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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, provided that the mature being is receptive and willing to learn. So long as the person is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the last week. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the window frame, mostly just stationary. In order to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages propelling them at that frightening pace causes my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that multiplies when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” level, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this seasoned learner yet.