About five months ago, I wrote a column in this space titled "I'll Get You, You Rascal," about my efforts to track down the raccoon, or gopher, or whatever the heck was tunneling through my back yard.
Never did find the little guy, and the tunnels are still out there. But as you can see from the photo above, we had a new type of visitor the other night.
It started with a scream from our daughter Jill, who had wandered onto the front driveway in her bare feet about 9 p.m. "Tarantula!" she shrieked.
"Now there's a new one," I thought, racing out into the front yard. "Finally! The desert produces a real critter."
In my 11 months as a resident of Menifee, I have not seen one snake. Not that I would know what to do if I found one, but this is the edge of the desert -- if you ask me -- so I sort of expected it. I've seen a few rabbits, one coyote, a frog, zero scorpions and zero prairie dogs. Lots of sheep (see a previous column) and zillions of horses, but how exotic are those creatures? C'mon, at least give me a roadrunner or two!
So when the "tarantula" call went out the other night, I was curious to see one in person for the only time other than during visits to those dark little rooms at the zoo.
By the time I got outside, Jill was pointing to the other side of the pickup truck. Sure enough, there he was. OK, so I have no idea if it was a he or a she, but it's a he in my book. I wasn't about to try and figure that one out.
The first thing I noticed -- he moves pretty slow. About five inches across, from the end of one hairy leg to the end of another, he was headed for the garage door. Run for the hills, Jill! If he can scale that door, your bedroom window is next.
But alas, the ugly little thing couldn't negotiate the slippery surface, so he was content to crawl along the base of the garage door, seemingly not irritated by the cell phone camera light I was now shining in his face.
Later, I got various bits of advice from folks about what I should've done -- everything from shooting him to dousing him with bug spray to picking him up with a shovel and transporting him the heck out of there. Instead, I walked off and let him alone -- after checking all the doors and windows, of course.
Yes, he's out there somewhere, perhaps waiting for his chance. But I don't think I'm the prey. Maybe my dog will get him. Maybe he'll get my dog.
Or maybe he'll take out the gopher. If so, he's a hero in my book.
Never did find the little guy, and the tunnels are still out there. But as you can see from the photo above, we had a new type of visitor the other night.
It started with a scream from our daughter Jill, who had wandered onto the front driveway in her bare feet about 9 p.m. "Tarantula!" she shrieked.
"Now there's a new one," I thought, racing out into the front yard. "Finally! The desert produces a real critter."
In my 11 months as a resident of Menifee, I have not seen one snake. Not that I would know what to do if I found one, but this is the edge of the desert -- if you ask me -- so I sort of expected it. I've seen a few rabbits, one coyote, a frog, zero scorpions and zero prairie dogs. Lots of sheep (see a previous column) and zillions of horses, but how exotic are those creatures? C'mon, at least give me a roadrunner or two!
So when the "tarantula" call went out the other night, I was curious to see one in person for the only time other than during visits to those dark little rooms at the zoo.
By the time I got outside, Jill was pointing to the other side of the pickup truck. Sure enough, there he was. OK, so I have no idea if it was a he or a she, but it's a he in my book. I wasn't about to try and figure that one out.
The first thing I noticed -- he moves pretty slow. About five inches across, from the end of one hairy leg to the end of another, he was headed for the garage door. Run for the hills, Jill! If he can scale that door, your bedroom window is next.
But alas, the ugly little thing couldn't negotiate the slippery surface, so he was content to crawl along the base of the garage door, seemingly not irritated by the cell phone camera light I was now shining in his face.
Later, I got various bits of advice from folks about what I should've done -- everything from shooting him to dousing him with bug spray to picking him up with a shovel and transporting him the heck out of there. Instead, I walked off and let him alone -- after checking all the doors and windows, of course.
Yes, he's out there somewhere, perhaps waiting for his chance. But I don't think I'm the prey. Maybe my dog will get him. Maybe he'll get my dog.
Or maybe he'll take out the gopher. If so, he's a hero in my book.