Friday, July 02, 2010

Blitzkrieg in Minature.

Glorious though is has been, the hot weather is not without its downside.
Red mites, bloodsucking beasts who lurk in crevices in the hen house, love the heat. If it is combined with humidity they are demented with joy and leap into reproductive activity that makes the bacteria in the Dettox advert mere amateurs.
Being slow to recognise the above, I have failed to grasp that the discarded chicken bedding, badly bagged and leaning against the garage door in a slovenly fashion, is brewing an invasion of colossal proportion, akin to that suffered by Poland in 1939.

Sitting in the kitchen I suddenly feel very small feet, in uncountable numbers exploring my face arms and hair. I discover that I am a walking mass of mites.

I examine one under the microscope, a truly ghastly sight, Horror hardly comes near my feelings.

The house is alive with the damned things. Aproximately the size of a full stop and transparent until a successful feed, I have unwittingly provided the perfect creche for their offspring.
An orgy of cleansing and spraying follows. Mustard gas would be perfect but is in short supply in Crowcroft. Creosote, the next best thing, is now accused of endangering all known life and so is unobtainable, but I do my best with the feeble sprays  deemed suitable for use by domestic idiots.

I am beginning to fear this may be another case where invertebrates have been dealt the winning hand.