Creepy-Crawlies
by George Zidbeck
The animal selected for this essay has a genetic tie to wasps and
bees, eats anything, and yet is significantly different than other
species within its taxonomy. Moreover, it sports a dark body about
the size of a dash (-) with six, almost invisible mini-legs and two
antennae. We're not playing the game of Twenty Questions, so I'll
come right out and tell ya the name: Argentine ants*.
When I settled onto my three-acre squiredom in 1984, my first intro
to the native ant species that dominated the oak forest within and
around my domicile came by disturbing the nest site(s) of carpenter
ants – big, mean buggers that swarmed onto my clothing and headed
topside of my torso intending to exercise their pincers on my neck
and face. Plus, come springtime, countless males sprouted wings and
began their spiraling journey to mate with a flying queen intent to
start a new colony distant from her original homeland. Such ants,
along with their yellow- jacketed cousins, are irksome and
troublesome via pincers and stingers. I abhor them and via my
territorial imperative do my best to eradicate them.
For all of mankind's history, when not involved with killing his own
kind, the human species has been at war with any animal that reduced
his/her comfort level. I first met the Argentine ant by helping my
good friend, Ron Pellett, nine years ago settle into his new over-55
settlement in Paso Robles. Not long after I completed landscaping
his backyard, it didn't take long for them to invade his home –
mainly the kitchen. Repeated flooding of their outdoor, underground
nesting areas and the spreading of a commercial poison reduced their
presence big time. But they continue to hang around the
neighborhood, and will step into his home come any day he not cleans
up after a meal.
Argentine Ants
Not long after those micro ants initial
assault, a friend of Ron's from San Fernando Valley visited his
home, saying, "You know those little ants that you've got in your
backyard and sometimes come inside?" "Yeah," Ron answered with an
inflection that makes an answer also a question. "They're all over
L.A. Especially where I live."
Well, now those creatures from South America have welcomed
themselves into my squiredom. At first, only a handful foraged along
my kitchen countertop.
Wanting to get up close and personal, I observed their maneuverings.
I find it amazing that such a small creature also packages a complex
brain that hastens its adaptation to varied geographies north and
south of the equator. Hawaii might keep the brown tree snake out of
its country by intense surveillance of in-coming cargo, both ship
and plane. But how to keep microbes, viruses, and tiny animals at
bay?
Damn near impossible I say.
My slaying them early kept their numbers small. However, I'll
confess to not keeping a sparkling kitchen. I have a housekeeper
come in for half a day every other week. But in between some days I
left tiny, almost invisible crumbs and fragments here and there
where they feasted. Thus, every so often, I'd squish ‘em with my
fingers and flush ‘em down the sink.
Let me tell ya that that you need a microscope if you want to get a
gander at their feet, pincers (although tiny, they can ‘bite'), and
antennae. Some mornings, I've looked at a speck along my kitchen's
porcelain sink, and concluded it's a piece of dirt or a dead ant,
but when reaching for it, that ‘speck' turns to life and scampers
off. At some point in their quests for eats, they must tire and fall
asleep. Understandable in the vast distance they have to travel on
such short legs from their outdoor home to my kitchen.
Thus far, I'm unsuccessful in halting their intrusions. My friend
Ron had found a dry poison that reduced their numbers. But in his
case, the nesting sites are under the sidewalk by the house. I have
an elevated basement and have yet to determine their home base. I
thought to myself, go to the Internet and see if any data will
answer the problem.
Right away, interesting bytes stacked up on my notebook. The
Argentine queen ant is not the sole monarch of one nesting area. As
many as 20 to 100 queens in tandem keep sprouting eggs. A male ant's
sole purpose is to fertilize a queen. Of no value after that, they
quickly die.
Come time to seek another nesting site, A ‘new' queen doesn't sprout
wings; nor do the males. The newly fertilized monarch scampers to a
new area nearby. Before long her nest site has a host of queens
cranking out food gatherers – maturing in 74 days from egg to larva
to adult. Plus, all newly created colonies get along with another.
Millions and millions of them and never warring on each other.
The above facts might seem interesting, but do not get you into
their biochemistry. Their skin has to have some miracle substance.
One morning, after squishing a half dozen in and around my sink, I
put a cup of cold coffee in the microwave oven to heat the brew. I
have a 1,000 watt unit that can heat a cup of room temperature ‘joe'
in thirty seconds. When I opened the door to put the cup on the
central glass platter, I noticed a single ant moving on the tray.
When I closed the door to zap my cup, I assumed the ant would end
his day in a sizzle. Not so, I removed my cup, closed the door and
reset the unit for ten additional seconds. It
didn't matter.
That hardly visible speck continued to scramble as if microwaves
were a normal part of his lifestyle. Notwithstanding their
diminutive size, they take on anything that encroaches their
colonial enterprises, including carpenter ants. One writer put it
aptly: "Argentine ants are not good neighbors." Not wanting to go
chemical on you, I have omitted an easy to prepare ant reduction
formula using water, sugar, and powdered boric acid. After all,
perhaps some of you readers haven't encountered Linopthema humile.
For some of us however, the beat goes on....
*Although titled the Argentine Ant, its origin encompasses Uruguay,
Paraguay, and southern Brazil.
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