April 27, 2012

White Dog spun around and barked before bounding into the dog door; then she shook and scratched. "We are being invaded," she announced as Puff slinked in behind her looking furtively in every direction. Outside Nuka was leaping and yipping as she single-pawedly tried to take down the intruders. "There are too many, run!" shouted YoYoMa who was already inside hiding on Steve's side of the bed. Quinn ambled, oblivious, past Nuka, through the door, and past the hysteria of the Army. He didn't even slow his pace as Puff reached above him and snatched an attacker from over his tail.


Albuquerque is in the midst of a serious major moth invasion. They are everywhere outside and they lurk waiting to get into cars, through doors, past open windows. They hide and come in Trojan-horse style in handbags, on clothes, nestled into furs. Steve brought in sun dried laundry the other day and had to beat the clothes to remove the hiding pests before he brought them inside.

The moths are driving the entire city to distraction. Sometimes clouds of the evil flutterers rise up like a scene in miniature from Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Today when we got home from the Park, Steve dashed out of Pumpkin, unlocked and unlatched the front door, ran back to throw open the sliding door, then herding the WDA inside as quickly as possible as I reclosed the car and scrambled out myself. I slammed the porch door behind me and looked around...chased two moths out through the mail slot...then came through the front door. We were saf....oh, no! A Grandpa-sized moth danced around the ceiling edges.

Nuka is our huntress and has little icon images to show her "kill count" above her bed. It grosses Michael out that she eats them and I am not thrilled that she leaves them at my feet as a gift. She can, on occasion entice Puff to join her on safari but for the most part, SAWD had enough of insect annoyances when she lived outdoors in Kansas.

The moths drive poor YoYoMa crazy, in part, I suspect, because he cannot see what is flitting around and dive bombing him. He spins in circles and barks until he can escape and hide behind my legs or somewhere moth-free. Because they irritate Steve so much, his boy, Quinn tries to take a strong stance, but our peace-loving  TOWD argues on behalf of the maligned's need to survive...he is not the one the WDA puts on the front line of this battle.

White Dog. her serene highness, finds the moths an interesting diversion as long as they do not interrupt her life. She enjoys sitting in the watching chair and toying with the ones banging against the window; but let one cut across her face while she is sitting on the porch...simply unacceptable! She looks at me requesting immediate removal of the culprit..."off with its head!" she seems to rule!

Steve has been told this type of moth is born, never eats, reproduces, and then dies. Quinn frets that this is not much of a so-called life; the others say, "how soon until the last breath is drawn?"  Experts say that the invasion is the result of our unusual winter and spring weather and are predicting the end won't occur until we have consistently hot and dry conditions.

It is tough choice: our unusually beautiful balmy days or a moth-free environment.