Itsy Bitsy's Spiders/Jumpers is a hobbyist on a mission to share the wonder of jumpers with the world.
01/02/2025
It all started on that fateful day—Uno's final adult molt. I found him stuck, one leg already gone, and his pedipalp trapped by its enormous, bulbous end. My heart sank the moment I saw him like that. I’d been here before with other male Hyllus walckenaeri, and it had always been a death sentence. They either got stuck by their pedipalps or molted only to be missing one afterward. So when I found Uno in that same position, I thought, "This is it. He’s done for."
That molt cost him a leg and a pedipalp. For most spiders, the loss of a pedipalp would mean certain death from hemolymph loss, but not Uno. Somehow, he survived. I named him Uno Palpis after that day, my quirky little reminder that he had just one remaining pedipalp. From then on, he was my special project. I babied him because he was one of only two males, critical to the survival of Hyllus walckenaeri in the U.S. And despite losing a leg and a pedipalp, he had so much fight left in him.
Uno wasn’t like the other males I’d bred. He mated with two females, but to be honest, he couldn’t have cared less about the whole mating thing. Most males are all about the ladies, but Uno? He was way more interested in food. I’d offer him prey, and he’d leap for it with more enthusiasm than I’d ever seen for any female. Maybe it was because he’d lost his pedipalp, or maybe it was just Uno’s quirky personality, but food was his true passion. I’m convinced that’s why he lived so long—he knew how to enjoy the little things.
Even when he eventually lost two more legs, Uno just kept going. There he was, five legs and one pedipalp, but still charging at his food like it was the greatest thing in the world. He knew I’d help him with his prey, holding it still so he could eat, and I think in his own way, he appreciated it. He may have been missing parts, but his spirit never wavered.
I did everything I could to keep the humidity just right, especially in Colorado’s dry air. Hyllus walckenaeri aren’t built for this kind of climate, but somehow, Uno outlived all his siblings by a remarkable four months. While other males burned out quickly in pursuit of mating, Uno took his time. He was less about romance and more about savoring every moment, especially when it involved a snack.
When he passed, it wasn’t dramatic—it was quiet, just like Uno had become in his later days. He had outlived everyone’s expectations, and he did it on his own terms. He may not have been the star breeder I’d hoped for, but he taught me that survival isn’t about living the longest or accomplishing the most. It’s about finding joy in the little things—like a perfectly timed meal and a little help from someone who cares.
Rest in peace, Uno Palpis. You were a quirky, stubborn, one-pedipalp fighter, and you reminded me that even the smallest creatures can leave the biggest impressions.
