A scratch at the door.
The dog knows to come around to the laundry.
Another scratch at the door.
Finally I get up to take a look. It’s the termite inspector.
I know there are many types of termites all around us, just waiting to have a little chew on the timber parts of the house. We have the house inspected regularly, and the annexe had to baits drilled in around the concrete foundation to deter an infestation.
Luckily, we have defenders in the form of echidnas (tachyglossus aculeata) who feed on them (and ants).
I followed as it ambled around the verandah, tried every door, peered over the edge of the stairs, sniffed at the walls and squeezed itself among Craig’s boot collection. I was pleased that it wasn’t interested enough to start clawing at any particular spot. I’ll take that as “no termites”.
On the other hand, it did seem rather small and young, so maybe not the best termite inspection we’ve had.
Eventually it noticed me, and threw itself into a corner, spikes bristling. So I left it to its explorations.
Not so long ago I woke up to the sound of the dogs barking frantically at an echidna. They seem to take something about the way a spiny anteater moves as an affront to reality. The little heaves among the sharp spines it makes as each leg moves forward are an insult, as is the delicate pointed snout, and its intensely pointy coating.