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Home Defenders Termite and Pest Management, Inc., 26375 Pine Avenue, Rimforest, CA (2026)

01/11/2024

My First Bug Job

I was twelve years old and at serious risk of getting yelled at. Sugar addiction is a cruel overlord!

I adored sweets, and Mom warned me repeatedly against sneaking desserts into my basement bedroom. And that wide trail of reddish (Argentine) ants marching from the adjacent laundry room to a scrap of chocolate cake under my bed threatened to expose my secret. My back against the wall, I quickly formulated a plan.

First, I cleaned up the cake; that’s just common sense. I then ran to the garage and searched the shelves for bug juice. Nothing! Pressure mounted—Mom might come to the basement any minute to start the washing machine. I rushed to the bathroom and rifled through the cabinets. Mom’s cheap hair spray! That stuff was like furniture lacquer and guaranteed to kill ants. (Who would spray it on their hair?) I pulled the cap off, pressed the nozzle, and blasted those ants. Instant death! I swept up the entombed insects, returned the broom and hair spray, ran back into my room, and opened a Captain America comic book. Nothing to see here, Mom.

I know what you readers are thinking: “You were the king of hair spray trickery, Mike! Great job!”

Wrong! The hair spray stained the concrete basement floor; no solvent on earth could erase my guilt. Anything used to wipe the stain would, alas, leave another stain. A classic catch-22.

Suddenly, Mom’s footsteps click-clacked down the wooden steps, echoing doom throughout the cold cinder block walls. She had four kids and ran the washer and dryer all day. She stopped and stared at the twelve-foot-long stain. “Mike, what the heck is that? What have you been up to now?” Cornered like a rat, I played dead. “I dunno, Mom… don’t blame me!” Mom suspected I made the stain, but her “mom brain” met its match. She let the matter drop and returned to her chores. Whew!

I sure learned my lesson, folks. From that day forward, whenever I snuck dessert into my room, I made sure I ate the whole thing!

01/04/2024

We hope you had a great holiday season. See you in the new year!!

12/29/2023

I See Nothing!

You know, reader, penning these weekly articles is a real mind trip. Every week, I write words, and, like magic, they come to life inside your head. In some sense, you have a little pest professional rooting around your brain. Kinda neat, huh? Anyway, this week, I’ve got bugs on my brain. Let’s go over the three major home-invading ants in our mountains:

Carpenter Ants—These are big, black, wood-destroying ants that make small piles of grainy sawdust. They don’t eat wood, but rather bore tunnels.

Velvety Tree Ants—They’re small black ants that trail from trees into your home. Like carpenter ants, they tunnel in wood, leaving big piles of powdery sawdust that we professionals call frass.

Odorous House Ants—These invade sugar bowls and bathroom sinks. Crush one, and it smells like vinegar. Call us if you need help knocking them out.

As long as I’m snooping inside your brain, do you mind if I look around? What’s that? Don’t go over to that dark corner of memories that formed when you were a teenager and experimented with interpersonal boundaries. OK, sure.

Wow, it’s dark, and there are lots of nooks and crannies—like a gooey, sticky haunted house. I’m expecting a scary monster to pop out any second now. Where are you, monsters? Boo! Haha, just kidding! Whoooaaa—what is that weird bulge at the end of your spinal cord? Oh, it’s just the Medulla Oblongata—keeps you breathing or something like that.

Hmm. What is this? A bunch of barricades and police tape near the prefrontal cortex. Well, I don’t see any no trespassing signs, so I think I’ll squeeze under and take a quick look and… Yikes! Oh my gosh!! My goodness gracious!!! I mean… I know you were just a teenager, but there is a limit to what one does in the heat of the moment. Wow! Oh well, I will give you points for originality. Anyway, I’ll be back next week, and I swear I didn’t see a thing! Have an ant-free week, everyone!

