Pesky Flies Fly to Pieces? (Article first appeared in Villisca Review/Stanton Viking, November 2007) Have you noticed how smart this year’s flies are? Quick, too. Or maybe I’m slowing down. Recently, out of six that declared residency, four were truly award winners in the world of flies. Not that I didn’t aggressively try to reduce that number. They were just swifter than my swat. How surprising is that? Flies have at least three times as many eyes as I do. I’d knocked a couple magnets off my refrigerator and stopped mid-swing to avoid sending the paper towels flying. I wouldn’t object if the pesky flies opted for passing peacefully to the outdoors but I did want to avoid picking up pieces that weren’t pesky flies. When Paul and I left a couple weeks ago, we thought we had one pesky fly. We’d hoped it’d just die while our house was closed. Besides, I don’t know where we put flyswatters over the winter months. I’m not even sure we needed one last year. |
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When we returned a couple days later our ‘housefly guest’ had arranged a ‘surprise/welcome home’ party. Flies are social creatures, apparently longing for relationships with humans. I was a pysch major so I can readily spot things like that. But a person has to declare boundaries, too. And having never seen eye to eye with flies (how cross-eyed would I have to be to do that?), I wasn’t eager to party with flies. I couldn’t see working them into my social calendar even though they landed on my ‘to do’ list. I don’t think I’m oversimplifying, but as a class, flies seem slow at taking hints. Not at the top for creatures who ‘get it,’ know what I mean? Like, that the indoors is not their natural habitat. That humans, most four legged animals, and a few other creatures aren’t really into developing a close personal relationship with a fly. That kind of thing. I suppose it’s a rejection complex the flies are trying to deal during their counseling sessions. That, or parent flies don’t live long enough to pass on their social experiences to offspring. So back to their recent fly party. Oh, they didn’t all come out to yell, “Surprise!” They exercised self-control and took turns. A couple flew in for a ‘Dodge the Newspaper’ game the original fly had apparently bragged about winning at my house. My “It” fly must have squealed with delight as I swung and missed. Word of the score brought the fly fans to the field. Or to put it another way, a few fortunate fairly friendly family flies fancied a fight and frantically flew to view the fanatic failing in her feud with the first fast flitting flies. How else could the other flies have known where to gather? I hadn’t heard the call to arms. In fact, the only fly sound I’ve ever heard is that annoying buzz that’s loudest when someone’s napping. I’ve heard it myself and I’ve witnessed it as others, even babies, try to nap. But somehow the flies knew to gather at my house in my kitchen for the showdown. My error, I guess, was that I rolled the paper the short way. Each time I swatted, air would poof out at the critter which scooted the fly further away by the force of the downdraft. I was my own worst enemy. I should have rolled the paper the long way. And after a couple swats, I decided I should have widened it to about 12 inches. It’s awful being mocked by fast flitting flies. It’s even worse when you give up and lay down your weapon only to find they’ve landed to read your newspaper! In war, you have to know the enemy. After careful contemplation, here are my conclusions. I think flies must have a code book that includes as their three greatest joys: sitting on potato salad at picnics, buzzing near the ears of people who really want to take a snooze, and playing dodge the swatter. When they want more notoriety they pool their resources and send the elite to flit around the faces of the famous, especially if the speaker’s being broadcast live. I am taking notes and intend to publish their code book one of these days so confrontations will be fair to all sides. I have decoded their chapter titles so watch for it on your newsstands, folks. I’ve always thought flies were such pesky, filthy things. I wonder if Mrs. Noah was all that excited about including them on the ark. Imagine Mrs. Noah’s self-control that kept her from swatting them. Maybe God arranged for a couple extras to come aboard camouflaged on Holsteins and zebras knowing the automatic human response when a fly lands nearby. I recently watched a fly as it sat on the other side on a window pane. Did you know it really spends a lot of effort in cleaning itself, two legs at a time? It was really quite a gymnast. Imagine a fly thinking it needed to improve its appearance. Probably needed to improve its flight time and had to get rid of its excess weight and volume, reducing resistance and all that mumble-jumbo from the Fly Flight Training Video that plays in ‘fly nurseries’ everywhere. There’s been a fly coming around to read from my laptop screen. I suppose it’s a computer geek, trying to get new info for the rest of the swarm hiding somewhere. Or maybe it’s a budding author assigned ‘job shadowing’ just like humans do near the end of their high school career. Oops, it just took off. Now, I hate to discourage talent development, but if that pesky fly returns I’ll negotiate one of two ‘off screen’ offers: 1) Would you like the new “To Die For” Book for Flies dedicated to your memory? or 2) Is there anything you need to make right with other flies before, say, 3 o’clock? It’s 2:55 right now.
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