Photographing bees turns out to be quite difficult. They're, well...busy. They won't stay still and pose while I focus and compose the shot. I decide to put some glue on the flowers to hold the foraging bees in place. (Just kidding.) I hope I got one or two good shots. If so, I'll post them on this page later this month.

Having completed my picture taking I go inside to reapply sunblock to keep my skin pasty white as opposed to lobster red, which is the only choices my genetic make-up has given me. Tasia is sitting on the bathroom countertop. She places her paws on my jean pockets and sniffs my pants. I'm thinking, "What the hell is she doing?" That's when I feel tiny feet climbing up my thigh.

Fortunately, my zombie hunting experience has taught me not to panic. I slowly and carefully begin to lower my pants. I hear an angry buzzing sound. I pause. Slow and steady. This is where my bomb disposal training with the Canadian Forces comes into play.

Okay, I made up that last part.

Gradually I get my pants off. I don't see the bee fly away, but after shaking my jeans upside down I assume it must be gone. I put them back on. No sooner have I done than I hear a buzzing sound. I don't know if the bee is still inside my pants or if it's crawled into one of my pockets, but this is getting annoyng (but not for Tasia who is staring at me with wide eyes). I carefully take my jeans off again, shake them out, turn my pockets inside out...and put on another pair of jeans. The bee infested pair goes outside to hang over a railing.

I am unstung.

How that bee got in my pants...well, it's just one of life's not-so-great mysteries. But it's an experience I would recommend to anyone. ;-)

The shrub after the bees have gone to sleep. (Taken with a cheap digital camera.)