12/22/2023

Merry Solstice and Happy New Brie

“OK, forest critters, everybody gather ‘round and listen up. As most of you know, my name is Banye the Raccoon King—hey, you bats hanging in the trees, pipe down—and Mother Nature asked me to gather you forest predators for a little pep talk.”
“But first, I hope you all got the gifts you wanted for Winter Solstice. As for me, I got a half-eaten Snickers bar, a road-kill squirrel, and a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug my son stole off someone’s back deck. It was a banner year at the Banye den!”
“Getting back to business, you animals did a great job munching pests in 2023. Mother N has promised a fresh crop for 2024, and she wants you to be ready for spring.”
>> You coyotes, snakes, bobcats, and owls will have a boatload of mice to munch—those furry little protein bars will be breeding like humans after a Motley Crew concert. I’ve seen that, by the way, and it ain’t pretty.
>> You spiders are in for a treat. El Niño rains will hatch millions of flying bugs, and come springtime you’ll be building webs like Hercules performing his Twelve Labors. Yeah, those lame “Herculean Labors” that forest animals could easily do, but the human media won’t print that. Don’t get me started…
>> When you bats fly home from winter hibernation, you’ll have to hit the ground running because mosquitoes will be as thick as mold on Brie cheese. Mmm, Brie—I adore that stuff!
>> Finally, as for you foxes… um, yeah, darn it. Every time I look at a fox, I lose my head—they’re so beautiful. Somebody throw cold water on me before I start hu***ng the nearest warthog—and you all remember what happened the last time I did that. Hey, I’m just an animal, man! Cut me some slack.
“OK, that’s a wrap; see you at our annual Summer Solstice Frolic and Wine-Tasting. Now, get out there and show those so-called professional exterminators who the real pest management professionals are. And remember, I got dibs on any Brie you come across! Have a frolic-filled season, everyone!”

12/15/2023

Are You Fragile?

“Crazy!” Huh?

I just spoke with one of my regular readers at the supermarket, and his words shocked me. “I read your crazy articles every week,” he said, grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat. And that’s not the first time a reader has called my articles crazy.

What is going on? I write a serious column about household pest management. And I’m a classically trained writer, well-read in Chaucer, Lord Byron, and Shakespeare. Are some of my readers misinterpreting something? Missing something? Are my articles a mirror that reveals the cracks in their own fragile psyches? No, dear readers, none of my articles are crazy. If you don’t believe me, just ask my imaginary companion since childhood, a pet rat named Skeeter. Hey, Skeeter, do you think my articles are nutty?

“Negatory on that, good buddy.”

You see, he agrees with me! This is just your typical small-town pest advice column—nothing nutty going on here.

“10-4 on that. Breaker, breaker, there’s a smoky in the granny lane on the I-5 near the Grapevine.”

Uh, sorry folks, Skeeter is obsessed with trucker’s slang. Just ignore that. But what you shouldn’t ignore is Skeeter’s advice on which company you should call when pests become a problem. Take it away, Skeeter… come on, Skeeter, tell the people who to call when they need help with problem pests.

“If critters are putting a burr up your backside… then… roll on down to Bobby’s Big Rig Emporium and chrome shop, serving the tri-state area since 1952!”

Darn you, Skeeter!! For once in your cursed life, could you do what you're told and tell the people to call Home Defenders! Shape up, buster—or ship out! Uh, sorry about that outburst, folks. Skeeter just drives me nuts. Anyway, be sure and check back next week when I outline—in painstaking, sadistic detail—how to get rid of a problem rat.

“Negatory on that, good buddy. You’d go crazy without me.”

(Long sigh.) 10-4 on that, Skeeter… 10-4 on that, good buddy. Have a burr-up-your-backside free week, everybody!

12/06/2023

Avoiding the Bull

Hey, reader, I have a question. How old were you when you felt you knew everything about life? Eight? Ten? Personally, I was a first-class know-it-all by the time I was twelve. Having crowned myself the earthly lord of time, space, and knowledge, I stopped listening to adults giving out warnings. Warnings did, however, sometimes squeeze through my thick skull, perhaps by divine intervention. God protects fools and babies.

