Yesterday in class, I covered my palm with blue and red dots. It looked like I had dipped my hand in sprinkles. I've always been one to draw on my body, which used to upset my dad. I think he was afraid that it would lead to tattoos. It did, but that's really not the point.
Apparently, the swarm of bees that I trained to the feeder were not, in fact, from the observation hive, but rather from a very aggressively foraging wild hive. We tried to train the bees again yesterday, but, even right at the entrance of the hive, the other bees still came to forage. The place turned into a battleground; there were bees fighting everywhere. So, with a "life's given us lemons" kind of attitude, we've decided to do some research on fighting.