The carpenter ants at the union hall read the posters on the opportunity board and massed for the task. George the Squirrel had asked for a contractor’s team to do some steep remodeling work as half his tree home had been bruised seriously by hurricane winds.

George was ecstatic when he saw the army of ants arriving for work, the long file of them making him think of elite infantry on the march or an army of red caps descending on the Silver Streak when it came into the train station from clear across the country, baggage galore in the mix. He was stunned by the sight; precision, energy, promise unveiled just for him.

The ant energy, amassed and exhibited in front of him, made him feel good, like he was a judge at an award ceremony, or a general at a field parade. A special sense of appreciation found root in him and he thought quickly of a feast of nuts waiting for him under the grass, waiting to be dug up and enjoyed.

He was beside himself. The memory of the fierce wind was blown away by his own pleasure. George, to appease that hunger, went hunting in the very green grass.

After his artful search, his sense of smell coming off as unique, he rested a bit before he decided to come home and check out the job.

The second half of his tree house was gone, chewed up by the long and sinuous line of carpenter ants that had gobbled everything in sight.

“What happened to my house? Where is it?” George said to the ant’s boss.

“It’s what we promised in the contract,” the ant boss said, “to reduce everything to its proper state. That, to us, was total ruin, not partial ruin. That’s what we did. Chewed every stick to oblivion, as only we can do. Even better than the beavers over there on the pond.”

He waved his troops homeward.

Don’t be lazy when it comes to reading service contracts.