The other day, I bought a tiny ant farm at Target for a dollar. I’ll buy almost anything if it costs a dollar. It’s a little plastic prism filled with some sort of blue gel made of sugary stuff.
It started simply enough. I scraped several ants off the dorm’s kitchen counter and sealed the suckers inside. For many days, two weeks perhaps, they were industrious and efficient. Magnificent to behold. They dug intricate tunnels by day and slept huddled in a pile by night. But then, it happened.
Many days after acquiring said ants, I noticed that every time I looked at them, they were huddled at the top in a circle, conferring with one another. Suspicious, I opened the top of their container and they scattered in a panic, and each ran down a separate tunnel and hid alone. I found this most peculiar.
Soon, the ants were behaving sluggishly. The moped about up top, and to raise their spirits, I gave them a chunk of strawberry, which they seemed to enjoy. Indeed, it brought new life to many of them, though only seven of them returned to work. One, who I will call Fatty, spent days upon days atop the strawberry, eating and eating and eating. Another, who I will refer to as Eeyore, resolved to mope in a corner in the fetal position, moving only when poked. Another, Loner, seemed hellbent on escaping. Nearly every time I glanced at the ant farm, half of his little ant body would be wriggling out of the top of one of the air holes, though alas– his bottom half was too bulbous to fit. The remaining ants began digging again, however, with great fervor. I wondered if perhaps they were attempting to tunnel out of the farm while Loner distracted me. How fruitless was their plan.
After many days of what I now think must of been grief, Eeyore died in his corner, unnoticed by his comrades. Loner had given up on escape, so I thought. And once again, the nine ants of the farm were huddled in a circle at the surface. Suspecting mutiny, I opened the lid, as per usual. They were waiting. Every ant bolted in a separate direction and began scaling the walls, each making an every-ant-for-himself bid for freedom! Soon more than half the colony had escaped and I was frantically trying to flick them all back into their prison.
One ant came very close to freedom. He threw himself off the glassy walls of the farm and alighted on my jeans. I had to give chase for several moments before forcing him back into the ant farm. I like to think that ant was Loner, though because all of them look the same, I have no real way of knowing for sure.
They have since resumed their work in the tunnels, all but one, and I now give them little toffee bits to keep them placated. Loner continues to keep to himself, running up and down the same tunnel over and over like a madman. I fear it will not be long before he dies of exhaustion. It appears that the other eight have resolved to make the best of their imprisonment, but only time will tell.
Only time will tell.
