Moe vs. the tarantula

Nobody likes spiders.
Lori just railed against them after one shivering spider sought shelter in her bathrobe. One of my former roommates refused to go into her room one night after having seen one on her bed. I have actually seen a quite burly man shriek at the sight of one little eight legged insect.
But the most unlikely of persons (or in this case, pugs) one fought the mother of all spiders - a tarantula - and won.
My little Gizmo is terrified of just about everything: People, dogs, cats, vacuum cleaners, smoke alarms, hairdryers, train whistles, shadows, his own tail and rocking chairs.
So my only explanation for the following story was that this particular tarantula had kicked the bucket - or web - long before my Moe discovered it.
Kritter and the Moe have beds they use for nothing more than hiding things they shouldn't be chewing on. Walking past one of the beds one day, I noticed several sticks, but didn't give them any thought. Later that day, we took the dogs to Alan's mom for her to babysit for a few hours. I grabbed the beds and some toys and deposited them with her, mentioning that Moe had some sticks hidden in his bed that he would probably chew on.
Terri, being much shorter than I, (I'll pay for that one!) had a better vantage point from which to view the sticks.
She turned to me with the same look as when my fish died* and said, "These sticks have hair on them!"
Every drop of blood drained from my face. My pug, the one who was then innocently peering into his bed looking for seconds, had eaten a big, fat, nasty bug.
I freaked.
Terri called the vet, who recommended an adult dose of pepto bismol between big belly laughs.
After the initial revulsion, I was oddly proud.
My little moe moe, the one who still pottys like a girl, had conquered the beast.
As usual, he was not aware of anything that had transpired. He just knew he had a tummy ache.


*Once, while Alan and I were still in high school, I bought a few fish to swim around a bowl on my desk and look pretty. My dad apparently was not a fan and predicted they would die right away. I was defiant — my fish loved me and would not dare die. Well — they did! My fishies didn't last one night. I was very sad, feeling like a fish killer and ticked cause dad was right. I broke the news to Terri the next day. She burst out laughing. At first she tried to hold it in, but then she got this devlish little smirk and then couldn't hold it in any longer! I called her evil and still pretend to be very hurt.