Lazarus the Ant

A couple of mornings ago I noticed a drowned ant in my bathroom sink, apparent victim of the steep porcelain walls and a puddle of water gathered at the bottom. He was a big fellow with a red torso and head, and a large black abdomen--I hadn't seen any of his kind in the house before. His little legs and antennae hung limp and forlorn. I nudged him with my fingernail but saw no response.

He'd been in the puddle overnight and was thoroughly waterlogged. I picked him up and moved to toss him into the toilet for burial at sea, but paused.

I read once that you can sometimes resurrect an apparently drowned insect, even after several days, by piling a little table salt on its body to draw out the moisture.

I fashioned a tiny catafalque of clean toilet paper, put his little corpse in the center, and took him to the kitchen. I left him entombed in a cairn of salt crystals and set him aside. A shower and tooth brushing and shave later, there was still no sign of life, not even a flick of an antenna when I poked him. Ah well. I decided to leave him for the day.

Carpenter Ant

Next morning I saw the little lump under the salt and assumed it was hopeless, and again left for the day.

On my return home, I went to gather him up and dispose of him. Some salt was thrown off and a little red head was poking out. He still looked dead, but as I bent closer I saw an antenna wave feebly at me. A miracle.

I figured he'd had enough salt and might need some water, so I cleared the salt away and let a few droplets fall to be wicked up by the toilet paper. His head moved slightly to drink from the fibers. I guess. Ants drink don't they?

Must be hungry. I found a shaker of powdered sugar in the pantry and after a light dusting all around him I soon began to see signs of vigor. I had to take off my glasses to see his little mandible working as he gained renewed strength by the minute.

It was time for release back into the wild. I took Lazarus outside and set him on the dormant barbecue grill, where he might survive long enough to get his strength back before someone (like Laszlo, the green anole lizard renting our flower pot) ate him. But even if he only served as lizard lunch, he had a few more hours of life. That's significant in an ant's life span.

Laszlo the lizard, by the way, tries daily to get the attention of a female, any female, by inflating the red balloon on his neck and bobbing up and down. It's pathetic because he's scrawny and about as unimpressive as you can be. He tries to jump from the patio table to the railing and falls half way. A nerd lizard. The other day he briefly caught the eye of a sleek lady on a nearby rock (I named her Lorelei) but couldn't work up the nerve to go talk to her. He kept bobbing his head like an idiot until she got bored and split. Youth is wasted on the wrong people.

So why all the trouble over an ant? Curiosity but you could also call it an experiment in living gently, something I'm interested in. Why shouldn't one rescue a tiny little spot of life like that? What dim spark glowed in that minuscule body, still able to be revived? Don't expect me to do the same for a fire ant, though.