I remember the sunny morning on our grandparents’ Illinois farm when my brother Dave and I told Grandpa we were heading to Bear Crick to hunt Indian artifacts. We would walk across the “north forty” cow pasture to get there. No big deal. We told Grandpa of our plan.

“Listen, boys,” he said with a grim stare. “I moved the bull into that pasture yesterday. Never turn your back on a bull—he’ll kill ya dead.”

Ten minutes later, we climbed the rusty barbed wire fence and jumped into the cow pasture. Walking toward Bear Crick, I kept my eyes locked on that black bull peacefully munching green Illinois grass. He was the most powerful animal I’d ever seen, and I had no doubt he could kill me dead. When it came to matters of life and death, Grandpa knew best.

Since I (usually) don’t like uninvited warnings, I avoid giving them out. When homeowners need help, one phone call brings my company to their rescue—no warnings given. But, once in a while, like Grandpa, I dish out a warning.

Listen, folks, never let branches touch your home. Ants live in trees, and branches are their gateways to the fertile pasture that is your kitchen. I’ve treated thousands of houses, and sometimes, the only way to eliminate ants—despite my arsenal of 21st-century products—is to grab my ladder, climb to the roof, and cut branches. If you can’t safely cut your branches, call a professional tree trimmer. The sooner, the better.

Lastly, if I come to your home and see branches touching your roof, well… I recommend you avoid cow pastures. Have a bull-free week, everyone!

12/01/2023

A Ripping Mystery!

Have I done it? Have I, Dr. John Watson, bested the great Sherlock Holmes? Can I now take my place alongside him, not as his storyteller, but as his colleague?

The facts are these: While on holiday visiting my cousin William in the mountain community of Big Bear Lake, California, we experienced a strange phenomenon. Every evening, as we returned from our daytime excursions, we found a live bird in the home, a jay of some sort. We secured the cabin daily, but the bird returned, which we released outside. This pattern repeated for a week.

I cabled the pertinent facts to Holmes in London and awaited his response. None came. Had an ordinary bird puzzled the man who outwitted the brilliant Dr. Moriarty? Receiving no aid from Holmes, I applied myself to the problem. First, I examined the cabin’s exterior, high and low, looking for clues. In Big Bear, mountain cabins are covered in wood siding, and woodpeckers make many holes, but I found none. On the verge of giving up, I glanced skyward. Eureka!

Upon returning to London, I rushed to 221B Baker Street. Holmes sat in his settee, smoking his favorite cherrywood pipe, casually blowing smoke rings to the ceiling. I hastened to speak, but he spoke first.

“The metal screen at the top of the chimney, called a spark arrestor, was faulty or missing entirely. The feathered intruder tried to build a nest on the chimney ledge and, in its labours, fell down the flue, landing inside the cabin. I trust your cousin had the spark arrestor repaired.”

“But Holmes, why didn’t you telegraph me with the answer?”

“And deny you a splendid mystery to solve while on holiday!”

Thus, my dream of working as an equal partner to Sherlock Holmes came to a sudden and humbling end. I must remain content to pen his adventures for all the world to read. No, readers, I, John Watson, am no Sherlock Holmes. However, upon reflection…

I would love to see Holmes take the bits and pieces of human folly and weave them into a ripping detective yarn!

11/23/2023

Revenge of the Beer Drinkers

What is the most misunderstood critter on the mountain? Putting the question another way, what insect do homeowners most often misidentify? Here is my answer: yellowjackets. Let’s clear up this mystery.

Many people think yellowjackets are bees, but they are not bees. Yellowjackets are wasps. What is the difference?

Bees (European honeybees) sport a light coat of downy hair and are bred to pollinate. According to the USDA, 75 percent of fruits, vegetables, and nuts in the United States are pollinated by bees. Honeybees can only sting one time because their stinger is barbed, and bees cannot remove it without pulling out their guts. How did European honeybees migrate to the Americas? The Virginia Company of London sent the first honeybees to America in 1622. The bees that nest in our wall voids are descendants of those rugged world travelers.

