THE TARANTULA’S HUNTING
From the Tarantulas whom I have captured and placed in pans filled with earth in my laboratory, I learn still more about their hunting. They are really magnificent, these captives. With their great bodies inside their burrows, their heads outside, their glassy eyes staring, their legs gathered for a spring, for hours and hours they wait, motionless, bathing luxuriously in the sun.
Should a titbit to her liking happen to pass, at once the watcher darts from her tall tower, swift as an arrow from the bow. With a dagger-thrust in the neck, she stabs the Locust, Dragon-fly, or other prey; and she as quickly climbs her tower and retires with her capture. The performance is a wonderful exhibition of skill and speed.
She very seldom misses the game, provided that it pass at a convenient distance, within reach of her bound. But if it be farther away she takes no notice of it. Scorning to go in pursuit, she allows it to roam at will.
This proves that the Tarantula has great patience, for the burrow has nothing that can serve to attract victims. At best, refuge provided by the tower may, once in a long while, tempt some weary wayfaring insect to use it as a resting-place. But, if the game does not come to-day, it is sure to come to-morrow, the next day, or later, for there are many Locusts hopping in the waste land, and they are not always able to regulate their leaps. Some day or other, chance is bound to bring one of them near the burrow. Then the Spider springs upon the victim from the ramparts. Until then, she stoically watches and fasts. She will dine when she can; but she will finally dine.
The Tarantula really does not suffer much from a long fast. She has an accommodating stomach, which is satisfied to be gorged to-day and to remain empty afterwards for goodness knows how long. When I had the Spiders in my laboratory, I sometimes neglected to feed them for weeks at a time, and they were none the worse for it. After they have fasted a long time, they do not pine away, but are smitten with a wolf-like hunger.
In her youth, before she has a burrow, the Tarantula earns her living in another manner. Clad in gray like her elders, but without the black-velvet apron which she receives on reaching the marriageable age, she roams among the stubby grass. This is true hunting. When the right kind of game heaves in sight, the Spider pursues it, drives it from its shelters, follows it hot-foot. The fugitive gains the heights, and makes as though to fly away. He has not the time. With an upward leap, the Tarantula grabs him before he can rise.
I am charmed with the quick way in which my year-old Spider boarders seize the Flies that I provide for them. In vain does the Fly take refuge a couple of inches up, on some blade of grass. With a sudden spring into the air, the Spider pounces on her prey. No Cat is quicker in catching her Mouse.
But these are the feats of youth not handicapped by fatness. Later, when the bag of eggs has to be trailed along, the Tarantula cannot indulge in gymnastics. She then digs herself her hunting-lodge, and sits in her watch-tower, on the lookout for game.
