As a (more or less) City Girl, who hates things like bugs, and dirt, and camping — I knew it would be an adjustment moving away from our old neighborhood to one that’s much more… naturey.
Basically? We live in the forest.
You see this?
That’s the view from our backyard — and it just keeps going, and going.
A lot of it I don’t mind. Deer in the front yard? Fine by me (even if the dogs really, really, hate it). Chipmunks and squirrels everywhere? I’m alright with them as long as they don’t ruin my pool deck. Disposing of random animals some sort of bird of prey dropped in my yard? I’m practically a Frontier Girl at this point. Bats swooping down onto the pool at dusk, while we’re swimming? Well, no. That scares the shit out of me. But baby steps, people, baby steps.
But more than anything (except, sharks of course — because HELLO THEY’RE SHARKS) I hate/am terrified of bugs.
Stink bugs? I’m over it. I’ll just grab them at this point — because they’re weird, and hard and just stomp around like idiots.
But the spider crickets?
Oh. Hell. No.
They originate in the basement — just like all creeptastic things — as far as I can tell, and then hippity-hop their way up the stairs and into my kitchen.
They they just walk across my family room, like, “Oh, Haaaay girl!”
The problem? The previous owners of our house installed some unfortunate shag carpet in the family room, which we have yet to replace. Also? It’s cricket colored.
So you can’t see them, until it’s too late. They’re on you. If you’re me — that mean screaming and karate.
Our only defense?
Jake Sigerson Schall.
He’s so sweet, and little — but Jake destroys crickets. You won’t even know one is there — and BAM! Jake pounces. And by pounces, I mean murders. I encourage this sort of behavior.
The other day though, they launched a sneak attack.
I was being a good housewife, and putting away the laundry. I picked up a sweater from the top of the basket, and hidden underneath was a cricket assassin.
… just biding his time. Waiting to kill me in my sleep.
Thankfully, I managed to get it outside without touching it — so he lives to fight another day.
I, however, have been scarred for life, and will not be putting away laundry ever again.