Ah the elusive Barking Spider, also known as spiderus-farticus-notmeicus.  I have done an illustration of the Barking Spider for clarification.

There is also a Barking Spider Tavern in Ohio.  See here.  If you happen to be in Cleveland and like live entertainment (not Barking Spiders but bands that generally play music of the non-barking variety.)  Also they have lots of beer.  Some sparkling cider.  Lots of character.  I have not been to this tavern, but the next time I get to Cleveland I will go.  (Of course, I'm not implying that they have Barking Spiders at the Barking Spider Tavern, but perhaps they serve a special broccoli/popcorn/bean dip?)

In Huntsville, Alabama we have Black Water Hattie's which always seems to have an abundance of Harley's in front.  See here.  Also their website has this picture on it so that gives you an idea of what goes on there and on in their outdoor patio extravaganza.
Think she's checking for money that might have fallen into her
cleavage, but I could be mistaken.  Maybe there's food down there.
Possibly a Barking Spider but I wouldn't want to embarrass the young woman.Alas, there are no Barking Spiders there.  But they do have live music.  This was last Halloween there, so it's pretty kicking.
Who can go wrong with a devil, a pirate, and I believe it's Roy Orbison's
grandson?  I think they desperately need a Barking Spider on the trumpet,
but that's just my opinion.I seem to have wandered away from the point.  Ah yes, Barking Spiders.  I once read a historical romance (seriously) who had the female protagonist fart and say, "I didn't know they had barking spiders in England, too."  This line pretty much made peas shoot out of my nose, although I hadn't eaten peas prior to the event.  (I wish I could remember the author so I could give proper credit.  Up until that point I don't believe I had ever read about a heroine in a historical romance actually having typical body functions.)  Then I repeated the line to HIM, who excels at blaming things on Barking Spiders, our daughter, the moron cat, and sometimes me.  Sometimes we repeat it according to our vicinity and the circumstances.  "I didn't know they had Barking Spiders in the Smithsonian, too."  "I didn't know they had Barking Spiders in the White House, too."  "I didn't know they had Barking Spiders in the middle of my daughter's dance recital, too."  (Right in the middle of the solo while no one was clapping.  Biggest damn Barking Spider I ever heard, too.)

In case you're completely lost, I shall explain.  My MIL, of which I'm not supposed to blog, came to visit a year or two ago, and whilst enjoying her company, a Barking Spider emerged, and out popped the immortal words.  My MIL said she'd never heard it put that way.  Well, she was a minister's wife for many decades and an elementary school teacher also for many decades, so I submit to you that she was not in the proper company to hear it put that way.  (Whilst in the Army, there were many a Barking Spider lurking around the barracks.)  A Barking Spider is the poor, invisible creature upon which the blame of an errant fart is laid when there is no one else about.  Silent But Deadlies don't fall into this category unless someone falls over dead from asphyxiation.  The best gambit upon that scenario is to quietly fade into the background and run the hell away, yelling over one's shoulder, "BARKING SPIDERS EVERYWHERE!"

Okay back to the point of the blog.  It seems as though Barking Spiders seem to be an endangered species around the Bevill household of late.  Even my daughter's moron cat, Megaroy, also called Stinkaroy lately, doesn't even blame the invisible critter.  He just owns up to and stalks off to another part of the house, because goodness knows he can't smell it up by himself.  (That's what humans are for, after all.)

Instead we have a massive influx of Pull-My-Fingers.  I'd like to say that a Pull-My-Finger is similar to a Barking Spider, but it's completely the opposite of a Barking Spider.  With attributing the flatulence to a Barking Spider, one is saying, "It wasn't me.  It was the invisible beasty that doesn't really bark.  Hahahaha.  You should laugh, too.  Also you should cover your nose."  With the Pull-My-Finger one is saying, "It totally WAS me!  Not only was it me but once you pull my frigging finger I emphasize the fact in a loud and overtly nasty booty manner!  Hahahaha.  If you're a prepubescent boy you should laugh too and bump fists because I have done this so successfully!"
Coming from HIM I'm all like, "Yeah.  Great.  Shouldn't eaten that three-bean salad, babe."  But then suddenly our daughter starts doing it.  With a sly little giggle, too.  Then I have to tell her it's not something that we do in polite company.

Her: "What's polite company?"

Me: "Company that's polite."

Her, staring at me, because she knows I haven't answered her.

Me: "We don't do it out in public, not at school, social events, or to people like teachers, politicians, or mailmen.  Well, maybe politicians."

Her: "Go ahead, Mommy, pull my finger."

Me, glaring at HIM: "This is all your fault."

HIM, shrugging and going back to his Kindle: "Well, yeah."
There it is.  It's official.  HIM confessed.  It IS his fault.