I dislike and am somewhat afraid of spiders. Okay, very afraid. Why do they need eight eyes except to aid in the rendering of horrible nightmares? And the whole business about them dropping down from the ceiling on near-invisible threads to land on your sleeping face.

If they enter my home, I squash spiders on sight.

There have been two occasions where I have regretted killing a spider. I will tell you about the most horrible one, the incident that still burdens my heart.

Its web was massive, at least three feet across, hanging there between the furniture and trees of my back patio. The spider floated in the center, hairy and bright orange, exaggerated by my fear to at least the size of my hand. How awful! How could I enjoy my patio with this monster dwelling there?

So I picked up a rock and knocked it out of the web to the bricks below. Then, like a coward, I lifted a larger rock and dropped it on the spider.

It was beautiful and harmless and I have never seen its like again and I destroyed it. I am so so sorry. I was the monster, not the spider.