Friday, August 04, 2006, 20:39
Sticky Wicket
"Where's my fly strip?" I said.
Earlier in the day on Thursday, I had hung two fly strips down in the barn on the kitty food shelf. One on the end of the shelf where I put out the kitty food so Charlie won't eat it and one on the front side of the shelf. The flies have been congregating around the kitty food dishes, and I wanted to eliminate some of them. The barn draws enough flies, thank you, without adding more to the population.
When I came down to the feed the horses Thursday evening, one of the fly strips was missing.
I looked at the adult cats and kittens eating the food I had just put out.
Not only was one of the fly strips missing -- but one of the kittens also was missing. One of the black ones.
"What happened to the fly strip?" I said. "Anybody got any ideas?"
The cats and kittens stopped eating for a few seconds, looked at me, and went back to eating.
"Did one of the kittens get wrapped up in the fly strip?" I asked.
Of course, none of the cats would tell me if it had.
Oh, great. How was I going to find that kitten if it was wrapped up in a fly strip? I was certain, if the kitten got against the fly strip when it tried to jump on the shelf, that it would have been terrified to have something like that sticking to its fur. It could have either run out under the barn wall and through the garden to the field beyond -- or it could be up in the hay someplace in the barn.
Either way -- outside or inside the barn -- I was going to have quite a job finding the kitten and getting it disentangled from the fly strip.
"One of my fly strips is missing," I said to Randy when he walked in barn moments later.
"Fly strips?" he said.
"Yes, I found some fly strips in the drawer in the kitchen, and I hung two up on the shelf here to try to catch some of the flies buzzing around," I said.
"Oh, well -- that will never work, hanging the fly strips there," Randy said.
"Really?" I said. "Well, the one that's there is already about half full of flies."
"Then I guess it *does* work," Randy replied.
"Yes, but," I said. "One of the fly strips is gone. And one of the kittens is missing, too."
I looked at Randy.
He looked at me.
I knew what we were both thinking: some years back a Small Brown Bat had gotten stuck on a fly strip in the barn. We had quite a time getting the bat off the fly strip. Once he was free, Randy put him in a tub in the lean-to, where it was dark, so he could rest. I peeked in on the bat once after that, and it was grooming itself to get rid of the adhesive. It reminded me of the way a cat grooms. By nightfall, the bat was gone. It had apparently gotten itself cleaned off and then went to do what bats do. Namely, I suppose, capturing insects. Which is fine with me. That's why I like to have bats around.
"How in the world are we going to find a kitten stuck on a fly strip?" Randy said.
"Yes," I said. "I know. That's the problem."
"Which one is it?" he asked.
"One of the black ones," I said.
Two gray kittens were eating and two black kittens were eating. That left one black kitten unaccounted for.
As we stood there trying to decide how to go about finding a kitten stuck to a fly strip, I looked back at the kitty food shelf -- and now there were three black kittens.
"Hey!" I said. "All three black kittens are there now."
"Okay!" Randy said. "That's good!"
I still haven't found the other fly strip. And I still don't know what happened. One of the black kittens has dirt stuck all over its fur -- up around its back, on its belly, on its tail -- so I am certain that's the one who encountered the fly strip.
Actually, I am amazed at how well fly strips work. When I was a kid growing up on our farm, during the summer, my mother kept a fly strip in the porch and one dangling from the kitchen ceiling.
And when I lived in southern Wisconsin, the lady who owned the stable where I boarded my horses bought fly strips by the dozens and kept them hung up in the barns. There were so many of them around that on more than one occasion, I walked into a fly strip and then had to tear it out of my hair -- so I can imagine how the bat and the kitten felt.
But -- as they say -- all's well that ends well.
Except for the flies. I don't suppose they think it ends too well when they get stuck on the fly strip.
There's a limit to how many flies I can tolerate buzzing around the barn, though.
There's a limit as to how many flies Kajun can tolerate flying around the barn, as well. Sometimes when I go down to the barn to put more fly spray on him, the flies are sitting on his legs, biting him until his legs are covered with pinpricks of blood.
Poor old horse. He's got a bad heart murmur. He's getting to the point now where it's hard to keep weight on him. And then the flies bite him bloody.
On second thought, maybe I don't feel too bad for the flies at that.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Thursday, August 03, 2006, 21:02
Bzzzzzzzzz!
"Do you want the hummingbird stick?" I asked.
