Another PONY IN A MANSION Catastrophe

Poor pitiful Pony. He's like Charlie Brown's buddy, PigPen. Except instead of a cloud of dirt hovering over his head, it's a cloud of misfortune.

The Pony trotted out to help me carry in groceries on Tuesday. And by help me, I mean he gathered up the bags and toted them in, while I sat in T-Hoe, opening and closing T-Hoe's back hatch. The reason for sealing up the uncarried groceries in this mobile vault will be revealed later, elsewhere.

Anyhoo... The Pony made 3 trips from garage to kitchen. Once we were inside, I remembered something that was missing. That being the MAIN REASON I went to town, which was to buy steaks for Farmer H and The Pony to grill the next day.

Anyhoo... The Pony made another trip to the garage, and found the steaks, and brought them in. At the kitchen door, I heard a squeal. The Pony lurched inside, with a look of pain, and gait of instant disability.

"I just got stung!"

Only the day before, The Pony had informed me

"The wasps are building their nests over the kitchen door again. Dad needs to get out his spray."

Of course neither of us mentioned it to Farmer H. I usually go on a killing spree in early Spring. But haven't for the last couple years. The wasps don't swarm. I don't even notice them. But here was my sweet, helpful Pony, attacked in his prime.

"OH! Now it's in the house! On the window, behind the shades!"

"So sorry I let it in while I was INCAPACITATED WITH PAIN!"

Said The Pony, a bit snarkily, walking like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, with his facial expression comparable to Marty Feldman's in Young Frankenstein.

I stalked the wasp with a flyswatter that hangs from a metal hook on the metal frame that holds the cutting block. I pulled out the shade, and swatted him. Made him cringe, swatted him again. He fell to the window frame, where I again pounded him. Fell to the floor, under the chair that Farmer H uses to pile his four 6-packs of Diet Mountain Dew. I swatted that wasp again, as he was dragging himself along the floor with one leg. He must have stuck to the webbing of the flyswatter. I thought he flipped onto a dead leaf, but when I poked it, he wasn't there.

That wasp had disappeared like Michael Myers from the front lawn at the end of the original Halloween. I guess maybe he flipped into the air conditioner slotted vent. The wasp. Not fictional Michael Myers. Thought that end, too, could have set up the series of sequels.

I looked at The Pony's left shoulder. He had TWO stings! Though he only felt one, and could only see one, by scrunching his neck to look at his own back. He got a baggie, some ice cubes (I grudgingly spared them, without comment) and a paper towel to guard against frostbite.

Five minutes later, the stings were slightly swollen, bumped up white in the center, red around the edges, with a speck of blood from the stinger entry dead center of each wound. I sat on the short couch while The Pony ate his DQ chicken and pretzel sticks.

My dad had to carry an epi pen for an allergy to stings. The Pony is an untried sting victim. He is allergic to ampicillin, and swelled up like a sausage from the reaction, needing a trip to the ER in the middle of the night. We have always been on the alert, in case he might get stung and have a reaction. I didn't want to risk anaphylactic shock while I was in my lair, in case his throat closed and he couldn't holler for me!

Fifteen minutes later, those stings had lost the white centers. They were faintly pink. The Pony said his arm felt cold, but other than that, he was okay. So I headed to my lair with lunch.

Tomorrow (TODAY!) I'm getting out my RAID. My first kill of the year has emboldened me.