Are You Fragile? “Crazy!” Huh? I just spoke with one of my regular readers at the supermarket, and his words shocked me. “I read your crazy articles every week,” he said, grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat. And that’s not the first time a reader has called my articles crazy. What is going on? I write a serious column about household pest management. And I’m a classically trained writer, well-read in Chaucer, Lord Byron, and Shakespeare. Are some of my readers misinterpreting something? Missing something? Are my articles a mirror that reveals the cracks in their own fragile psyches? No, dear readers, none of my articles are crazy. If you don’t believe me, just ask my imaginary companion since childhood, a pet rat named Skeeter. Hey, Skeeter, do you think my articles are nutty? “Negatory on that, good buddy.” You see, he agrees with me! This is just your typical small-town pest advice column—nothing nutty going on here. “10-4 on that. Breaker, breaker, there’s a smoky in the granny lane on the I-5 near the Grapevine.” Uh, sorry folks, Skeeter is obsessed with trucker’s slang. Just ignore that. But what you shouldn’t ignore is Skeeter’s advice on which company you should call when pests become a problem. Take it away, Skeeter… come on, Skeeter, tell the people who to call when they need help with problem pests. “If critters are putting a burr up your backside… then… roll on down to Bobby’s Big Rig Emporium and chrome shop, serving the tri-state area since 1952!” Darn you, Skeeter!! For once in your cursed life, could you do what you're told and tell the people to call Home Defenders! Shape up, buster—or ship out! Uh, sorry about that outburst, folks. Skeeter just drives me nuts. Anyway, be sure and check back next week when I outline—in painstaking, sadistic detail—how to get rid of a problem rat. “Negatory on that, good buddy. You’d go crazy without me.” (Long sigh.) 10-4 on that, Skeeter… 10-4 on that, good buddy. Have a burr-up-your-backside free week, everybody!
Hey, reader, I have a question. How old were you when you felt you knew everything about life? Eight? Ten? Personally, I was a first-class know-it-all by the time I was twelve. Having crowned myself the earthly lord of time, space, and knowledge, I stopped listening to adults giving out warnings. Warnings did, however, sometimes squeeze through my thick skull, perhaps by divine intervention. God protects fools and babies. I remember the sunny morning on our grandparents’ Illinois farm when my brother Dave and I told Grandpa we were heading to Bear Crick to hunt Indian artifacts. We would walk across the “north forty” cow pasture to get there. No big deal. We told Grandpa of our plan. “Listen, boys,” he said with a grim stare. “I moved the bull into that pasture yesterday. Never turn your back on a bull—he’ll kill ya dead.” Ten minutes later, we climbed the rusty barbed wire fence and jumped into the cow pasture. Walking toward Bear Crick, I kept my eyes locked on that black bull peacefully munching green Illinois grass. He was the most powerful animal I’d ever seen, and I had no doubt he could kill me dead. When it came to matters of life and death, Grandpa knew best. Since I (usually) don’t like uninvited warnings, I avoid giving them out. When homeowners need help, one phone call brings my company to their rescue—no warnings given. But, once in a while, like Grandpa, I dish out a warning. Listen, folks, never let branches touch your home. Ants live in trees, and branches are their gateways to the fertile pasture that is your kitchen. I’ve treated thousands of houses, and sometimes, the only way to eliminate ants—despite my arsenal of 21st-century products—is to grab my ladder, climb to the roof, and cut branches. If you can’t safely cut your branches, call a professional tree trimmer. The sooner, the better. Lastly, if I come to your home and see branches touching your roof, well… I recommend you avoid cow pastures. Have a bull-free week, everyone!
Revenge of the Beer Drinkers What is the most misunderstood critter on the mountain? Putting the question another way, what insect do homeowners most often misidentify? Here is my answer: yellowjackets. Let’s clear up this mystery. Many people think yellowjackets are bees, but they are not bees. Yellowjackets are wasps. What is the difference? Bees (European honeybees) sport a light coat of downy hair and are bred to pollinate. According to the USDA, 75 percent of fruits, vegetables, and nuts in the United States are pollinated by bees. Honeybees can only sting one time because their stinger is barbed, and bees cannot remove it without pulling out their guts. How did European honeybees migrate to the Americas? The Virginia Company of London sent the first honeybees to America in 1622. The bees that nest in our wall voids are descendants of those rugged world travelers. By contrast, most American yellowjacket species were born in the U.S.A. Yellowjackets sport a spartan buzz cut and feed on caterpillars, harmful flies, and other pests that damage plants. They also feed on the carcasses of dead animals and rotting fruit. Unfortunately, they love beer and barbecue, as many Fourth of July revelers discover the hard way. Unlike bees, yellowjackets can sting multiple times. But why do they keep stinging over and over? Why not sting once, make their point, then fly away? An insect scientist (entomologist) might say, “Vespula pensylvanica repeatedly injects a pain-inducing, enzyme-rich venom as a mechanism of self-defense.” That sounds valid but somehow doesn’t answer the question. I’m no scientist, but enraged yellowjackets have stung me dozens of times, and I say they sting repeatedly because they’re vindictive little bastards. They torment humans simply because they can. Now, the good news. The first winter cold snap will kill off yellowjacket workers, leaving only the queens to hibernate the winter away. So when the snow starts flying, fire up your barbecue, guzzle some ice-cold beer, and enjoy the great outdoors 100% wasp-free. (Deck heaters are available at most hardware stores.) Have a torment-free week, everyone!
