Spidercide and other conversations

I seem to be spending a considerable amount of time having deep and meaningful, if one sided, discussions with insects, birds and other creatures.

As I don’t speak spider, I’ve had to use English to explain to the multitude of daddy-long-legs spiders which festoon their cobwebs all over my house my reasons for seeking their demise. I, rather reasonably I think, explain to them that I dislike cobwebs and I‘m therefore about to commit spidercide and they’re just going to have to cop it. Large garden spiders, otherwise known as tarantulas, require a different sort of communication which largely consists of screaming. Occasionally they are captured using the glass and cardboard method and sent outside or murdered by Mortein. When I see small spiders rushing about, I tend to leave them be although they may be co-opted as specimens for my grandson’s new microscope.

I also have lots of one-sided conversations with Chico the bird. The bird’s repertoire of conversation consists of squeaks and chirps at various decibel levels including the extremely high. He frequently uses me as a kind of super-highway, waddling up to my leg, then up my trousers to my arm then around my neck to the other arm and down onto the desk. Occasionally he will stop on my shoulder and start eating my ear. No matter how much I remonstrate with the creature, he comes back for more pecks. There are times, however, when he sits just next to my neck and croons to himself; it’s very sweet.

Little lizards always get the glass and cardboard treatment and taken outside. However, should a large lizard ever migrate inside I can confidently tell you that my language would be much like that used for furry big garden spiders – screaming!

Small mice, which have set up home in our pantry, are dealt with in a slightly different way. We weren’t prepared to kill them so we’ve purchased dinky little traps which you bate with peanut butter. So far we’ve captured two infants, which Jessica released up at the park. They are the most attractive little creatures, medium grey with the classic long tale. We did explain to them our need to relocate their little tribe so we didn’t feel too authoritarian.

We no longer need to speak often to the big dog as he is mostly now living elsewhere. Which is a shame as the dog was the only creature who appeared to understand English. There was a repertoire of words which he understood, most referring to going walkies, having treats or eating. The wonderful Jack Russell whom we had years ago had an enormous vocabulary of words he understood including walking on the left or right as instructed, leaping to attention when anyone mentioned going for a walk, going to this person or that as required and much more.

This week’s blog is a trifle short for various reasons but I can’t go without sharing a few more interesting phrases.

My friend Denise says her father used the expression “put a sock in it” when he wanted someone to stop talking. Recently I said I was “gob smacked” by something said by someone else and I also used the classic when talking about money or rather the lack of it: “I haven’t got a brass razoo.” And there’s doing something “in a trice”. What’s a razoo? And why is it brass? And if gob is slang for mouth, why are you smacked in the mouth by someone else’s words? And why is a sock the thing that’s shoved into the mouth to stop words coming out? Why not a cardigan, or a sheep’s fleece … And what’s a trice?

 

Quote of the week from the Chambers Dictionary of Modern Quotations:

British writer Gwyn Thomas: “She was a blonde – with a brunette past.”