Anteater | Kami's Beautiful Morning

The ants have taken over my yard.

Sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s true.

There are ants marching in a steady cadence around the entire perimeter of my Arizona patch of lawn. There are ants building little mounds along my side walkway. Those ants that race around like they found and devoured a discarded bottle of amphetamines are careening about the back porch as well as the driveway. There seems to be two or three different armored divisions encircling the foundation of the house. And the little six-legged ankle-biters have set up a path along the brick wall surrounding the yard. I know of at least one bush that they have commandeered for a nest.

Giant anteater (Myrmecophaga tridactyla). Photographed at the Phoenix Zoo, Phoenix, AZ. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

All these little critters make it difficult to do my yard work. My ankles itch like crazy from the bites they inflict. I’ve tried living peaceably with them. Haven’t hosed them off or tramped on them or purchased an anteater. I have a feeling an anteater would have some untoward side effects that might be worse than the ants. Not sure I want to find out about that.

My first task this morning is to launch a counteroffensive against these invaders before they make themselves comfortable inside my house as well.

Peaceful Negotiations Unsuccessful

I have looked into alternative forms of persuasion. Cinnamon, various other spices, talcum powder, cucumber peelings, vinegar, coffee grounds, citrus peels, chalk, borax mixed with syrup.

These tactics might work temporarily on a few poorly organized hapless group of ants. This is not your usual little mound of easily dispatched workers. Beneath my entire yard, well below the topsoil, lies a deep underground network of ants expertly trained and craftily deployed under my home. We have so many ants I’m a bit concerned that they’re planning to carry the house off to another neighborhood. No doubt they could if their tiny generals gave the orders.

No, I have set aside my dove like attitude of submission, cajoling, wishing and hoping. I am now a hawk. There is a full gallon of highly lethal and toxic bug spray waiting in the garage. And a very large bag of some sort of bug dust also stands at the ready awaiting deployment by me, the itchy gardener.

Do Dogs, and Ants, Go to Heaven?

I’m not trying to upset the entire ecosystem. I just want the ants to go hang out in someone else’s yard, preferably ant heaven, if there is such a thing. There they could build little mounds and march in long lines to their tiny hearts’ content. Do ants have hearts? I can’t think about that one. Sends shivers up my spine and makes me feel even more itchy.

Repercussions? Yes, there probably will be some. I’m going to spray and scatter now and think about it later.

I just want to plant my winter flowers, weed my garden, and walk to my car without having my feet overrun by multitudes of tiny critters on their way to morning reverie.

Call me cruel. Maybe I had one too many picnics ruined as a child.

Hoo-rah!