The damn thing finally flies away enough for me to get into the house via the front door (which is on the side of the house), but I can still hear the little shit buzzing around.
Come on, insect; get the hell outta here!
I wait about twenty minutes before going back outside. I'm not just standing around; I'm actually accomplishing something. I notice there is a small bag of recyclables, the contents of which needs to go out to the recycle bin on the patio.
I carefully open the door, peek out, and decide that it's safe to make my move. I have the bag over the bin and am just about to shake things loose when something catches my attention in the corner of my left eye.
Is it the hornet? Is it back to sting me, aggravate me, chase me around the patio?
I look down on the kayak that rests against the patio fence, totally ready to flail my arms and scream and run like hell, if need be. Nope, there is no need.
Sitting about two feet away from me sunning itself on the kayak is a cricket. "Jiminey," I say, like the bug can hear me and respond. "It's Jiminey. It's damn Jiminey Cricket!" Eventually this one-sided conversation isn't entertaining, so my kayak guest hops off into oblivion. This time when I go back into the house, I'm not fighting any dive bombers.Also, crickets are supposed to be good luck, or so I've been told. I suppose it's good luck that Jiminey hasn't jumped into the kayak while I am already in it in the middle of a pond or river or lake somewhere. Not very lucky, but I bet it would be damn funny to anyone on shore. I can flail around and scream. It's all good -- I've practiced with my hornet friend. I know what I'm doing. :)
