Eeensie Weensie Spider

I have a nagging question on my mind: how smart are these creatures that live amongst me (or better said, that I live with)?

Can a frog in the wild be taught by us to do something, anything? A bird? A snake? What about human intervention modifying a spider’s intentions?

Around nine p.m. many evenings, I open my door to the carport and use my gas grill outside. [Certain foods like sausages make a lot of smoke and I don’t want to coat the walls inside the shack, despite having a hood for ventilation.]

On one of those nights about a week ago I nearly bumped into a tiny spider lowering himself (or herself) from the top of the door jamb towards the ground.

It was an EXCUSE ME moment.

Hey, bud, I thought, this is my house.

But since I didn’t summarily flail my hand in rejection, and ducked respectfully instead, the spider pulled up his rope and snuggled at the top of the jamb. I swear it was as if he was waiting for me to clear the area.

See the picture above.

This scenario repeats itself as I open and close the door to put food on the grill, check its progress and eventually retrieve it; about fifteen minutes total.

It concludes when I close the door and turn off the exterior light for the night.

Then – watching from inside through the glass – I see the spider lower himself midway between the top of the frame and the concrete floor and quickly weave his web.

By the time I open the door first thing in the morning he is gone, web and all, only to return around nine p.m. when we repeat the game.

How smart are these miniscule creatures whose brain must be smaller than the head of a pin?

And who made them and why?