By contrast, most American yellowjacket species were born in the U.S.A. Yellowjackets sport a spartan buzz cut and feed on caterpillars, harmful flies, and other pests that damage plants. They also feed on the carcasses of dead animals and rotting fruit. Unfortunately, they love beer and barbecue, as many Fourth of July revelers discover the hard way. Unlike bees, yellowjackets can sting multiple times. But why do they keep stinging over and over? Why not sting once, make their point, then fly away? An insect scientist (entomologist) might say, “Vespula pensylvanica repeatedly injects a pain-inducing, enzyme-rich venom as a mechanism of self-defense.” That sounds valid but somehow doesn’t answer the question. I’m no scientist, but enraged yellowjackets have stung me dozens of times, and I say they sting repeatedly because they’re vindictive little bastards. They torment humans simply because they can.

Now, the good news. The first winter cold snap will kill off yellowjacket workers, leaving only the queens to hibernate the winter away. So when the snow starts flying, fire up your barbecue, guzzle some ice-cold beer, and enjoy the great outdoors 100% wasp-free. (Deck heaters are available at most hardware stores.) Have a torment-free week, everyone!

11/16/2023

The Pain-a-Thon

Brain scientists say the human brain is wired to love stories. They say that hearing a story about someone nearly getting killed helps us avoid the same fate. Amazing, huh? Today, I have a story about how the forest could have killed me last weekend. Brain scientists say you’re gonna love hearing this.

I was hiking on a forest path when I felt the prick of a thorn in my ankle—no big deal. Within a millisecond, the pain escalated to screaming intensity. I’m a pest professional and a seasoned hiker, and I knew precisely what was to blame. Not them again!

I reached down, pulled up the bottom of my left pant leg, and, sure enough, a yellowjacket (wasp) clung to my sock and was stinging the bejeezus out of my ankle. I brushed the critter aside, and it flew away, no harm done. What I did next could mean the difference between survival or death by allergic reaction. What did I do? I ran like a bat out of hell. Why? Because I might have unknowingly stepped on the hole in the ground that the yellowjacket colony used as a doorway to an underground nest, and, if so, dozens of reinforcements would have stung even more bejeezus out of me. I’ve had the dubious honor of experiencing a mass sting-a-thon, and it’s about the most intense pain imaginable. Not to mention the threat of allergic reaction.

Luckily, no wasps chased me. My ankle tormenter likely got trapped under my pant leg by freak chance. Nevertheless, I quickened my pace home because people can have allergic reactions to wasp stings even if they’ve never experienced an allergic reaction. I arrived home and had no reaction. I was rewarded for letting the wasp fly away safely with three days of a swollen, painful, itchy ankle. No good deed, huh?

Humans are wired to love stories, and hopefully, you enjoyed this one. As a bonus, brain scientists say it can help you stay alive. Since you are alive, reader, you’ve got a darn good brain up there! Use it wisely. Have a wasp-free week, everyone!

11/10/2023

Natural-Born Heroes

What are the best things in life? A loving family? No doubt. Good friends? Sure, sign me up. A clean, quiet home? Sounds like a winner. Anything else?

One of the best things in life is to be great at something, especially your job. I spent years of trial and error learning pest management and can now boast I am great at it. And when a man reaches the top in this business, new challenges are as exciting as the latest Mario game. For the cherry on top, I get paid to play.

I experienced that excitement recently while starting a very challenging rat job. The best things in life are shared, so I called together two of my experienced workers, Gil and Alfredo, and showed them pictures of the massive rat infestation. For the next twenty minutes, we brainstormed on how to defeat the seemingly invisible rats. What a joy—three professionals calling on decades of hard-earned experience to help a homeowner. Ah, the thrill of the chase! A fly on the wall would not have understood our specialized language, and that only sweetens the pie. We belong to an exclusive club.

