I have a truce with spider-kind, as follows: I do not kill them, and they do not send their minions after me in the night. This is not a zero-sum game.

My sister Laura is a treasure trove of spider lore and material. Most recently, she discovered a large lady spider residing in Benny, the old dog’s, pen. Understand, this spider is not small; Laura insists that her body is the size of a mouse (although her legs are quite slender indeed) and I have no authority on which to dispute this observation. Mind you, I have requested photographic evidence, hopefully with a mouse nearby for scale.

How, you may ask, do we know that this spider is a lady? Well, no self-respecting gentleman spider would be so rude as to grow that large. The missus might decide he is getting too big for his britches and bite his head off.

Laura has expressed willingness to snap a picture, but the only time this spider is visible is when she gets herself trapped in the dog’s water bowl. Apparently, she can “do the breaststroke beautifully,” but she cannot get out of the bowl on her own. Perhaps she is seeking a good aerobic workout, refreshing on a hot day, but always forgets to bring along a tiny rope ladder. Anyway, Laura, another good servant of spider-kind, places a stick in the water for her to climb; and she moves so fast that she is out of sight before the stick stops moving. We both agree that she would not run up anybody’s britchy-leg at this juncture, because she would be interested in getting as far as possible, as quickly as possible, away from a creature who can lower a bridge out of the sky with one enormous hand.

I am sure this lady spider could not care less, but I feel that she has earned a name. I propose we call her Doris. Like her Greek-deity namesake, this Doris is powerful and scary, but kind-hearted in the extreme.

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For your further edification:

Doris – Bounty of The Sea