Attack of the Bumblebees

That whole weeding impulse that I mentioned before, has gone down quite a bit. Now it's more of a guilty murmur sort of thing. I am officially procrastinating on the whole gardening thing.

And I ROCK at procrastination!

I can doze in bed until noon and still not have begun to procrastinate. I'm also really good at digressing. You could ask me a question and I can talk for an hour without actually answering it. I would be great in politics, if not for the fact that I hate to wear pantihose.

Who invented those things, anyway? The pantihose, I mean. They're horrible. No matter how much you wear them, you never get used to having them on. At least I don't. I always walk away with slight claustrophobia and a new-found sympathy for sausages.

That was first class digression, right there.

This post is really about bumblebees. You didn't see that coming, did you? It really is too bad I don't like wearing pantihose. These days we have truckloads of bumblebees buzzing around in our garden. I use them as an excuse not to do too much gardening all at once. Cause dammit, these guys are HUGE! They're not guys at all, actually. They're queens. Hence the hugeness. They're flying around, looking for little holes in walls where they can set up shop. Apparently they like to live in holes in brick houses. They hibernate in the ground during the winter, and as soon as they're all warm and toast in springtime, they start looking for a place to live.

Earlier today, I was standing in the open veranda door, looking out at the garden while doing my usual procrastination routine, when a bumblebee the size of a bloody ping-pong ball came flying towards me. It was big enough for me to give it a good kick without having to do much aiming. It went "pfbzzzzzzz!" and decided to take it's royal business elsewhere. Which is a good thing, because I'm pretty sure it could have taken me in a fight...

Rubbing my spring in your wintery face!

I took this picture out in the garden a couple of weeks ago. There are flowery things doing their flowery business all over the place, while trees are turning green and birds are chirping. I’m sure if I could work out what that thing is that makes those birdies want to get up at 5am and sing, I could stick it in a pill and own most of the money in the universe.

Spring arrived here for real around the end of last month. If I’d known that Denmark was a near-tropical country, I would have moved here ages ago.

This has opened my eyes to the fact that I may quite possibly be evil. When I speak to family and friends back in the ol’ country, and they talk about it being cold and snowy still, I just can’t help rubbing it in their faces. I’m sure they all hate me by now. If they don’t, then I’m sure they want to.

Spring springing and sumo gymnastics

Spring has sprung. I know this for two reasons:

1) The other day I picked a gigantic tick off from behind the pooch’s ear, where it had settled quite comfortably in the soft, downy fur with its enormous, blood swollen ass in the air, like some sumo gymnast. Now that ought to be an Olympic event, if you ask me. I’d watch a sport like that.

2) Yesterday I gave the pooch a bath out on the porch. There’s not a creature on earth who hates bathing as much as the pooch does. She’ll take cover under the couch as soon as she sees the shampoo bottle. The trick is to wait until she’s not paying attention – which isn’t as easy as it might seem, since the pooch thinks I’m the most fascinating thing ever created – and then take care of the bath preparations (bucket with water, sponge, rubber gloves and shampoo. Not very complicated).

When it comes to the actually bathing process, she is somewhat conflicted. She hates the getting-wet-part but she quite enjoys the getting-the-shampoo-massaged-into-her-fur-part. After all, who wouldn’t? That’s my favourite part whenever I go to get my fur… uhm… hair done.

Anyway, her conflicted emotions keep her from running away, even though I’m sure she entertains the idea, long enough for me to bathe her properly. Once the bath is over, however, she storms around in a fit of joy so overpowering that it’s difficult for me to dry her off properly.

So you see, it’s spring. Although I suppose you might have noticed that yourself by now.