Weeks later, after many hard-fought battles on both sides, I had rid the cabin of rats. The customer was thrilled, and so was I. A hero is a great thing to be. Pest professionals know the feeling well.

If asked to give a commencement speech, I would tell the graduates to find work they enjoy and excel at. Take pride in being the best. Be a little cocky—then back up your swagger! Oh, and add a dash of style and panache for good measure. The world is filled with boring, mediocre people—dare to be the exception to the rule!

Enough of this motivational stuff! A word to the wise is sufficient. Have a wise week, everyone!

11/03/2023

One Last Rat

This past week, I finally solved a pest mystery that’s been do***ng me for over a decade. Unfortunately, my customer had passed away, so the thrill of victory was bittersweet. The customer is king… even when they’re long gone.

Mary, the homeowner, first called me in 2010 to get rats out of her elegant, custom house. For decades, other companies failed to eliminate the relentless rodents. Mary was at her wit’s end. I assured her I would eradicate the rats, and for the next 6 months, I fought hard to find the rat entry points and plug them. After every service call, I gave Mary a news brief of my progress. Finally, I could find no more rodent entry openings. But in rat control, you never know.

One day, Mary called me, complaining of a foul odor in the bathroom. A dead rat, perhaps? I searched but found no openings. The source of unpleasant odors can vary, so I asked Mary to wait. The odor went away, but thirty-five years of pest experience told me a rat was to blame. Mary passed away in 2018, and her son moved in.

Last week, he called me, saying rat droppings were falling from the bathroom’s exhaust fan in the ceiling. The clue I needed! I dashed over there, climbed up on the flat roof, and inspected the area above the bathroom. The only possible entry point was the fan outlet covered with a little metal roof. I grabbed an inspection mirror from my truck and peered down the throat like a dentist checking for cavities. No screen! What!? Who installs a bathroom vent cover on a flat roof with no screen to keep animals out? No matter. I rushed to give Mary’s son the great news, and he thanked me, but to him, I was just a worker doing his job. To Mary, I was the hero returning from the wars with tales of glory. She would have been thrilled.

Wherever you are, Mary, I want you to know that I finally got the last rat out of your beloved home. Have a rat-free week, everyone!

10/27/2023

The Unsung Hero

“Help Mike, it’s crawling on the screen door!” Erika called out frantically. “Quick, come get it!” I didn’t know what was scaring her, but it was a creature of some sort. I ran from my office into our main office and quickly spotted a small animal crawling on the outside of our front screen door. Wow, you just don’t see that in broad daylight.

It looked like a mouse, but it was noon, and mice are rarely active during the day. As I got closer, the features of a cute mouse came into focus. Why was it active during the daytime? Well, that’s pest management for you—lots of questions with few answers.

Yes, I’m writing about rodents again. But I can’t help it because when COVID-19 hit, rodent populations exploded and have remained high ever since. Why? People escaping the lockdown headed to the mountains and brought lots of food and treats. Also, several wet winters have created ideal conditions for rodents. Rain and snow bring an abundance of plant life. Plants offer seeds and create hiding places for small critters… and the rest is rodent history.

Back at my office, I bolted outside as the rogue mouse jumped off the screen, ran straight up a stucco wall, then stopped in a corner and hung there. I was caught by surprise and did what any pest professional would: I pulled out my phone and took a picture. I then shooed the critter away. It belongs outside and will stay outside because our office has been professionally sealed against rodent entry. At Home Defenders, we have proven solutions against mouse pollutions.

I strode back inside expecting a hero’s welcome, but Erika and the other secretaries were absorbed in their paperwork. Oh well… we mice-shooing heroes don’t expect thanks; we’re just happy to save the day. Hold on! Is that a big, hairy spider on the Venetian blind? Stand clear, ladies, I’ll save the day! Oh, wait, it’s just a harmless piece of fuzzy lint. Crisis averted… darn it! Have an unsung hero kind of week, everybody!

Home Defenders Termite and Pest Management, Inc.

01/11/2024

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