My phone rang early yesterday morning, the caller ID (and ringtone) alerting me it was Megan. As it was just after 7 a.m. and considering time zones it was even earlier at Megan's place, her early call placed it firmly in the "uh-oh" category of calls that freeze a mother's heart.

I quickly answered with a questioning "Hi...?"

Megan's immediate and breathless response: "We just had the scariest thing happen, Mom."

I knew Preston was out of town, so the we had to mean Megan and my grandsons. Which elicited another early morning heart freeze on my end.

Megan proceeded to tell me about a tarantula. In their house. Right next to my daughter. Right next to my grandsons.

tarantula Not the one at Megan's -- This one from Pixabay.comThe condensed story: As Megan and the boys were preparing for their day, Megan noticed a praying mantis on their screen door to the back yard. She and the boys gathered around to admire the little green guy on the outside of the screen... when Bubby soon noticed a big, furry guy — said tarantula — on the inside of the screen door.

Freakouts ensued and the glass door was immediately slammed shut. Which trapped the tarantula between the glass door and screen door. So Megan — having to play the part of big, bad, brave parent despite shaking like mad, she said — went out her bedroom sliding door to the patio, rushed over to the door with the trapped tarantula, and flung the screen door open in hopes the tarantula would skitter away.

It didn't.

But... Megan had to get to work (and call her mom), Bubby had to get to class, and Mac had to get to the sitter, so the tarantula was left to stay or go, whatever its choice may be. (Later in the evening, Megan texted evidence that the tarantula's choice had been to stay in the door frame, even hours and hours later.)

No biggie, Megan tried to assure me when I pointed out that, sure, the tarantula may not be in the house anymore, but it clearly now resides in their backyard.

"We live in the desert, Mom. There are tarantulas."

Megan went on to tell me that tarantulas are actually a good thing to have around the house as they eat scorpions — a more common critter in their house, despite monthly sprayings from the bug guy.

In the background, I heard Bubby, who had been listening to our conversation, utter a relieved, "Thank you for that." As in, Shew! Thank you for letting me know there is something bigger and badder than those freakin' scorpions. All tarantulas welcome here! Thank you!

Which, of course, made me think the kid is crazy.

Megan had to get on with her day, as did I, so we chuckled at Bubby's relief at the presence of tarantulas we said our goodbyes.

A bit later, as I walked my dogs, I considered the sheer insanity of life in the desert. Scorpions. Tarantulas. Heat. Javelinas. Why oh why does my daughter continue to live there, raise my grandchildren there?

Just as I finished that thought, I noticed Mickey and Lyla had stepped over an odd-looking rope in the road. I halted them with a tug on their leashes so I could take a closer look at the rope.

Only it wasn't a rope.

It was this:

baby snake

Startled me a bit, I do admit. But my first instinct wasn't to run, it was to grab my camera (well, iPhone as I didn't have my DSLR along). I was intrigued by the little guy, not afraid. Of course, despite how big it may look in this photo, this baby snake was only as big around as my pinkie.

Which is nothing compared to a tarantula. Which once again affirms my choice to live in the mountains not the desert.

Yes, I'll stick with baby snakes; my crazy grandson can have his scorpion-eating tarantulas.

(Come to think of it, though, that darn tarantula better get busy munching those scorps. I thoroughly expect both sorts of critters to be done and gone by the time I get there for my visit in two weeks.)

Those are my lessons for the week. Let's just say that past lessons that I've shared here on Fridays have made my skin crawl far less. Probably yours, too.

Best wishes for a lovely, critter-free weekend!

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

This week I learned __________________.

During a recent phone conversation, Megan mentioned that Bubby had woke up in the middle of the night, crying "Ow! Ow!" Her first thought: He'd been bit by a tarantula.

A tarantula?

Yep, Megan didn't think, as I would have, that Bubby had gotten his foot caught between the rails of the bed or that the pain of a recent round of teething awoke him. No, she thought a tarantula had taken a bite out of her baby.

Seems the day before, Megan had walked into the bathroom just in time to see a baby tarantula scurry across the counter. Being the brave mama she is ... okay, knowing there's no way in hell Preston would have gotten in there in time to kill the darn thing before it disappeared into the woodwork ... Megan squished and squashed it.

