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.
Dear Bees
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.