Then I was young, I’d sometimes take a little bit of my dinner, hide it in my pockets, and then bring it out to one of the little anthills that was always dotting the back yard. I’d then set it down on top of the anthill and watch, fascinated, as the little ants seemed to get excited and would promptly begin carrying off the morsel.

Especially when it was a meal I wasn’t that fond of, I admired and envied the ants’ ability to get enthusiastic about it and to eat it without gagging, no questions asked.

My mother, needless to say, was less enamored by the food stains in my pockets and the ant scouts I tracked inside who soon brought friends.