It was our neighbor who first battled the little stinkers and showing off her recently obtained expertise, spouted, “These ants aren’t those teeny, tiny brown ones that sneak into your sugar-coated cereal. They aren’t the large black ones that bite, either. No! These are the dreaded White-Footed Ants.” She and Pest Control Guy (PCG) fought them and they disappeared from her inhospitable environment.
A week later I realized that her ants were now my ants – a quivering mass of “Operation Invasion” marching in a double black line, heading for and returning from some mysterious food source under our home. I stomped on them and depleted two cans of toxic stuff. Relentless, they signaled back for reinforcements and detoured around their newly departed comrades.
I phoned for back-up. Within the hour PCG’s truck screeched into our driveway, which indicated either these pests were ones you didn’t fool around with or he figured big bucks were coming his way.
“Well. I’ll hav’ta see what variety we’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He didn’t notice the dead ants littering the driveway? He moseyed around outside and strolled back in. “I hate to tell you this (Yeah, right!), but the price we quoted is for your regular pesky ant, but what you got here, M’am, is the White-Footed Ant and he’s a different animal” …and the clincher, “This park is notorious for them; probably goin’ta take months to get rid of.”
“How much?” asked bottom-line Hubby.
“That’ll run you $254 for the year.”
“Is there a guarantee?”
“Yes Sir. But, you hav’ta work at it from your end; cut back those bushes from the house. Those ants are jumpers, you know.”
Well, no we didn’t know! Not only creeping, but airborne, too? We signed, he sprayed and departed with one last caveat, “Now this is goin’ta get a lot worse before they decide to move on.”
Digging for one fact to obscure my ignorance, I asked, “But, don’t you have to kill the queen?”
“Nah, they’re all queens. They just eat and zip back’ta spread the word.”
This morning, when I took Sasha out, the driveway was ant-free. Could it be that easy? Unfortunately, my jubilation was a tad premature. Upon closer inspection, I discovered they were taking up residence inside and weren’t fussy about where. The miniscule devils circled the outside of the commode and played water pool inside. They charged up through the kitchen drain, Spidermaned to the floor and swarmed over Sasha’s dog-food. Several RAID cans later, I realized I’d keel over before them and resorted back to shoe mashing.
It’s going to be a long haul until they regroup and advance to the next neighbor. But, when she knocks at my door, I’ll express my sympathy and share my PCG’s phone number.
I understand there might be a kick-back.