Just call me Slayer.
Early this morning I was sitting at my desk when I saw a bug wander across the papers in front of me. It looked like a “kissing bug” – you know, the kind that spreads chagas disease. Unsure of its identity, short on sleep and even shorter on patience, I grabbed the bamboo backscratcher from its place by my desk and brought it down with a mighty whack.
I’d forgotten that the borrowed pugs were underneath my desk.
Instantly, the air was filled with the sound of panicked pugs. Stella scrambled out and barked into the air, uncertain where the threat was. Jake started sliding on the wooden floor, his little paws frantically trying to gain traction. He twisted and turned until he somehow slid into a slow, backwards circle. Stella stopped barking to watch.
As I laughed, I was struck by how often we humans do the same thing. The more vulnerable we feel, the more we bark at imagined bogeymen, trying to gain traction as we slide in hopeless circles.
Late this evening, I was back at my desk for a bit. The exhausted pugs were in their kennel in the other room.
Suddenly, movement caught the corner of my eye. I turned. Skittering across my floor was another bug. (I’m seeing more of them lately and the culprit is me. It just seems silly to close the door every time I let the dogs out.)
This bug, however, was a cockroach. A really big cockroach. The kind guaranteed to give me instant heebie-jeebies.
I glanced around me. No shoes, of course; not in my house. The only things in reach - that were hard enough - were my favorite law dictionary and my external hard drive. I went digital and lobbed the hard drive at the beast.
And missed. The cockroach had a few heart palpitations and skittered in a different direction. I picked up the hard drive and threw it again. Missed again. I forced myself to stop and actually think.
Bug spray! There was some under the kitchen sink. The can promised that it “kills on contact”, so I wrestled with the top, took aim and sprayed.
The cockroach ignored it.
I sprayed again. This time the roach slowed just a smidge. At the rate we were going, it was a toss-up as to whether the roach would make it to the vent or I would run out of spray first. So much for death on contact.
Or maybe not.
Grabbing the spray once again, I snuck up on the slowing monster. Taking careful aim, I slammed the can down on top of it. Twice.
And that’s another thing about us humans. Once we let go of panic, we can usually find a way to make things work.
Even if it takes a back scratcher and a spray can.
Early this morning I was sitting at my desk when I saw a bug wander across the papers in front of me. It looked like a “kissing bug” – you know, the kind that spreads chagas disease. Unsure of its identity, short on sleep and even shorter on patience, I grabbed the bamboo backscratcher from its place by my desk and brought it down with a mighty whack.
I’d forgotten that the borrowed pugs were underneath my desk.
Instantly, the air was filled with the sound of panicked pugs. Stella scrambled out and barked into the air, uncertain where the threat was. Jake started sliding on the wooden floor, his little paws frantically trying to gain traction. He twisted and turned until he somehow slid into a slow, backwards circle. Stella stopped barking to watch.
As I laughed, I was struck by how often we humans do the same thing. The more vulnerable we feel, the more we bark at imagined bogeymen, trying to gain traction as we slide in hopeless circles.
Late this evening, I was back at my desk for a bit. The exhausted pugs were in their kennel in the other room.
Suddenly, movement caught the corner of my eye. I turned. Skittering across my floor was another bug. (I’m seeing more of them lately and the culprit is me. It just seems silly to close the door every time I let the dogs out.)
This bug, however, was a cockroach. A really big cockroach. The kind guaranteed to give me instant heebie-jeebies.
I glanced around me. No shoes, of course; not in my house. The only things in reach - that were hard enough - were my favorite law dictionary and my external hard drive. I went digital and lobbed the hard drive at the beast.
And missed. The cockroach had a few heart palpitations and skittered in a different direction. I picked up the hard drive and threw it again. Missed again. I forced myself to stop and actually think.
Bug spray! There was some under the kitchen sink. The can promised that it “kills on contact”, so I wrestled with the top, took aim and sprayed.
The cockroach ignored it.
I sprayed again. This time the roach slowed just a smidge. At the rate we were going, it was a toss-up as to whether the roach would make it to the vent or I would run out of spray first. So much for death on contact.
Or maybe not.
Grabbing the spray once again, I snuck up on the slowing monster. Taking careful aim, I slammed the can down on top of it. Twice.
And that’s another thing about us humans. Once we let go of panic, we can usually find a way to make things work.
Even if it takes a back scratcher and a spray can.
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