Friday, September 10, 2004

Wasp Nazi

I've become the Wasp Nazi. No, not WASP, as in white Anglo-Saxon people, wasp as in buzz, buzz, sting, kill dog.

A couple of weeks ago my dog was stung by something and had a terrible allergic reaction that made him throw up, collapse, have shallow breathing (think gasping for breath), and then bumps and bumps of hives all over his little body. He's a Boston terrier so there isn't much to his body, only 19 lbs. Cute as the dickens.

Anyway, the vet said each allergic reaction will get worse, so we have to keep a syringe of epinepherine in the fridge and bring with us wherever we take him in case he gets stung and needs a shot. Seeings as this last sting was so bad, the next one would probably do him in for sure. We don't want that. He's like a little toddler in our house wearing a furry dog costume. We cuddle him like a baby and my son plays with him (and sometimes squabbles with him) as if he's a brother. He's definately part of the family, not just some mere pet.

A few days ago I saw a few wasps flying above my garage, so I had my husband climb up there and spray killer on what looks like the start of a hive in our overhang. I still have seen some wasps flying above the garage, so I took the screen out of the living room window and have been hanging out the window a bit to spray the little suckers before they can get to my little dog. So far I've sprayed and killed at least ten.

I feel like a gun-slinging cowboy in the Old West. I've got my weapon ready for the draw. I sit and watch, waiting for my opportunity, and then it's Go Time. After I've sprayed the little demon I have the urge to blow at the end of my spray can of wasp killer, as if I'm a cowboy blowing away the smoke from the end of a pistol. I'll have to work on my can twirling skills though, and I'll have to find a holster for the can to go in while not in use to be a real wasp-shooting cowboy, er, cowgirl.

Yee Ha!
I guess now I have to ride off into the sunset.