My son and a boy a year older went on a spider hunt in our yard. They caught three. Really big ones. They named them, and put them in a box on our new deck, with grass in the box for 'food,' and the lid propped open with a stick to let air in.
About a week went by.
I was sunning myself on the deck when I noticed a little tiny spider dangling from a new web. One of the spiders must have been carrying an egg sac.
I looked around. There was an enormous spider hanging from a web over by the house. The next day it had moved to the laundry line, which afforded more construction substrate.
I clumsily and slowly grabbed the rake. I awkwardly and weakly raised it. Whack! Spider descended on a bailout silk.
I sat smugly for a bit, then stood up, grabbing the railing, to have a look. No sign of the spider. But wait... what's this? Less than two inches below the railing hung the very big spider, waiting for the dogs to tire.
I crooked my weak middle finger under my thumb, and whacked the spider when I released it. Down it fell. Oddly, I felt a wet sensation where my nail had struck the spider. I hoped that meant it was wounded. In full combat mode, I released a gob of spit from my mouth while the spider fell. The spider hit the concrete below, and the spit landed right on it! Hooah! Spidey didn't move after that. I hope the ants ate it.