Wolfish Musings

I’ve been neglecting the arthropods in my life. The slobbering and mewling furry creatures tend to occupy my field of vision more readily and so the little fellows don’t always get the attention they deserve. Fortunately I saw something incredible that made me think. Thinking, in my case at least, leads to writing. So here’s a bit about wolf spiders.

I was watering my flowers in the front of the house two nights ago and I must have showered a wolf spider because she scurried from the flower bed and across the pavement. I only got a quick look at her before she disappeared in a crack in the sidewalk, but it was enough to send me sprinting up the stairs for my camera. Alas, I couldn’t find her again when I returned, but I knew I wasn’t crazy. She had a large white ball attached to the underside of her abdomen. Wow, I thought, was that an egg sac?

Turns out it was. I would never have guessed spiders to be attentive mothers, but some, like wolf spiders and nursery spiders carry their egg sacs around until they hatch. Wolf spiders attach the egg sac to their spinnerets. They do this because, as their name suggests, they’re active hunters. Spiders in the Lycosidae family don’t spin webs, they seek out prey so while they’re hunting, they need a safe place for their egg sac. When the eggs hatch, the mother will carry the young on her abdomen until after their first molt.

Wolf spiderlings disperse aerially so the spiders have a large habitat range. And they don’t have toxic venom, which is what everyone always wants to know. So if you see one, wish her luck on her next hunt and let her be. I’ve been searching for the one I saw two days ago so I could see her hatchlings, but with no luck. Wolf spiders don’t set up a permanent residence, they’re itinerant killers I suppose.

Soul-Sucking Cuddle Bunny

One of the very puzzling creatures that roams my abode is my upstairs cat, Nelly. I call her my upstairs cat because she isn’t brave enough to come downstairs. We’ve lived in our house for two years now and the only time she ventures down to the first floor is if I’m late with her dinner. Dinner, mind you, is served promptly at four and Nelly has health issues so she gets to eat prescription food in her own room. Her own room is the master bathroom and she loves it. It’s her twice daily dose of sanctuary.

Nelly is a rescue who is supposedly part manx part persian. She looks nothing like a persian as she has short hair, but she does have a little tuft on her rear end like a bunny rabbit, instead of a tail. Whatever her genetic makeup, she’s adorable in a creepy kind of way. Like she’s just too cute to be real. And sometimes, for hours, she’ll just sit and stare at you… I love her to death, but it’s very disconcerting. I read once about an African tribe who believes in people called soul-suckers. These soul-suckers sometimes transform into animals (I assume that makes sneaking up on your victims easier), but they always have something slightly amiss about them, like a missing leg, or a missing tail. So yes, I do sometimes call Nelly my Little Soul Sucker.

Nelly has two issues really. One is that she hates cats. I’m not sure if this means she also has self-esteem issues, and I don’t really have the scratch to hire a pet psychologist so I may never know. But whenever Nelly sees another cat, she throws a little tantrum and hisses and growls. She’s lived with two of my other cats for almost seven years and still growls every time she sees them. So the upstairs downstairs separation works pretty well most of the time. I also call her my Cuddle Bunny, because as much as she hates cats, she loves people. Which, incidentally, makes sense if she is a soul-sucker stuck in a cat’s body… something to think about.

The only time Nelly’s feline loathing is an issue is when my monster Teka walks into the room. Teka was hand raised so she’s a little on the nutty side (a long blog for another day).When Nelly growls at her, instead of turning tail and walking away like the other cats, she attacks. Poor Nelly’s pretty face is always marred by Teka’s scratches. I’m convinced if I could get Nelly to stop growling, Teka wouldn’t attack her, but alas, cats aren’t dogs and a simple, ‘Nelly, quit it,’ doesn’t suffice. In fact, this is a good segue into Nelly’s other problem.

She’s a vengeance pee-er (I don’t even know if that’s a word, pisser maybe? Seems vulgar). If I don’t save her from Teka’s attacks, she’ll pee on the floor right in front of me. If I don’t move the dog out of the doorway so she can run from one room to another, she’ll pee on the floor by the door. If anything loud or scary happens, she jumps in the litter box and pees over the edge onto the floor.

According to Dr. Stuart, it’s because she has a fluted bladder, which, from what I understand means it’s shaped funny and is frequently uncomfortable. So stress makes her feel like she has to pee. The good Doc assures me it isn’t really personal. The key, is not to let her get stressed and to encourage her to drink lots of fluids. Again, asking nicely is just never going to work with a cat. So she gets chicken broth with her meals and we have a Drink Well fountain upstairs just for her. Her prescription food is meant to make her thirsty as well.

Cats with fluted bladders can have ‘attacks’ where their bladders get inflamed, they start to pee constantly (and on everything), this can lead to crystals and peeing blood. It’s all very terrible (and expensive I might add) to treat these attacks. The best remedy is a fluid IV. Which I do know how to administer myself, but it’s a very nerve-wracking process involving really big needles and I prefer to leave it to the professionals. Stress and diet are the main reasons cats with fluted bladders will have an attack. So when Nelly’s around, everyone is ordered to be very mellow. It’s nice actually, she’s a visual reminder to just chill out and breath. And she super soft and loves to be scratched. Better than Xanax any day if you ask me.

Hard Headed

My pit bull has zero retriever DNA. I know because when I throw a ball, he chases it, grabs it, shakes it around, and then runs around the yard with it to everywhere but where I’m standing. So we play a lot of keep-away. I throw the ball, he charges after it, grabs it, runs to a few feet from me, drops the ball, and looks at me. Taunting me. And I fall for it, every time. Don’t get me wrong, if I say in an authoritative manner, “Lucius, drop it.” He will. He’ll stand over it calmly while I pick it up and then sit while I throw it too, but that’s no fun right? Where’s the challenge? There’s nothing like the rush of adrenalin when my tender hand beats those quick jaws to the slobbery ball. A victory dance for me and then whoosh! Off he goes.

A quick note about a pit’s jaws, they don’t lock. I know this because Lucius has hay fever and gets daily doses of Benedryl. To give a dog Benedryl you have to take gel caps, imbed them in a glob of butter, pry open those well muscled jaws, and shove the mess down their throats. Trust me, neither of us finds this amusing, but it’s Benedryl or really itch hives and oatmeal baths. Oh, don’t laugh, the poor fellow has enough problems.

Likely, the myth about locking jaws has to do with their tenacity. Pit bulls were originally bred in England for bull baiting. Basically they were thrown in pits with bulls. I never hypnotically regressed Lucius to a past life to find out the truth, but I imagine it was a hang on or get trampled strategy that helped them develop their strong bite. Eventually bull baiting was deemed inhumane so dog fighting replaced it (I know, the limit to human hypocrisy must not exist). But the pit’s tenacity remains to this day. If you can’t get them to let go of their chew toy, they probably just don’t want to.

Back to the yard though, for the denouement of this blog. So we’re playing our version of fetch and it’s a heated battle, can I get to the ball before he grabs it. I toss one straight up in the air he waits, waits, and leaps at least six feet vertically to snatch it before it falls. But he misses and it lands, bounces, rolls. I take off. So does Lucius. I get there and bend down, hand outstretched. But I’m too slow and he already has the ball. As I’m going down to grab it, he’s coming up (to gloat most likely). And smack! A big, solid pit bull skull hits me right in the nose. I plop down in the grass, stunned and waiting for the blood to start flowing.

According to my doctor, the forward and downward momentum is what caused the concussion. Today, the headache has finally abated enough to blog. We may just be playing traditional fetch from now on… maybe.