Invasion, Fertilization, and Extermination … something just wasn’t working

Like most of us, I have a few questions to ask God when I get the chance. Oh, I’ve asked him several times, but I guess he’s busy what with the Covid19 pandemic, the Greek alphabet hurricanes, and football starting back up. Anyway, I don’t have to have the answers. It will give me something to worry about, complain about, and speculate on during the next thirty years … until I get up there. But if I don’t get the answers … it will be Hell.

We all wonder about that big seed in the avocado, the place in the food chain taken up by the mosquito, and that age-old question about whether the angels are boys or girls. That last one came up a lot in Mr. Lange’s Wednesday Night Bible Study. We were in the seventh grade. We also were curious about the poop in the Ark, the air inside the whale when Jonah was aboard, and why David could dance, but it was a sin for us. Somehow, we skipped over the whole “lady taking a bath on her balcony” and David making sure her husband got deployed to the front lines.

Lately, I’ve had a problem I’d like to take up with the Lord. You see, some really nasty guests have decided that my well-watered St. Augustine grass is just the place to set up camp for the winter. I have spent a lot of money on mowing, edging, and treating the yard for just such an invasion. But alas, they did not get the memo. The much-dreaded FIRE ANTS have moved in … with their queen, their cousins, and their fertility clinicians.

At first it was just a small, well-chewed pile of dirt near the driveway. It was about the size of a dinner plate … the first day. Two days later it had grown to the size of a turkey platter. That was very discouraging because I had treated my whole yard with “guaranteed to kill and prevent FIRE ANT” poison. It’s always worked well before.

Within a week, I had four fairly large FIRE ANT beds. The grass was dying, the yard man threatened to raise my rates, and the postman noticed and pointed out that he would not deliver to a war zone. Unlike the Covid19 pandemic, wearing a mask doesn’t protect you from FIRE ANTS. Wearing combat boots might help, but the tiny devils can scale a boot and be up to your waist before you can strip down in the driveway and scream for someone to call 911. Believe me.

So, on day three, I decided to fix the problem. I was pretty sure I had some of the ant killer left in the garage. The sack had been discarded, but the spreader still had quite a bit in the bucket. It didn’t look right, but I figured I’d try it.

Of course, the FIRE ANTS thrived. I guess those pink granules that were bought to feed and weed the lawn … fed the ants, encourage their expansion plans, and fluffed up the grass in the area so they’d be protected from the sprinkler.

The war has moved into phase two. I’ve purchased FIRE Ant killer and have attempted to remove the mistakenly applied fertilizer, but in their last insurgency, they attacked my trash bin and threatened my dogs. I’m pretty sure God has a reason for the FIRE ANTS, but I suspect the Devil has a closer relationship with them.