So Frank was acting sluggish and funny all week. He slept a lot, which isn’t too abnormal, but he also wouldn’t eat, which is crazy abnormal. After a trip to the vet and a shot, he was feeling more sprightly and back to playing in the yard, obsessing over these hay bales that the roommates had stacked up to use as an archery target. So I knocked them down. And inside found a hive of bees.
My first instinct was of course to poke it with a stick and hear them buzzing around in there (it sounded like a rattlesnake!). After being chased around the yard and indoors by the bees, I thought about my options. I put on my big rubber boots and my raincoat and went back and cut the strings of the hay bale with the hive inside. A few little chunks fell away but for the most part it stayed in tact. So this wouldn’t be easy. I could try to break it apart with a hoe and hope that the destruction of the hive caused the bees to depart.
And then I had a pang of conscience. Isn’t a beehive a precious thing, after all? So a friend sent me the website for Albuquerque beekeepers and extractors. I called every single beekeeper in town east of the Rio Grande.
I had a few beekeepers call and even come out but no one would take them away. Because apparently they are bumble bees. Apparently bumble bees don’t make honey, and so are of no interest to bee lovers.
So I stuck a water hose in the thing and drowned the fuckers. They were stinging my dog.
Apparently I’m not the nature lover I thought I was.