As little as two days ago I was compassionate to the honeybees that turned my swimming pool into the bee version of Waterworld. I’d wait until dark to close the pool area in so as not to trap any stragglers. A day ago I even let a wayward bee find his way out of the plastic that had snagged him.

Now I kill them.

I am a killer of bees.

I have my spray bottle filled with 1/4 cup of dishwashing liquid and water and I will spray them dead.

I feel no remorse. Only curiosity at watching them die.

Today there “bee” zero – and I do mean zero – bee activity around the pool until the late afternoon. Then a dozen or so started buzzing their way around, no doubt collecting information for the hive, seeing what opportunities for moisture lie amidst all kinds of plastic and tape. So they could bring their bee message back to the hive.

They were informants. They were the scouts. They were probing.

I was waiting for them.

And I sprayed, indiscriminately.

One bee was caught beneath the plastic. Yesterday I set one just like it free out of compassion. Today I doused him with liquid and watched him die. It was quick. It was kinda pathetic. It was also time to spray on.

A good dozen or so got the same treatment. I didn’t see them die but I knew once sprayed they would suffer the same fate. They’d never even make it back to the hive.

This is what life is like when it’s personal-like between you and the honeybees. I have little doubt they think of me as nothing more than a nuisance. Likewise.

All I want is my swimming pool back.

Thanks, Frank.