Spotlight: Nhandu coloratovillosus

Occasionally I'd like to put humor aside and lay out as much information about specific species of arachnid as possible, as well as pictures of my own if I happen to have them handy, both for educational purposes, and to help keepers and non-keepers alike better understand our eight-legged buddies.

Today's piece is on one of my personal favorites, the Nhandu coloratovillosus (Schmidt, 1998).  If you don't like Latin, they are commonly known as the "Brazilian Black and White."  However, for the purpose of this article, we're speaking Latin.  Get used to it.

The Nhandu coloratovillosus hails from the grassland regions of Brazil, and as such, doesn't mind things being a tad more on the humid side from time to time.  Its not a requirement, as they're fairly hearty, but if you were an N. coloratovillosus, the world surrounding your little piece of real estate might look something like this:

(photo (c) nature.org)

Lovely, no?

But for mine, her little piece of real estate is a large Kritter Keeper with a water dish, 4 inches or so of substrate, and a little wooden hide - all contained inside of a large, glass-front media cabinet.  And she seems to get on just fine that way.

The grasslands of Brazil border on tropical, averaging a humidity of about 70-80%.  In captivity, N. coloratovillosus thrive in dryer conditions, as long as they have a water bowl to drink from, preferably on the larger side.  Misting is not necessary (and according to experts like Stan Schultz, author of the Tarantula Keeper's Guide, misting is really never necessary, ever), a simple overflowing of the water dish from time to time and being allowed to evaporate will produce enough humidity to keep your fuzzy bugger satisfied.

Various sources have said that this species has several color forms, though the general consensus among keepers is that they do not, and simply change appearances drastically with each molt.  An adult will be extraordinarily "fluffy" looking.

Nhandu coloratovillosus and other species within the Nhandu genus are New World tarantulas.  This means that rather than medically significant venom, they posses a rather mild bite, and their main means of defense is urticating bristles on the abdomen.  Nhandu hairs stuck in your skin are known to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences imaginable.  Luckily for myself, I seem to have no reaction to them - but I have known a good number of people who have given up their entire collection of this genus to avoid being itchy.  Urticating setae are like tiny bits of barbed wire mixed with fiber glass mixed with itching powder mixed with poison ivy and chicken pox, and these tarantulas readily flick them off their butts and right into your face if they feel threatened.  For unsuspecting, loving hobbyists, this is a horrible inconvenience sometimes, but in the wild, it is a far more effective means of defense against predators.  Think of it this way: in order to bite, you have to press your mouth against your attacker.  If your attacker is a bird of prey, for example, you aren't going to envenomate them via their beak.  But kick up a cloud of painful and airborne urticating bristles, and suddenly you don't look so tasty anymore.  

My Nhandu coloratovillosus is about 6.5 inches in diagonal leg span, which is how tarantulas are measured.  She's an adult female, but not done growing!  The average diagonal leg span of a full grown female is between 6 and 7 inches, and this varies depending on the individual.  Sometimes a bit less, sometimes a bit more, but the mean is somewhere in between.  Males of any species tend to be on the smaller size.  Which is good - it makes it easier for them to become lunch after mating with the ladies.  Bite-size men are easier to take down.

My beautiful girl has never been bred, but hopefully some time in the future she can have a dinner date with some lucky stud.  They can go out dancing, where they'll do the YMCA, like this:

The average life span of a Nhandu coloratovillosus female is up to 15 years.  Being a faster growing species, they mature in only a few years, which means unfortunately for the males, their lifespan generally maxes out around their third birthday.  Once any male tarantula matures, he gives up on everything besides spreading his seed.  He stops eating, making himself at home, and doing anything that your average spider does on a day to day basis, and starts building sperm webs and pacing back and forth looking for a mate.  If not provided with one, he'll typically allow himself to either starve to death, die of exhaustion, or eventually attempt a post-ultimate molt that is very rarely survivable.  In the wild, a female tarantula rarely goes further than six inches beyond her burrow for any reason.  (This makes it even easier to justify keeping most tarantulas in small, dark enclosures.)  The males, on the other hand, once mature, will wander hundreds of miles in search of a mate.  He will, as they say, get laid or die trying.

And then probably die afterward anyway, because all that mating is hard work, and we girls get the munchies pretty quick when lovin' time is over.

My favorite part about this species, and all species of the Nhandu genus is their general temperament.  They are neither docile nor aggressive, yet somewhere in between, in a gray area I like to call "neurotic basketcases."  They are as anxiety ridden as I am, never seeming to be able to truly make themselves at home.  Those that do settle in tend to take a much longer time than most other tarantula species.  My coloratovillosus girl took six months to stop climbing the walls and ceiling of her first enclosure.  Once we made our move to our new home, during the car ride, she climbed down and into her hide for the very first time.  Only then did she seem to relax.  I unfortunately had to rehouse her afterward into a more suitable (and smaller) enclosure, but it seems the less space they have, the quicker they are to adopt all of it as their domain, rather than continuously searching for something better.  All of the anxious traits I have noticed in mine are traits I can identify with on a primal level.  There is nothing more rewarding than owning a Nhandu who is visibly comfortable in its environment - that's when you know you have done things correctly!

Persephone, using her fangs to pull herself from the catch cup into her second home.

Also, many hobbyists like to have a few spiders they can scoop out and hold.  Nhandu are not typically these spiders.  Aside from rehousing, any instigated movement of Persephone results in her butt aimed at me like a cannon, and her legs poised for kicking.  (This might be due to the fact that I named her after the queen of the Underworld, but its just a guess.)  On the other hand, I have another species of the same genus who is calm as can be, and perfectly tolerant of being touched.  With Nhandu, some might say that their trust has to be earned.  And when you get one that doesn't immediately default to defense mode when presented with your hands, you know you have earned it.

My beautiful girl has loads of personality.  She guards her pooping spot.  She tackles prey with a ferocity that has caused her to topple over onto her back.  I have seen her shove two crickets at once into her mouth using her pedipalps and front legs with a passion that would make Cookie Monster blush.  Her eyehill makes her look slightly crosseyed, and she occasionally takes an upside-down stroll just to freak me out.  Attempts at handling have been met with the butt-cannon, but never a threat posture (the photo above of her in a threat posture came from her previous owner, and to this day I cannot understand for the life of me how he managed to upset her that much), and rehousings/tank maintenance have been a breeze.  She is the gem of my collection, the largest, prettiest girl I've had the pleasure of working with to date.  I wish her a long and happy life with me, and hopefully someday an eggsack of her own bug munching hair kicking basketcase children.

Here's to you, Persephone, and here's to the awesome species Nhandu coloratovillosus.