For the last couple of days I have had to repeatedly throw a deer’s hoof out the door—actually the hoof and three bones of the lower leg—which, of course, Maggie keeps bringing back indoors and depositing in the middle of the floor.
This place would become a charnel house if I didn’t keep up.
Luckily this hoof is not fresh enough that it stinks, yet it is visually disgusting and attracts hundreds and maybe thousands of ants, each one smaller than a pin-head. Particularly annoying is the fact that Maggie feels compelled to lick my hand after she has been gnawing on the hoof and stripping off (and eating) the dried tendons.
I long ago got over any city notions of cleanliness—a place with a dirt floor covered with carpet is impossible to keep “Lysol clean”—but I do have my standards, and carrion-enhanced dog saliva is one place I draw the line.
As of this writing it is morning and I have discovered that while I’ve slept Maggie has brought in another marrow-rich bone under the cover of night. I have thrown it, too, out the door but the ants have not yet gotten the message that the object of their efforts has disappeared. For the last twenty minutes I have been waiting for the long column of soldiers to dissipate.
I imagine myself as a flier hovering high over a Ho Chi Minh Trail. I could hit the column with a few sprays of “napalm,” but I would have to deal with the chemical smell of “victory” for days to come. It would make little difference anyway. The ants are legion and they have their system of underground tunnels and bunkers.
Better to wait until these relentless creatures just go away on their own. Nature has its own rules of engagement and I don’t get a vote.
Groove of the Day