“At your service.”

Olive deserves a bright, shiny medal today. I caught her intently tracking something on the kitchen floor this morning so I walk over, peer under the kitchen table and see a gigantic Queen carpenter ant, complete with slender translucent wings, making her way toward the bare wooden floor in the dining room. “HOLY SHIT OLIVE. QUICK, HIDE YOUR PINOCCHIO TOY. IT’S A QUEEN ANT,” I exclaim as the toe of my loafer comes crushing down on the crunchy jet-black insect. Olive runs over to inspect the mangled corpse, her big brown nose sniffing at it so closely that if she sniffs just a little too vigorously, I’m sure the ant carcass will find its way on a log flume ride up through Olive’s sinus cavity. Disgusted, but very pleased with Olive’s discovery, I delicately pluck the dead Queen from the tile floor in a paper towel and flip it in the garbage. As usual, Olive observes all my movements like a prison matron, waiting for any opportunity that has even the tiniest prayer of exposing food vulnerable to one of her “snatch and run” maneuvers. I try to explain the difference between Carpenter Ants and Carpenter Bees to Olive. “YES, THEY ARE BOTH WOODWORKERS, OLIVE.” A little like you, now that I think about it. In fact, you might want to think about hiding your sticks from them. Because they are in our airspace and our ground space. You have no idea, Olive, but you just destroyed an entire militia of ants so I award you the highest medal of canine honor. Now what are you going to do about the bees?