So, you’re looking at a rust-colored wall of pure attitude. That’s usually the first impression people have when they see an African bird eating spider, specifically the legendary King Baboon (Pelinobius muticus). It isn't just a pet; it’s a commitment to a creature that would frankly rather you didn't exist.
They’re thick. They’re grumpy. They’re fascinating.
Most people get into the hobby thinking they’re getting a display piece, but what they actually get is a very expensive bucket of dirt. These spiders are the architects of the underground. If you’re looking for something that sits on a cork bark round and looks pretty for your Instagram followers, keep walking. This spider spends 90% of its life excavating tunnels that would make a civil engineer jealous.
The Identity Crisis of the African Bird Eating Spider
There is a bit of a naming mess here. Technically, several large theraphosids from the African continent get slapped with the "bird eater" label, but in the hobby, the King Baboon is the undisputed heavyweight champion. It’s the only member of its genus, which already makes it a bit of an evolutionary weirdo.
Unlike the Goliath Birdeater from South America, which relies on sheer mass and irritating hairs (urticating hairs) to ward off predators, the African variety chose violence. They don't have those flicky, itchy hairs. Instead, they have powerful fangs and a "stridulating" organ. Basically, they hiss at you by rubbing their leg parts together.
It sounds like tearing velcro. If you hear it, back off.
Where they actually live
In the wild, specifically in East African nations like Kenya and Tanzania, these spiders are found in scrublands and grasslands. They aren't swinging from trees. They are deep-dwellers. They need hard, clay-like soil that can hold the shape of a tunnel. If the ground is too sandy, the tunnel collapses, and a grumpy spider is a vulnerable spider.
In a home enclosure, you’ve gotta mimic this. Most keepers make the mistake of giving them three inches of substrate. That’s a joke to a Pelinobius muticus. They want ten inches. Twelve, if you can manage it. They want to disappear.
Growth Rates and the Long Game
If you buy a spiderling (a "slingshot"), be prepared for a long relationship. They grow at the speed of tectonic plates. Honestly, it’s agonizing. You’ll feed a tiny brown speck for three years and realize it has only gained half an inch.
But there’s a payoff.
Females can live for 25 to 30 years. You are literally raising a creature that could outlive your car, your dog, and potentially your marriage. Males, as is the tragic rule in the spider world, live much shorter lives, usually topping out around 10 to 12 years, which is still incredibly long for a male tarantula.
The "Bird Eating" Myth
Let’s be real: they rarely eat birds. It happens, sure. A stray hatchling falls into a burrow, or a ground-nesting bird gets too close, and it’s game over. But the African bird eating spider primarily survives on a diet of beetles, crickets, and the occasional lizard or small rodent.
Feeding time is a spectacle. They don't chase. They wait. They sit at the mouth of the burrow, feeling the vibrations of the earth. When a cricket wanders by, the strike is so fast your brain won't even process the movement. One second there’s a bug; the next, there’s just a vibrating patch of dirt.
Why "Old World" Status Matters
In the tarantula hobby, we divide spiders into "New World" (The Americas) and "Old World" (Africa, Asia, Europe). The African bird eating spider is the poster child for Old World temperament.
New World spiders are generally chill. They might kick some hair at you.
Old World spiders? They have no chill. None.
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Because they lacks the defensive hairs of their cousins across the Atlantic, their primary defense is a potent venom and a willingness to use it. While no tarantula venom is currently documented as fatal to a healthy adult human, a bite from a King Baboon is a "ruin your entire week" kind of event. We’re talking intense localized pain, swelling, and sometimes systemic cramping that feels like a permanent charley horse in your chest.
Don't handle them. Just don't. There is zero reason to put your hands near a King Baboon. They don't "bond" with you. They don't want "pets." To them, you are either a mountain or a predator.
Setting Up the Fortress
If you’re serious about keeping one, forget the fancy glass terrariums with mesh lids. Those mesh lids are death traps. Tarantula claws (yes, they have tiny claws) can get stuck in the weave, and a dangling spider is a dead spider.
Go for a front-opening acrylic enclosure or a converted heavy-duty plastic tub.
- Substrate: A mix of topsoil, peat moss, and clay. It needs to be packable.
- Moisture: They like a moisture gradient. Keep the bottom layers of the soil damp, but the surface relatively dry.
- Temperature: They’re hardy. Room temperature (70-80°F) is usually fine. If you’re comfortable in a t-shirt, they’re probably fine.
One thing people overlook is the "water dish." Even though they live underground, they will come up at night to drink. Watching a massive, velvety spider delicately sipping from a bottle cap is one of the few "cute" moments you’ll get with this species.
The Ethical Side of the Trade
Wild-caught specimens used to flood the market. It was bad for the environment and bad for the spiders. Wild-caught adults often come with parasites or "dehydration stress" that kills them within months of arriving in a hobbyist's home.
Nowadays, captive breeding is the way to go. It’s harder because breeding King Baboons is a bit like a high-stakes bomb disposal—the female is often very aggressive toward the male. But buying captive-bred ensures you aren't contributing to the depletion of African ecosystems. Plus, a captive-bred spider is generally "hardier" because it hasn't spent three weeks in a shipping crate coming from Kenya.
Handling the Hype
There’s a lot of "macho" energy around these spiders. You’ll see YouTube videos of people poking them with paintbrushes to make them hiss or strike. It’s stupid. It stresses the animal for no reason.
The true joy of keeping an African bird eating spider is the observation of a prehistoric specialist. When you see them meticulously lining their burrow with thick, white silk—silk so strong it feels like parchment paper—you realize you’re looking at millions of years of perfected design.
They are clean. They are efficient. They are absolute recluses.
Moving and Rehousing: The Boss Level
Eventually, your spider will outgrow its home. This is the moment every keeper dreads. Moving a King Baboon is like trying to put lightning in a bottle, except the lightning is angry and has fangs.
The "cup method" is your only friend here. You use a large plastic container to catch them, using long forceps to nudge them from behind. Never use your fingers. Even if you think you’re fast, you aren't. They can teleport.
The "Threat Pose"
If you see the spider stand up on its back legs and throw its front legs into the air, stop. That’s the universal sign for "I will bite you." The King Baboon will also drum its legs or make that characteristic hissing sound. It’s giving you a fair warning. Most animals in the wild don't do that. Respect the warning.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Keeper
If you've read this and still think, "Yeah, I want a giant, angry, invisible basement spider," here is how you do it right:
- Start with an "intermediate" species first. Get a Pterinochilus murinus (OBT) or a Ceratogyrus species. If you can handle the speed of those, you might be ready for a King Baboon.
- Invest in 12-inch feeding tongs. Length is safety. Never feed with your hands.
- Prepare the substrate months in advance. Let it settle. Make sure it holds a burrow shape before the spider ever touches it.
- Join a specific forum. Places like Arachnoboards have decades of archived threads from people who have made every mistake possible. Read them.
- Check your local laws. Some regions have strict "venomous" or "exotic" pet bans that include large Old World tarantulas.
The African bird eating spider isn't a beginner's pet. It’s a masterclass in patience and respect. If you can provide what it needs—deep soil, silence, and total hands-off management—you’ll have a front-row seat to one of the most impressive predators on the planet. Just don't expect it to thank you.