Then she worried non-stop that there were more where that one came from.

Turns out that when she raced to Bubby's room to rescue him from the scary spider, Bubby stood in his crib, laughed and held his arms out. He was just kidding ... and pressing Mommy's buttons in hopes of getting up to play at 3 a.m. (I've told you he's a smart kid, haven't I?)

Now, Megan and Preston live in a nice house, in a nice part of town. But it's in the freakin' desert. So these things happen. In the same conversation, Megan mentioned Preston's recent near run-in with a rattlesnake. He and Roxie, the family dog, had been hiking when Roxie noticed something slithering and rattling up ahead. Her warnings to Preston saved the day, and he was fortunate to come away with nothing more than a snake story.

A scary snake story, if you ask me, but it's nothing compared to the scorpion stories Megan shares with me on a pretty regular basis. When she first moved to the desert with Preston, she told me about the common practice of sweeping one's bed with a black light before climbing into it to ensure no scorpions were hiding out in the covers, ready to zap the sleeper in the night. She didn't buy a black light -- which I sure would have appreciated on my first few visits to the newlyweds' new home.

Megan, a teacher, also told me about scorpion incidents on the playground ... and the rising tally of kiddos stung by scorpions as they played.

The kicker, though, came when Megan was pregnant. As is the case with all OB/GYN doctors, Megan's doctor gave her reams of information on health precautions for herself and her baby. But in the pile of papers she was given to read was one precaution I'd never before heard of -- and as a long-time mom and the former editor of a parenting magazine, I've heard a lot of babycare precautions. The tip of which I write, which dropped my jaw upon hearing, was to place the legs of the baby's crib in glass jars, one for each leg of the crib (or bassinette). No, it's not some nifty recycling tip; it's the way to prevent scorpions -- SCORPIONS! -- from climbing into the baby's bed at night and stinging him. Oh, it also mentioned to keep the crib moved out from the wall a bit, as the scorpions climb walls. And to keep blankets from dangling through the rails and touching the floor as the pesky critters like to climb up the blankets, too.

Surprisingly, such advice didn't send Megan packing. I'm continually amazed at the way she has adjusted to such lunacy. She was born and bred in the mountains. We don't have such things in the mountains. Yeah, we do have rattlesnakes, but run-ins with them are few and far between because it's too darn cold for them to be out and about on a regular basis. We also have the Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick ... but I've never heard of anyone -- not even the most active and outdoorsy person I know -- actually succumbing to the dreaded fever the tick supposedly propagates. The worst we have is Brown Recluse spiders, but I'm pretty sure those are everywhere and they require minimal precautions, minimal awareness. No jar under the crib legs or blacklight scans of the bedding to keep one safe.

Although I must be honest here and admit that we did have one critter infestation of biblical proportions last year. Bugs covered everything in parts of the state: fields and flowers, mailboxes, street lamps and (most appealing to the news cameras for some reason) the rows and rows of vehicles at the auto dealerships. But the bugs were, get this, lady bugs ... which made for a rather colorful and whimisical annoyance.

The cry of "head for the hills" from characters in books and movies, characters seeking safety, happens for a reason: It's safe in the hills. And I firmly believe -- and this isn't just the grandma in me talking -- that it's high time for Megan and Preston to grab their baby and head for the hills ... the hills of Colorado ... specifically the hills at the base of Pikes Peak ... the hills where grandma lives.

Again, the hills are safe. We don't have to worry about spiders and snakes and scorpions. And if Bubby lived here, I promise I'd protect him from any of the scary things that might make an uncharacteristic appearance. I'd throw myself in the line of fire of each and every wild critter who might dare to nibble on Bubby's sweet skin.

No matter how old or feeble I may get, I'd make good on that promise. I'd keep my grandbaby safe. I am grandma, hear me roar.

It's a pretty easy promise to keep when the greatest danger we may encounter is a ladybug or two (hundred).

Today's question:

What creepy critter are you most afraid of?

My answer: I'd have to say snakes. I can squish a spider fairly quickly, but snakes don't squish quite as easily.