- Joined
- Feb 22, 2013
- Messages
- 3,292
Having a giant spider has been on my list since I got into the hobby, and about six months ago, I was perusing my favorite exotic pet shop and came across a killer deal – an adult female T. stirmi for $75US. The back-and-forth phase lasted about thirty seconds before I was at the front asking them to unlock the cabinet that the arthropods were kept in. The owner, who also breeds tarantulas, came very close to being bit while trying to get her in a catch cup. This should have been my first clue, but I ignored it, chalking it up to a temperamental tarantula. At the time, I had an A. geniculate, a P. murinus, and a very defensive C. darling. I could handle this, especially with a slow, lumbering tarantula. I then learned she wasn’t slow, at least not in short distances.
Unfortunately for both her and myself, I had very little experience with species requiring high-humidity. I intentionally built my collection on arid, or at least very low humidity, species. Getting the right humidity while avoiding mold was a huge challenge for me, and this involved several trial and error scenarios that required me entering her lair. I finally found a perfect way to avoid mold; a large, shallow glass dish was to be filled with moss and moistened. No chance of substrate molding, and it held onto water like a cactus. Randomly wetting other parts of the substrate routinely kept her happy as a spider in a hole. Once I got the humidity down, her giant terracotta hide began to mold. Finding a suitable replacement involved browsing Home Depot for an hour trying to figure something out – salvation came in the form of a cylinder valve box. Sturdy plastic, very deep, very dark, perfect diameter. As a side note, I very highly recommend these as hides for very large spiders, so long as you don’t mind the terrible look.
Imagine my excitement. I was finally done, I had the swing of this. Now I only needed to sit back, feed her juicy roaches, and enjoy my giant spider. I even had ventilation holes right above her moss dish to allow for humidity control without taking off the lid. Sure, she was still extremely aggressive when I did have to enter the enclosure, but this was not something I couldn’t deal with. If she threw a threat posture or tried to steal the paintbrush (which is taped to a long dowel to allow for more space between her and I), then I knew that today was not the day to mess with her. Try again the next day, she scurries to her hide, and all is well. During the day, she is a pet rock so long as I leave her alone. She happily sits atop her moss dish, or at the opening to her hide, and does a lot of nothing. She ferociously eats, demolishing anything foolish enough to crawl close to her. She has quickly become one of my favorite spiders.
Except for the noise. Note that I mentioned she’s great during the day. But then night hits. She's apparently part wolf spider, because she spends the first few hours of darkness wandering; plucking at the holes in her acrylic lid, scratching the sides of her enclosure, and generally just working out for some marathon I missed the memo on. Given that her enclosure is fairly close to my bed, this matters. "Fine," I thought, "She's a spider. She's nocturnal, I get it. It's part of the hobby.”
And then the hissing started. After her wandering phase, and only about once per week, she'll just sit there at the opening of her hide and hiss. And hiss. And hiss. This goes on for up to an hour until she finally stops and calms down for the night. At the risk of anthropomorphizing her, I’m beginning to believe that she’s scolding me. “I was your guinea pig,” she hisses, “You learned at my expense, and I will absolutely bite you if ever given the chance. Now keep the roaches coming, Food God.”
My spider is kind of a jerk, is what I'm saying.
Unfortunately for both her and myself, I had very little experience with species requiring high-humidity. I intentionally built my collection on arid, or at least very low humidity, species. Getting the right humidity while avoiding mold was a huge challenge for me, and this involved several trial and error scenarios that required me entering her lair. I finally found a perfect way to avoid mold; a large, shallow glass dish was to be filled with moss and moistened. No chance of substrate molding, and it held onto water like a cactus. Randomly wetting other parts of the substrate routinely kept her happy as a spider in a hole. Once I got the humidity down, her giant terracotta hide began to mold. Finding a suitable replacement involved browsing Home Depot for an hour trying to figure something out – salvation came in the form of a cylinder valve box. Sturdy plastic, very deep, very dark, perfect diameter. As a side note, I very highly recommend these as hides for very large spiders, so long as you don’t mind the terrible look.
Imagine my excitement. I was finally done, I had the swing of this. Now I only needed to sit back, feed her juicy roaches, and enjoy my giant spider. I even had ventilation holes right above her moss dish to allow for humidity control without taking off the lid. Sure, she was still extremely aggressive when I did have to enter the enclosure, but this was not something I couldn’t deal with. If she threw a threat posture or tried to steal the paintbrush (which is taped to a long dowel to allow for more space between her and I), then I knew that today was not the day to mess with her. Try again the next day, she scurries to her hide, and all is well. During the day, she is a pet rock so long as I leave her alone. She happily sits atop her moss dish, or at the opening to her hide, and does a lot of nothing. She ferociously eats, demolishing anything foolish enough to crawl close to her. She has quickly become one of my favorite spiders.
Except for the noise. Note that I mentioned she’s great during the day. But then night hits. She's apparently part wolf spider, because she spends the first few hours of darkness wandering; plucking at the holes in her acrylic lid, scratching the sides of her enclosure, and generally just working out for some marathon I missed the memo on. Given that her enclosure is fairly close to my bed, this matters. "Fine," I thought, "She's a spider. She's nocturnal, I get it. It's part of the hobby.”
And then the hissing started. After her wandering phase, and only about once per week, she'll just sit there at the opening of her hide and hiss. And hiss. And hiss. This goes on for up to an hour until she finally stops and calms down for the night. At the risk of anthropomorphizing her, I’m beginning to believe that she’s scolding me. “I was your guinea pig,” she hisses, “You learned at my expense, and I will absolutely bite you if ever given the chance. Now keep the roaches coming, Food God.”
My spider is kind of a jerk, is what I'm saying.
