Life in the country: When pets die

Just to prove that this blog is not only about alpacas, today I'm going to talk about spiders.

You see, this week we had our first pet funeral, for Bradley's beloved garden spider.

The poor boy was devastated. He had only just connected with the spider, when he found it curled up in a ball, totally unresponsive.

And so we named the spider Long Legs; laid his little body on a soft tissue in a matchbox, and buried him in the ground.

Bradley said some beautiful words about how much this little guy had come to mean to him over the course of the last 6 hours. And we said our goodbyes.

It was an emotional evening, but Bradley was terribly mature about it all, and agreed that while he was sad, he believed he had done the right thing.

***

Being an inquisitive child, of course it wasn't long at all before he was ready to dig up Long Legs for a look.

So he did.

And Long Legs MOVED!

As much as I would like to blame this turn of events on the Spider Zombie Apocolypse, it seems I was simply a little hasty in declaring a time of death. 

My bad.

Although to be fair, according to my very clever friend,  apparently spiders shed their outer bits, and when they do, they curl up in a little ball. Just like they are dead.

I probably should have known this. Living in the country, and all.