A copy of the following is posted on each of my hives, just above the entrance, in very small letters, with Italian and Russian translations.
The swimming pool is just that, a pool for swimming. It is not a gigantic watering hole for bees. Go and find your own muddy puddle and leave my guests alone.
I know that you can fly faster than I can run; you don’t have to keep on proving it to me.
And no, I cannot keep on buying more hives. I am very sorry about
this. If you feel crowded, then go ahead and swarm. See if I care. Has anyone ever told the queen where little bees come from? It’s her fault for those moments of gay abandon with those dandy drones.
A little secret for you : I know that sticking your butts in the air and fanning with your wings when I walk in front of the hive is nothing but sarcasm.
If, at some time
in the future, I manage to close up the hive without squashing some of your sisters between the hive bodies, I expect some expression of appreciation, perhaps applause. Meanwhile, before you come rushing at me bass ackwards, I expect some kind of warning,
you little bug(ger)s.