I can’t be messing around much if I’m going to get anything published at all this year. With things still being CRAZY hectic around here, and me not having much time to write, distracting me from my work is not a good idea when I’m hard at it in the little time I do have. Especially when I’m really getting a lot done quickly. These epic word rolls don’t happen often, and it’s particularly difficult to get my attention when I’m on one. Success at finally getting my attention at such a time is never going to be a good thing – for man or beast. Birds don’t count, because they’re generally attached to me, so part of the process. While I would be the last person to want to hurt any sort of creature on the planet, that doesn’t mean that every single one of them makes me come over all warm and fuzzy. Worms creep me out to the point of screaming and belting around the house with hair on end a couple of times if I accidentally grab one while whiffling through a bit of damp soil – as you do. Mortally venomous snakes in my house are not going to make me put anyone in it at risk by talking to it in a friendly fashion while attempting to pop it into a bag to transport to pastures new. No. It will unfortunately get to meet its maker early if it doesn’t get me first. And I absolutely loathe African bees after helplessly watching a swarm of them kill my animals in the most agonising and long drawn out way. No bees allowed around me. Yes I’m the only person on the planet who doesn’t think they’re lovely little things that should be decorating cakes. No child around here should think of bees as cute in any way as far as I’m concerned. Four year old twins were killed by them at a dam down the road from us in Zimbabwe. Now this brings me to monkeys.
I’d love to see the people who abuse them in labs have their kneecaps shot to shreds and then have them dumped in the middle of millions of fire ants. I think monkeys should be left alone to get on with things in whatever wild parts remain to them. But I’m not particularly fond of them, and they’re most certainly not welcome to pop around to my house for any sort of snack. (NOT APES!!! WE LOVE STORY READING APES, WHO ARE ALLOWED ALL THE SNACKS THEY WANT!) Monkeys. I’ve had a running battle with the little sods for years now. Up in Zimbabwe, among other terrible acts of theft and destruction, they used to eat the baby weaver birds out of their nests. Not on my watch Dagwood! I never ever harmed a hair on one of their smelly little persons, but chase them away I did. Monkeys know what guns are, so all you have to do is point one at them or let off a shot in the direction of nothing at all, and they’ll hightail it out of there. They’re clever buggers though, so I got a lot of exercise warding off their various military style tactics to gain entry from different points.
Monkeys in suburbia are another kind of pain in the bum altogether. They know which day the rubbish is collected, and driving down the road on Tuesdays looks like a warzone after they’ve ripped and tossed everybody’s trash all over the place. Now I know a lot more about my neighbours than I cared to thanks to them. If you don’t have screens on your windows and doors they’ll pop in and destroy your house for you in their quest for snacks, while you cower in the toilet waiting for them to leave, and any yards with fruit trees are open season. They don’t delicately pick a fruit or two and munch on it either. They hoik off everything whether its ripe or not. Around here, they’re very interested in what my feathered horde have lurking around – and the horde have food of some sort all over the house. Every time you hear those demolishing beasties thundering over the roof, or one of their faces pops up at a window, my birds freak right out, and Button has flown into things a couple of times now, hurting his tiny little body, and almost knocking himself out. Apart from the constant distraction from my scribbling, I’m worried that one day the poor guy will hit just a little too hard to survive. Can’t have that. So war it is!
Now – you can’t go zooming around the yard in suburbia with a real gun letting off shots willy nilly. And you aren’t going to get very far with a broom either. Monkeys know what brooms are, they’re not scared of you, and if you try and interfere with them unarmed they’ll bite your face off. They really will – not fluffy cuties, monkeys. So – not a scribbler for nothing. Googled and googled. And now I’ve got me a nice little replica rifle that shoots plastic pellets. The lovely man at the shop is very clued up monkey-wise – they’re the terror of the area – and supplied me with some “special” little pellets that would most certainly sting without causing actual injury – just in case. I’ve been having a ball zooming after them now, after having them show me the finger all the time – not to mention some pretty serious looking dental equipment – buggers. They’re avoiding any sign of me now. *Grins* *Shows monkeys the finger* Jo 100 – Monkeys 0 – HAH! Anyway. Back to work.