I stumbled across a huge ant colony (think the size of Detroit) on Saturday in our yard. And when I say stumble, I actually mean “dug up” because I was in the midst of planting a tree – I’m two scoops in, and then I realize the dirt was moving and I’m sorry, but I’m not just adult enough to deal with millions and millions of tiny, angry ants whose home I just destroyed, so I dropped the shovel and left the yard before they realized it was my fault.
The problem is, apparently when you buy a home, all these little things become your problem, even when you don’t really want them to be. Lame! After I got over the creepy-crawly feeling that always overcomes me when I’m too close to too many bugs, I covered that sucker with a tarp. Problem solved… yes?! Erm… no. John disagreed. So off once more to Home Depot, where we chose some organic insecticide that made our yard smell like old Italian food. Judging by the zillion ants that were in our driveway this morning, I’m thinking it only worked to displace them, not kill them – and an ant colony in the front yard is just as unwanted as one in the backyard. Argh.
Another critter to add to the undesirable list – Mr. Opossum. Last night I let Pasha out to do her rounds, only to glance out the window and see her crouched in the middle of the patio. We’ve learned where Pasha likes to lounge, and the middle of the patio is not a favorite spot, so as I inquired to John to see what she was doing, it became obvious. An opossum has apparently become enamored with our grape vines, and Pasha was awaiting an attack. Super. Not wanting the pup to bring us a dead opossum at 11 PM, we ordered her to come in … which turned out to be a bad idea. Our commotion brought the standstill to a head, and the dog ignored our “COME HERE” cries, because apparently obeying the people who feed you < chasing a rodent the size of a cat. Should have known. Luckily, the opossum got away. Whew.
OH! And something is eating the leaves of my rose bushes.