War Is Hell.

Please note: This post contains violent elements including explosions, carnage, betrayals of faith and what may or may not have been an assassination. While it would be easy to assume that the author is located somewhere in beautiful downtown Beruit, let it be know that I am just a humble Sheep hanging out in a small resort town by the beach in Maine.

I am very tired. Last night the war against insectdom was revived in what may be known on both sides as nothing short of a stunning violation of all previous treaties. It all started with an explosion.

Around 10:30 last night, as I was enjoying a particularly riveting episode of weeknight TV, there was a resounding bang followed by the loss of power, wailing of sirens and local constabulary making drive-bys to check on the locals and make sure that we weren't looting or pillaging or whatever the heck it is one is supposed to do in a darkened crisis state. I, of course, remained perfectly calm because I was knitting a sock. And this is not the first time that a transformer has blown and left me in total darkness while I was knitting a sock. In fact, it is the second time since I started this blog. Socks=darkness. That's just how it is in my world. Don't ask what happened to the sock. It wasn't pretty. We'll just call it a casualty of war and move on.

After locating sources of light in the form of candles and flashlights and making sure that the emergency chocolate was close at hand, I pulled out a book in order that I might pass the time with a good read. I even managed to balance the flashlight on my shoulder. I rock. I then felt a little tickling on my arm that was not the sweet flicker of a kitty tail as it passes by. It had that "leggy feel." Yup. Spider.

I leapt up, lost the flashlight and did the obligatory bug dance completed with squeals and arm slaps. It was sort of like the one that I did a couple of weeks ago when the wasp landed in my hair but this one was done in the dark. The dark, people!!!!

Charlotte was located and duly punished for having invaded my space and reading resumed. It wasn't the same, though and I can't honestly say that I enjoyed my power outage after that. Lights were restored after a couple of hours, thankfully, but sleep did not come easily. It was a rough night.

This morning, tired but reassured by the continued supply of sweet electricity, I attempted to begin my day on an optimistic note. I happened to glance down and observed an ant flailing about on some of the returnables that I will never get around to returning. The cause of his distress appeared to be that he was trapped by yet another spider.

Here was my dilemma: 1. I hate ants. 2. I hate spiders. 3. The spider was taking care of the ant. 4. Being wrapped in silk as a snack-to-be-named-later is a horrible way to die. I just squished everybody involved.

This may be the end of the uneasy truce that was enjoyed for such a short period in the Sheep household. You see, the bugs and I have an agreement, duly witnessed and notarized. Within reason I will ignore anything that is wandering about at ceiling level. Venture into my territory and all bets are off. You have left the Neutral Zone, prepare to be squished. The ants are not part of this. They have no privileges.

While I realize that the spiders were traveling outside their territory for the purpose of killing the invading ants, I had to make a judgment call. Can we really afford to be splitting hairs, here? As the leader of this land, I decreed that the descent was a clear violation of the treaty and squishing commenced.

I suspect that this is an act of war. Given my track record of late, it is highly likely that I have squished the Archduke Ferdinand of Spiders. Keep an eye on your local news. World War III is upon us. Well, upon me anyway.

I have nothing to fear, but fear itself. And I fears them spiders.

SA