"Am I Buggin' You? Don't Mean to Bug ya. . ."

What's bugging me:
1. The other night I was out in the garage helping Tyler put up some shelves. . . - and by 'help' I mean what I usually end up doing when I 'help' Tyler: observe, offer moral support, and make extremely helpful suggestions which are always very much appreciated, I'm sure. Although, sometimes when help I end up being a part of things I should never be involved in. . . like helping stand fourteen-foot high garage framing walls - because I'm that strong, and tall, and it's easier than asking someone else for help. I digress. . .- anyway, I was watching Tyler put up shelves and I got distracted by one of my absolute most hated creatures; A nasty moth kept running into everything remotely close to me, making that horrible 'phluth' noise every time it hit. Why, I ask you, do they do that? They can fly, why can't they steer? Why must they invade my space and leave little dusty reminders when they do? Why don't they care if they run into something MUCH bigger than they are . . . something that wants to send them all to the fiery depths of Hell? I would care, if I were a bug. Seriously. I am not a squeamish girl, I deal with spiders and bees, and, and, and other stuff with relative calm. I don't think moths are going to kill me, or sting me, I just want them to stay away from me, and they don't.
The first time I heard about the whole butterfly sanctuary thing - or whatever you call it, I swear I was fighting my gag reflex. Still, I can hardly imagine something worse than a room full of elegant moth- cousins that want to come land on my finger or my hair. Actually, I can think of a lot of worse things - I watched an episode or two of Fear Factor - but I still cringe at the thought. Dear Butterflies, you're so pretty. Be pretty far away. Thank you.
2. Last week a grasshopper jumped in my boot. While I was wearing it. Without socks. And then it squished itself against my naked foot (I'm innocent.) leaving sick green grasshopper juice on my ankle. I KNOW it's partly my fault for wearing my cowboy boots with shorts, but it was just for a few minutes and I was at the ranch. . .it was totally justified. Again, WHY can't they jump away from people instead of at us? What is the point?
When we were riding yesterday we went through a meadow full of huge grasshoppers jumping so high that they were flying over the tops of our heads (on horseback). . . and you guessed it, one smacked me in the face, fell to my chest and jumped on to find it's next victim. I could hardly open my mouth (after I screamed of course) afterward for fear of. . . well, you know. I can't even write it.
3. My mean 'animal lover' unless-it's-not-their-own neighbors (not to be confused with my lovely mother-in-law, or with the nicest, coolest neighbors ever - they literally have a soccer field in their back yard, how cool is that?) are driving me nuts! A letter: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Not-so-Nice, I'm sorry that you think we should take our dog to a spinal specialist even though our Vet (a professional) has told us nothing can be done for him; I'm sorry you think we should tie him up even though he can barely walk; I don't care if he hobbles over to see the old dog across the street, in fact I think it's adorable and sweet. He's NOT running away, and you don't need to bring him back to us and shake your heads / fingers at us; I'm sorry you don't think we buy the right brand of pet food, I'm sorry the goat trimmed the bottom of your fruit trees for you, I guess we won't send you a bill since you're mad; I'm sorry you are misinformed enough to think that horses should be FAT- please look up 'founder' in the dictionary; I'm sorry you cover our fence rails with birdseed (for the birds and the deer) and that our chickens now make a beeline for it when they sneak out. . . you said you didn't care at first. (They are birds you know.) I am not sorry you stepped in chicken poo. I kind of think you deserve it. P.S. You live in the country, practically the mountains. There are animals here.

Ahhh. Thanks for listening, I feel better.