This is Diego. He is a Phidippus Johnsoni Jumping spider, and lives in a Jade plant in my front courtyard. There are several spiders of this species that can be found in the Jade plant on a certain day, but I know that when Diego I have seen.
The adult males of this species have about 5 to 7 millimeters long, mostly black with bright red abdomens that often have a black strip in the center, diffuse black legs with white stripes, iridescent blue illegs (Appendix mouthpiece with fangs at their ends) and small adorable strands of the hair of their heads. Individual P. Johnsoni Spiders can vary quite apparently, but this is not how I know it is Diego.
It is your personality that I recognize. Diego is a charming combination of conceited, worried and curious. But what really distinguishes it is how it reacts slowly by approaching, by phone first, to take a photo: greets.
The first time he saw me coming, he quickly backed up to the edge of the jade leaf in which he was, ready to disappear to the bottom if necessary. Once I stopped moving, my phone just centimeters from him, he hesitated hesitantly, moving his pedipals (small diffuse arms that have many uses, including eyes cleaning and feeling the environment), trying to evaluate with what he was trying. It is the form of a spider to ask: “What is that?”
Then he approached, took a good look at the phone, got up on tiptoe and threw his first pair of legs into the air. That was unexpected! He dragged back and forth while bending those legs up and down. It is difficult to explain how happy this did me.
I suspect that he saw his reflection in telephone lenses and thought it was another spider. The wavy of the leg was probably a warning to remain out of his jade plant or a courtship dance. Anyway, this little routine was incredibly beautiful.
I have found hundreds of Phidippus Spiders in my neighborhood in recent years, and photographed dozens of them with my phone. Until now, Diego is the only one who responds in this way.
Science has taken to recognize that other animals have personalities, but anyone who has spent quality time with a dog or a cat, a horse or a pig knows that they are people with preferences, habits and peculiarities, as we are. The same is true for non -mammals, but in my experience, it is more difficult for humans, including scientists, identifying or accepting personality in animals that are very different from us, such as reptiles, fish and insects.
Of course, scientists have been aware that individual animals behave differently from each other, but for a long time this was treated mainly as a problem trying to draw conclusions about the behavior of a species. With some species, such as fruit flies or zebra fish, this is easily overcome by trying many animals. But with others, it can be a challenge to capture, raise, care or obtain access to sufficient animals to prevent the peculiarities of people from being understood our understanding of what is typical for that species. A particular concern for scientists who capture their animals studying nature is that they can end only with the boldest animals that are less reluctant to risk and, therefore, easier to catch.
Only two decades ago, researchers began to see differences between individual animals as a topic that is worth studying for itself. But the fear of being accused of anthropomorphism led scientists to marry in the most rigorous “behavior syndrome”, which was defined as a set of correlated behaviors that persist over time and in the different contexts.
Scientific literature is full of this type of recast of behaviors and skills that have traditionally been seen as exclusive humans, using words and phrases that sound scientists who describe behavior instead of naming it. Friendship becomes “sharpening behavior”, laughter becomes “vocalizations of laughter”, personality becomes “behavioral syndromes.”
But this is changing, and today it is more likely that animal behavior scientists call animal personality of what it is. I have been following this research for more than two decades, and I am no longer surprised when I see documents about the personalities of the marmotes, parrots, trout or bees. Even so, experimenting it with the spiders jumping I felt revealing.
The last spring, while walking my dog Rooney, waiting for each centimeter of an Aeonium plant (those succulents with large green or purple rosettes), I noticed a Phidippus Johnsoni Spider on one of the wide and flat leaves. A couple of houses later, I took a look at another Green Aeonium: another spider! I found several more on that walk.
The next day, Rooney and I walked through all those same plants, and again, most had spiders. I felt that I had deciphered a secret code and now I could see Phidippus Spiders When I wanted. I quickly identified the most reliable meeting places at a short distance from my house and visited those places almost every day.
I can say exactly when spiders notice my approach because they turn to point out their two big primary eyes in my direction. Actually, some of them look at me; Others disappear in an instant, crouching in the spaces between the leaves. Some keep looking while I approach but I finally lose my nerves and hidden. Some like to look behind a sheet. And some of them approach, venturing to the edge of the plant looking at me all my time. If I offer my hand as a higher hanger, some will jump directly.
It did not take long to realize that certain spiders tend to react almost in the same way every time I come. I began to know them as individual beings with unique personalities.
This made these blurred Phidippus even more irresistible spiders. In general, I can’t help trying to get a photo, and this takes another variety of reactions. Some spiders jump out of view every time I slowly push my phone in their address. Of those spiders, some finally pose again for photos, while others hide more than Rooney is willing to expect. Some like to jump by phone.
And Diego sometimes greets.
All Credit/Copyright Betsy Mason photos
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