Saturday, April 30, 2011


Let me just start by proclaiming that of all the pests to invade one's home, sugar ants are my favorite.

They don't really bite.  You can't hear them scampering through the walls.  They don't have numerous long, hairy legs that they use to chase you through the house.  Finding them drowned in your bedside water glass in the morning does not cause you to shriek and throw up, wondering how many you unknowingly swallowed during the night.

Sugar ants are good pests.

That being said, I still prefer to let them live outside as opposed to in(side.  Sorry, I couldn't leave the preposition hanging so perilously.).

When they began to appear (in my bedroom, no less) about a month ago, I forgave them and let them have their space.  After all, they weren't really bothering me and there were only a few here and there.  Let them realize there isn't anything to eat and they'll leave.  Right?

But then they found something.  A lone raisin that had tumbled under Husband's dresser and lain forgotten.  At least, it was forgotten by the humans.  The ants apparently called all their friends for a picnic.

Realizing on Saturday morning that they planned to stay forever I mixed some honey with about 1/4 cup of Borax and dabbed it on three pieces of cardboard aligned on the windowsill.
Boy Two, who loves all animals (at least, from a distance) nevertheless took great pleasure in watching them greedily consume the poisoned treat.  I believe the words "Die, ant, die" came out of his mouth while he looked on.

Within an hour the party was accumulating more and more friends, and they were calling their friends, who were selling everything they had to invest in tainted honey.

By mid afternoon it was a free-for-all.  It was everything I could do to keep Girl from picking them up and taking them to her room, calling them her 'bug friends'.
By Sunday morning the ants had all disappeared back to their home to either die or to sleep off their Borax-induced hangover.

Tuesday morning I observed one or two on patrol, giving the impression of grogginess and the aftermath of the collapse of a colony.  Or maybe that was just my imagination.

Husband wants me to toss the no-longer-useful bait, but I intend to wait at least a week.  The drowned carcass of a greedy ant tops the largest of the temptations and I envision its bloated remains dissuading any would-be tourists from staking a claim on my bedroom in the near future.

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