I Am a Miraculous Literate Spider, and It’s Time I Get My Due
When it comes to public accolades, there’s no contest. Wilbur is the one they want— Zuckerman’s famous pig, the big prize winner. He’s terrific, he’s radiant, and above all, he’s humble about it.
But if you’d ever spent the night in the barn after he’d gone to town on a trough full of slop, you might think about his “radiance” a little differently.
Which is not to say that I begrudge him his success. He was my friend, and I didn’t want to see him wind up as a topping on a Hawaiian pizza.
But I have to admit, as someone who performed a genuine life-saving miracle, I get a little irritated about not receiving any credit. How many pigs do you know that can weave legible words into intricate silken webs in an act of selfless heroism? None, that’s how many.
Hours before giving birth, in the throes of labor, I exhaust myself crafting my most impressive web to date. It prompts prizes and speeches and a big parade. They say the origin of the web is a divine mystery.
I was right there.
The goose is more philosophical about it. “That’s the patriarchy-archy-archy for you,” she says. Which is not to say that the pig is a chauvinist per se, but she does raise a valid point.
I’ve been thinking about Rosalind Franklin a lot lately. She beat Watson and Crick to the punch, but they still gave the Nobel Prize to the men for “discovering” the double helix.
I can spin a double helix in my sleep.
With my spinnerets, silk glands, and a little artistry, I can draw crowds from five counties, make a lifelong vegetarian of the farmer’s niece, and prompt a pardon for a planned execution.
As for Wilbur? It’s like I said — he was just some pig.
