Once I realized that they couldn't actually do me any harm, having someone throw dozens of Crane flies in my face wasn't really all that bad.

In many ways it was a turning point for me, as a young child. I made the startling discovery that things smaller than myself wanted nothing else in the world so badly as to Not-Be-In-My-Face.

Now, while I still get the willies when I see a big spider, it's not the all-consuming freak-out that afflicts so many of my fellow humans. Of course, this isn't due to any triumph of rationality over fear. Rationality has nothing to do with people's reaction to spiders. Indeed, such fears are the very essence of the _irrational_. Pretty much all spiders are incapable of killing a fully grown human and even those rare ones that can cause actual injury are seldom the truly scary looking specimens.

Still, even knowing how much bigger and tougher I am, I wouldn't relish the prospect of a foot long Guyanan Goliath Spider (the largest species currently known,) dropping on my head. Or any other part of me.

People's reaction to animals (mine included) seems to have no basis in anything resembling good sense. Things bigger than us are often seen as being far less of a threat than things that are *clearly* not dangerous. Tourists to this part of the world have, in the past, been injured when they have attempted to go climb *on top of* bull elephant seals. These are animals that are not only surly and aggressive, but at the time were actually at the very peak of their surly and aggressive yearly cycle. Doubtless the same, suicidally inept individuals, wouldn't dream of trying to sit on a Mexican red kneed spider.

I suppose some of it comes down to a perception that mammals are inherently less alien than other groups. Reptiles, it must be said, rarely evoke a strong desire in the average person to give them a cuddle but there's no shortage of people who would love to fondle a chimp, despite the latter species' tendencies toward biting and poo hurling.

Another factor could well be that we just don't see truly _big_ animals enough any more to develop a healthy distrust of them. This probably explains why it's usually visitors to Alaska, rather than the locals, that get gored by Moose. Still, I can't help feeling that a six hundred pound scorpion wouldn't have people crowded round if it wandered down the mainstreet of Skagway, so perhaps the novelty of large size is not the best explanation.

I think it all comes down to the shape of their faces. Animals with human looking faces we kind of like and those without, we feel less inclined to love. Sure, some people love Iguanas and others just go loopy over walking sticks or parrots, but hell, some people like Britney Spears and chocolate chip ice cream so the presence of profound deviance in the population shouldn't come as a surprise.

Pretty much anything *other* than a mammal is likely to do its level best to ignore you or at least treat you with the same even handed disinterest it might treat any other potential food source or threat. Insects, fish, birds, even big reptiles will pretty much only bother you if they think you are a trouble or they are particularly hungry. Tarantulas, snakes, lizards, potato bugs, all are reviled despite their doubtless devout wish to be left alone to whatever flickering of self-aware ambition that drives their day.

No, one needs to go visit a mammal if one wants to experience the full force of cruel, animal bloody-mindedness. Mammals hunt and kill for fun. Mammals maim and torture for amusement, and no, I don't just mean us humans. Chimps, dolphins, all manner of furry friends, in fact, will happily kill for the fun of it, or at least pull the arms off a monkey for giggles. Still, it's mammals most of us find endearing despite their rapacious nature or dim witted ill humor.

By way of an example, allow me to relate a story I read recently, regarding an Elephant that had lived its whole life in captivity.

This elephant discovered that it could take the buns that visitors helpfully threw into its enclosure and, instead of eating them, break them up into tiny pieces. It would then leave a trail of crumbs along the ground and wait at one end of the line. Sooner or later some hungry pigeon would start eating the crumbs and make its way, like a little feathered Hansel or Gretel, towards the waiting pachyderm. When it got close enough, the elephant would stealthily lift it's foot and... *squish*.. flat pigeon. Off to a new corner of the enclosure and a new trail of crumbs until the buns, or pigeons, ran out.

Now you have to admire that kind of cussedness from an animal. The keepers sure as hell didn't teach it to flatten the bird life by way of passing a slow Sunday afternoon and it seems unlikely that the pigeons pose much of a threat to the elephant's life and limb. No, this big, floppy eared, saggy skinned old curmudgeon made that little game up all on his own just for the fun of that little feathery 'pop'.

Bless you, Dumbo, you're a credit to to the higher life forms. Now, I wonder who wants to pose next to this cuddly old fella? As for me, I'd much rather have a face full of Crane flies than a face full of, well, elephant foot.