My father bought a can of ant killer from the hardware store. I think he liked this can because it was so compact, square with a pointed dusting nozzle, and it packed such a wallop. He stuck the nozzle into the entry hole of a pavement ant colony, in the crack between two sidewalk slabs, and squeezed the deadly cyanide in. Then he called us to see the dissipating mounds of coppery, sandlike corpses, some still twitching in Brownian death motions. Maybe he was enthralled by the power in the can, the awesome decisiveness of his act, as I can’t remember these small creatures ever causing us any inconvenience.
Like the exterminator man who answered our call about termites. Clean shaven above the neck and in a tiny red coat, he perused the damage, opened the wood to reveal the culprits, dewinged one unfortunate, and popped it in his mouth for final identification. Termites reportedly have a flavor like Brazil nuts, but this man disagreed. “Tasteless. One hundred percent protein. And clean. They only eat wood.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
I recognize carpenter ants by the faint black and gray striping on their abdomens, and the prominent head and jaws on the workers. Camponotus are foragers. Unlike termites, these creatures have no capacity to digest wood. Their excavated dens are for nesting only and tend to have smooth, clean-swept corridors. The workers assiduously carry pile after pile of sawdust to the entry hole and toss it out. A characteristic cone of wood particles on the floor is evidence of their presence. By retracing the trajectory of the particles you can find the entrance to the den.
The usual morph, or body style, of the worker termite caste is not that of the flying antlike creature most of us think of, but white and maggotlike, with a thin, sensitive skin, intolerant of light, open air, and desiccation. Termites usually tunnel along the grain of a wooden board, leaving a thin veneer intact to shield themselves from the outside world and reduce moisture loss. This crytobiotic life-style has helped assure the survival of this ancient animal. Add a TV set and it describes many human households.
And ants disperse everywhere. One time I was getting on a bus when I felt a sharp pain on my right buttock–like a dart from a blowgun, I thought. The whole bus ride I scratched and rubbed at this irritation, ignoring the disgust of my fellow passengers. At my destination I ran to the bathroom, disrobed, and saw the head of a large soldier ant, mandibles sunk into my flesh, smiling. I had rubbed away his body, but the head would not let go.
