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@poddster wrote:

Prolific breeders too, strong and resilliant, and above all they defend to the death one of their own.

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I like that in an ant.

Would they respond to a nice bowl of ricen pudding poddy?

Maybe you could try playing some of Robert Menzies or John Howard speeches, that should put an even more discordant note in their screeches and they'd explode.

 wee haggis?

Are you aware that this venue is a breeding ground for haggii ?

some have not evolved the short/long leg as yet and at this stage of their evolution they only have one eye. to try to evolve tot the normal type of haggis the also run around in circles and lean to the left to acquire the traits of a normal left leaning one eyed haggis

The juvenile Haggis is an incorrigible wee scunner, a real whinger, I've found.

Its true,as you say,  with the one eye developmental problem. They have an unhealthy fondness for the Cicada impersonators, for some reason they  have an affinity with each other, the dirty wee bampots, this activity is discouraged with a wee dram of  kero mixed with a skimpy drap of Guinness and sprayed aboot the hoose.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't.

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

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@silverfaun wrote:

Is that the screech  of one of those  Cicada impersonators I hear?  I hope those nasty wee glayckat Haggis can't hear it otherwise we may have to call in the regimental cleaners.

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WOW  it expolded itself. 

Ode to a mouse. Rabbie Burns. Thanks for that.

perhaps it was that event that caused the tremor

I would love to go to a Robbie Burns day do just to hear the address to the haggis