When I was 15, I got my first paying job, doing yard work and odd tasks on summer weekdays for a family in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where we lived at the time. Their house featured a rough stone foundation with lots of nooks and crannies.
One day, while spreading mulch around the edge of the house, I noticed a dense, funnel-shaped spider web emerging from one of those nooks. I picked up a short stick and touched it to the web. Nothing happened. I shook the stick a bit. Still nothing. I shook the stick a bit harder.
Suddenly, a large, oddly-patterned spider stood on the web above the end of the stick. The spider appeared so fast that it might as well have teleported to that spot, only inches from my hand.
I dropped the stick and leaped back. After I caught my breath, I ran to the garage and grabbed a can of insect-killing spray off the shelf. By the time I got back to the web, the spider had disappeared. I shot a long burst of insecticide into the hole, then another, then another.
Sometimes, I think foreign policy gets made the same way.