the not-quite-brilliant adventures of phillipa

It has not been an ordinary morning. While Dennie orchestrated the towing of our recently incapacitated vehicle to a garage, I was talking to a fly. Yes, a common housefly. No, I am not normal. For the past several days, we’ve had four of them trapped in the house. For the past several days, Maisie has gone berserker trying to catch and eat them. We don’t know why, but ever since she was a young pup of only two, she’s felt it Is her sworn duty to consume any fly in her vicinity. It’s weird. But we love her.

I managed to usher one of our uninvited house guests out the screen door the first day. Another met his untimely demise on a windowsill. Today I’ve only seen one buzzing about. The fourth may have also died, undetected, in a nook or cranny somewhere or, possibly, inside my dog. Or maybe it’s merely enjoying a lazy morning out of sight. The one I did spot today was crawling up the glass of another window. I called her Phillipa. If I could simply persuade her toward the screen, I could set her free. Much to my surprise, she seemed to enjoy being on the other end of a one-sided dialogue. She paused and looked at me (as far as I could tell), and she didn’t fly off when my face moved in only centimeters from hers, close enough to see every fine little hair (or setae) on her head. One generally regards a fly as a pest, a nuisance, but, up close, Philipa was actually kind of cute. The idea of splatting out her existence with a quick swat was unthinkable.

“You can do it,” I said. “Up you go.” As if she understood, Phillipa made steady progress toward the screen. I beamed with pride. My fly was a genius. Then she veered off to one side. Okay, maybe she was just above average. She bumped her eye on the edge of the trim. (Well, intelligence isn’t everything.) Blowing a gentle breeze upon her wing, I got her back on track. Toward the screen she trekked over the smooth surface in her cautious housefly way. We were communicating, or at least I was. “Just a little more,” I urged, creating a small gap at the screen, hoping she could feel the breeze, sense her freedom drawing near. She was almost there. I was going to save this tiny heart. Phillipa paused. “You’re so close,” I said. “Keep going. There’s food out there, adventures to embark upon, other flies to meet. You can go and have a full life now.”

And she could have too, if she hadn’t suddenly flown off in another direction where she will certainly face the snapping jaws of my dog again. Maybe she had a coffee date with the other in-house fly. Maybe he owed her money or some rotting fruit. I don’t know. I don’t really keep up with insect gossip, and I’ve never, ever subscribed to the Fly Paper.

So my tale does not have a happy ending…yet. But happy endings don’t just happen. They are a perpetual work in progress, and should Phillipa and I meet again in the sunlit glow of a window, I will fight for her liberation once more.

Have an amazing day, dear friends, and when you find a portal to a more fulfilling life, fly, my pretties, fly!!!