The rain we received earlier in the week indeed offered respite from dry, brittle, drought-ridden conditions.  Now two days later, I returned from a walk at the lake this morning with an ample supply of mud attached to my shoes (which, by the way, are now resting in the garage to dry out so I can clean them later).  Yet even the torrential downpour offered only cursory hope for a land taunted by years of too little precipitation.  Already things are growing dry again.

But the rain itself presents another problem for me.  You might remember my concerns about rain washing away the insect repellent I spread around the patio and all of the exterior doors.  It’s a constant concern for me.  Each time it rains, the gates are thrust open to allow invaders of all sorts.  While most of them do nothing more than intrigue me, ants are my mortal enemy.  I am so deathly allergic to them, like bees and wasps, that a single sting from a stinging ant forces me to emergency medical care and leaves a mark on me that remains intact for many weeks.  Jenny probably remembers my last ant sting from years ago that painted a bullet mark on my arm that seemed to last forever.

So it is with a great deal of worry that I see the patio now inundated with ants.  Lots of ants.  All over the place.

They’re hunting, gathering, scouting, and otherwise searching for whatever supplies their various colonies need.

I have no problem with that in general, mind you.  I just have a MAJOR PROBLEM with it when they do it in places I frequent.

My patio is such a place.  As should be obvious.

I watch in horror as the tiny devils wander about—aimlessly in my opinion, but I know better.  I’m forced into ant dancing within my very own domain.  It’s heartrending and an abomination, an affront to the very core of my being.  I step out into the exterior portion of my own territory only to find myself assaulted on all sides by varmints too small to be worthy of despair yet so dangerous as to be deadly to me.  How dare they!

I will wait another day, two at most, and then I shall be forced to lay down the law—or the Seven Dust in this case.  It’s a marvelous barrier to keep such critters from attacking me.  I’d like to leave the patio open to all interlopers, all visitors, but I can’t.  If I invite others with an open door, ants too will find their way in.