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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I believe you truly can instruct a veteran learner, as long as the old dog is willing and willing to learn. As long as the old dog is ready to confess when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the trick I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, something I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species 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 large, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. Including three times in the last week. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to engage with any myself, 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 attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the casement, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The sight of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they are in motion.

But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and fueled by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. Some life is left within this old dog yet.