Ants in our InterWebs

For years we have had our modem (the device that allows our computers to talk to the Internet) and our wireless router (the device that allows our computers to talk to each other, and to talk to the modem over the airwaves) hanging from a hook in HomoDommi's studio.  His computer didn't have the ability to do wireless stuff, so he was wired into the router, but the rest of the computers in the house were wireless capable.

For years, whenever the weather was heavy and rainy, our Internet connection has gone weird, the signal veering from strong to nonexistent to strong again throughout the day.

A couple of weeks ago, when the kids were still here, on a heavy, rainy day, suddenly (after months of nary a problem) we couldn't access the Internet.  I walked out to the studio (which is now being used as a storage room) to check on the devices.  All the lights were on and green and not blinking -- all systems go.  But there was no signal on the computer. So I decided to reboot the system, just to see what happens.

I took the modem off its hook on the wall to be able to reach the power plug and remove it.  That's when I noticed that the modem was crawling with tiny sugar ants.  I looked down the wires -- the ants were swarming over the outlet that the modem and router were plugged into, climbing up and down on the wires.  Setting down the modem on a nearby empty bookshelf, I grabbed some ant killer and sprayed the outlet (hoping the dampness of the spray would short circuit the power).  Stuck the plug into a different, unant-y outlet and picked up the modem to power it up.  But there on the bookshelf where it had sat, almost outlining the silhouette of the device, were hundreds more, tiny sugar ants.

They were in the modem.  Long story short, we ended up having to take apart the modem, and found therein two squirming nests (imagine that the blobs of tan in the center and on the corner of the green motherboard in the photo were writhing with movement), and thousands upon thousands of drones carrying tiny eggs in orderly panic out out of both of them, aiming for escape - elsewhere.

We certainly didn't want to spray the modem, sure that the ant killer would kill the motherboard, too.  HomoDommi tapped and blew and brushed them all onto a board (at which point we did kill them, trying to save the Queen to show to Girl-Child but accidentally crushing her as we tried to separate her from the rest).  We reassembled the modem, crossed our fingers, and rebooted the whole system.  It has worked flawlessly since then.

They must have been attracted to the heat. We don't know how long the ants have been there -- has there been an ant-rush to the hot queen's side causing every Internet outage we've had before, or is this new? The outlet was under a desk when HomoDommi was still using the space, so he might never have seen them. He had occasional ant problems elsewhere in the studio, but had never tracked them back here.

My karma took a bad hit that day. It ended with the thousands of ant-lives, and it began with the brutal death of a large rat that Boy-Child happened to notice coming out of a hole in our front garden. It was the largest rat I've seen in our yard, probably the progenitor of the baby rats that the cats have been bringing inside (or catching inside? No!) -- big enough that Tasha was watching it warily from a distance (about a foot long, not counting its tail).  Luckily, I had a snow shovel -- and, to be honest, I had Mike the Contractor present, who offered to provide masculine upper body strength to the task (HomoDommi wasn't home at the time).  At least the rat died quickly.  And we still have to decide what to do about that hole.

A Visit to the Zoo

The men left at 7:30 this morning to ski on Mount Hood, leaving us females with little to do.  So we pulled out our umbrellas, called a friend, and hied us to the Oregon Zoo.

We got there early, so we could hear a zoo keeper talk about Asian Elephants (Girl-Child is considering Zoo Keeper as a career).  This zoo is one of the world leaders in breeding and caring for elephants in captivity, and has overseen the birth of 26 elephants (more than any other zoo). Then we watched Rama the Elephant paint. Yes, paint.

Each of the elephants has learned a long routine, of about 35 commands, which were developed to train the elephants to present different parts of their bodies for vet checks (such as turning from one side to the other, lifting each foot individually, lifting his head high in the air and then low).  As the zoo keeper stated, "When the animal isn't feeling well, it helps to have it trained to move in a certain way. Frankly, Rama is 9,000 pounds -- we can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do." They started having the elephants paint because they need a twice yearly exam for Tuberculosis. This involves having solution syringed into their trunks; they have to raise their trunks high so that the solution slides back into their nasal cavity, and then they spit the solution out (and it is tested for TB).

In an effort to provide intellectual stimulation for the elephants, they started having the animals snort non-toxic paints (which would also get them used to the action necessary for the TB test) and trumpet the paint onto canvas.  The painting has become a daily attraction for zoo-goers, and the results occasionally sell for zoo-charity functions.

Girl-child had the camera during that part of the show, but you can sort of make out the red and yellow painting on the floor, with the trunk snorting black paint at it.  Rama, one of the smaller males of the troupe, likes people and seemed to enjoy showing off for us. (The blond child reflected in the window was not one of ours.)

After the elephants, and a brief disappointing visit to the Ape House (the big male mandrill which Girl-Child's friend S. was looking forward to having a shouting match with was not in the exhibit), we headed off to "Lorikeet Landing". There, for a dollar, you can buy a little cup of "modified" [?] apple juice, and walk into an enclosure containing some 50 lorikeet parrots. They are quite bold (or they really love their sugar juice) and within a minute or two will land on your hand to drink the juice out of the cup. It's rather a wonderful experience -- they flock, and will gather in groups of 5-10 and swoosh across the netted area, in a flurry just over our heads.  There is much singing, clucking, and calling to each other -- the energy in the exhibit is high and friendly.

It was the highlight of Girl-Child's day, and she's now thinking maybe she wants a bird for a pet, rather than a kitten.