(You can read the first installment of Diary of an Ant Farm here.)

Day 11: It turns out they were all just hiding. What a pleas-ant surprise.

Day 12: The ants start freaking out again. Inaudible screams, frantic running, the whole shebang. We may have been breathing on them a little. Sorry, ants. They calm down after a while and go back to digging.

Day 13: Feeding time again. This time we carefully lower a piece of walnut and a piece of pecan into the farm. Nobody freaks out, including us, and the ants munch away on their mysteriously convenient dinner.

Day 14: The cats have discovered the ant farm, but are not impressed. Fwewf. They saunter away, ants unharmed.

Day 15: A heat wave strikes again. Some of the ants do not make it through and are carried to the top for us to discard, we assume. The funeral processions appear to no longer happen.

Day 16: The ants are disgruntled. They appear to have, for the most part, quit digging. Are they on strike? Can we meet their demands?

Day 17: Some more ants die. We frantically try to figure out why. We give them water, food, sunshine, air, and love. Nothing helps. Only a few ants are left. We cannot tell if Brumhilda survived.

Day 18: There is one. The Ant With No Name digs and digs, unaided. His purpose is unknown. His direction is unknown. Will he do this forever?

Day 19: The Ant With No Name gathers up his grasses and sand in his little hobo bandana and makes his way out West, to make a name for himself.

Day 20: We dismantle the empty habitat.