog was tuckered out. She went right to her bed beside mine.

I watched something I had recorded on the DVR, drank some chamomile tea, and then got ready for bed. Jake wasn't due for four days, so I had quiet time all to myself with my books and Clara.

I awoke to scratching. She was at it again! "Clara, stop!" I turned on the lamp, but Clara wasn't in bed, and I distinctly heard the scratching beside me. "Clara!" I hollered, but she didn't come. Where is she?

Scratching! What is that? I began to put my feet on the floor when I saw movement.

It was the most giant house spider I have ever seen. I knew they weren't dangerous; I usually put them outside. However, outside could be their demise—they weren't called house spiders because they were outdoor spiders. I just couldn't bear to kill them.

This house spider, including its legs, was wider across than the palm of my hand. It looked at me, and I noticed its legs were higher than usual. It was a tall and broad spider! I moved my foot, and its eyes followed my movement. Something warned me to look up, and an even larger one watched from the corner of the ceiling. It, too, was watching me. Creepy! I couldn't help but think, "They have me between them; I'm cornered!" Don't be ridiculous. They are harmless spiders.

Scratching. I looked down and saw about four smaller ones coming from the baseboard.

"CLARA!" I screamed, hoping she would come and stomp them out with her huge paws and toenails. In the yard, I had seen her kill spiders and carpenter ants like that (I just didn't want to do it). Clara was gone but to where?

I swallowed a big gulp of air, determined to get out of bed and find Clara. I gingerly set one foot down, watching the spider observing me. As I put my other foot down, it turned to face me fully. "I mean you no harm, spider; I have always been kind to your relatives." I walked backward, focused on her, but keeping an eye on the one above in the corner of the ceiling. It seemed to watch with amusement and had no inclination to move from its cozy perch, providing it with a full view of the room and its inhabitants.

Oh no! The little ones are following me! Is that one their mother? Will she attack me? I'm not doing anything to them. I don't want them to follow me! Oh, please, please, please. I got to the door, ran through it, and slammed it shut. As if that would keep them in the bedroom... you idiot; they can easily get out!

I found Clara in the kitchen, unharmed. She was not harmed but definitely disarmed. Her snout was bound shut with spiderwebbing, and her paws were stuck on the kitchen baseboard with sticky spider silk. She was immobilized at the spot where she had torn the sheetrock. Getting the sticky mess off her was no easy feat, but the dish soap worked wonders while she whined through her glued-shut snout. When she was finally free, she whimpered and leaned against me.

I saw Clara's eyes move and followed her gaze. The hair on her neck stood up, and she trembled. The enormous spider from the ceiling, the other adult, and the four babies marched toward us.

I froze. These are giant spiders—no, not poisonous—but their fast skittering would make anyone but an arachnologist jump, and it just plain creeped me out.

Clara was whimpering, and I calmed her by keeping my hand in the fur around her neck. I stared in amazement as the biggest spider sidestepped to the damaged sheetrock and began spinning her silk across the damage—back and forth, back and forth—until it was more substantial than a patched piece of sheetrock and smooth enough to paint.

All six scampered over to the slider door, and the matriarch turned back toward me. I understood.

It was warm out, so it was okay. I gingerly stepped toward the arachnids, reaching my arm out, and opened the slider. The babies ran out, and the first adult followed. "Gargantuan Mama" stepped over the door track and turned to face me, raising one of her eight legs to wave what I can only imagine as a goodbye.

Clara yipped; Mama waved again and, astonishingly, bowed before disappearing into the night.

Thank you for reading! Please don't kill spiders, they eat tiny flying things in your house and handle pests in the garden. (Of course beware poisonous ones.) If you look closely you will find their beauty and kindness. 🕸️ You can catch them in a glass if you carefully place it over them, putting a piece of paper over the top. Don't crunch their legs! Don't give them a heart attack while catching. Don't drown them or squish them.🥲