It was 10 p.m. Wednesday, and Randy was out in the yard -- wearing a jacket and cap -- approaching the liquid propane tank with extreme caution, a flashlight in one hand, can of bug spray in the other.
The hummingbird stick is a piece of lath with two nails hammered into one end. I use it to lift the hummingbird feeder off the hook in front of the kitchen window and to put the feeder back when I have filled it with nectar.
"Not yet," Randy said. "I don't need it yet."
With the can of bug spray poised for action, he approached the tank cautiously, aimed, sprayed and leaped back.
"Yup, they're in there all right," he said. "I can hear them buzzing."
Hmmmmm. . .how many years do you suppose that people have been using tanks outside in their yards to store LP for winter use? At least 40 years, but more than that, I suspect. I say at least 40 years because we had a tank just like that when I was a kid growing up on our farm.
Wouldn't you think that by now, they would have found a better way to design the things?
Nope.
They're still the same old way -- a round metal cover (like a bowl) over the valve and the gauge.
And here lies the problem.
The upside-down bowl is the perfect place for wasps and hornets to build nests. And they do. Every summer.
Here's the other problem: we got the letter from the Farmers' Union on Wednesday about prepaying LP for the winter. $1.59 a gallon.
I'm going to have to scrape up as much as I can now to prepay by the end of the month, because if I don't, by the middle of winter, LP will probably be up to $2.59 a gallon -- and I'd much rather pay $1.59.
Anyway, along with the contract for LP, they also wanted to know how much was in our tank now so they could prioritize filling.
I told this to Randy when he came home from work Wednesday afternoon.
"I'll just go out and check it right now," he said.
"No, you won't," I said. "You're going to wait until dark. Bees. Remember?"
"Oh, right. Bees," Randy said.
On more than one occasion, the guy who comes to fill our tank in the fall has been chased away from it by wasps or hornets. He says this happens to him quite often. He is braver than I am. Personally, I would seriously consider finding a different job.
(Of course, my husband is braver than I am, too. Because *who* was out there checking the gauge?)
"I think we should wait until after dark when they're settled down," I said.
"Then I can take some spray out there," Randy agreed.
To tell you the truth, I hate spraying the poor bees or wasps or hornets or whatever they are. They deserve to live their lives, too. It's just that when they nest in the cover on the LP tank and then come after whoever lifts the cover to check the gauge -- that's when it gets dangerous.
So, there we were, out in the yard at 10 p.m. I stood about halfway between the LP tank and the house while Randy crept up on the tank with the can of bug spray.
"I can hear them in there," he said. "They're stirred up now."
And sure enough, in 30 seconds, bees/wasps/hornets began dropping out beneath the cover.
After a while, all was quiet.
Randy used the hummingbird stick to lift the cover and then shined the flashlight on the underside.
"The nest is the size of a small pancake," he said.
I would have hated to lift that cover with a nest the size of a small pancake full of wasps under there. Especially if I leaned down over the gauge to see how much was in the tank. My head would have been only inches from the wasp nest.
The tank, I was happy to find out, is 60 percent full. Might be some expansion because of the heat, though. So it's probably more like 50 percent full. But 50 percent full is better than, say, 10 percent full. Gives us just that much more to start out and should get us through most of the fall. Then there's just the rest of the winter to worry about.
We've had mild winters the last few years. That could change. So I'd hate to bank on the idea that we will again have a mild winter.
As for the wasp population around here, I don't think spraying the LP cover hurt them much. When I went to fill the pans I have sitting out for the birds in the backyard this morning, I had to fight off the wasps to get to the pans.
I've never seen the wasps this thick around water of any kind. They also congregate around the dog's water bucket. The water pan I have for the kitties on the back porch. And they congregate around the drip holes in the two small window air conditioners we have installed on each end of the house.
I always figure the air conditioners are my one indulgence. Ever since I had the stomach flu during the summer almost 15 years ago, it seems like I can't take the heat as well as I used to be able to.
At any rate, the wasps are thick around any kind of water. It's been so dry, they find water where they can.
My wasp/bee/hornet policy has always been -- if they leave me alone, I leave them alone.
I don't think the wasps under the LP cover would be inclined to leave anyone alone who lifted the cover and disturbed their nest.
I'm going to have to try to remember to spray the inside of the cover next spring. If I do that, then maybe the wasps will be encouraged to build their nest elsewhere.
LeAnn R. Ralph