As you may have read in one of my previous posts, I recently have completed a do-it-yourself kitchen update. That work consisted of a partially opened house with no screens. The first time was when I removed the old kitchen door to put in a new one. Half of that day provided a phenomenal opportunity for any insect to welcome them self into our comfortable home we lovingly call "The Castle". The second time hotel insect was open for business was a day-long floor project that required the back door to come off the hinges as my dad and I worked.
Flies love the indoors. I have no idea what is so great about the flavor of the castle's indoor air but it must be something special, and, overly more amazing than outside air.
The castle now has closed doors. And the flies are trapped. This is driving Charlie crazy! His head frantically moves in all directions tracking the flies across the room. He will jerk up from sleep, honing in on them. This is quite the sight to see. In the past I have killed flies that have intruded our living space. Usually when this happens, the files are sitting peacefully on the big living room window and they get squashed with my amazing flyswatter skills, their remains landing on the little ledge at the bottom of the window. Charlie has a favorite spot in that window, where he watches the neighborhood, and will reach over to that ledge, trying to eat the fly carcasses. Now, he will jump off the couch, running after a dive-bombing fly. He will leap up as they whiz above his head. He will even randomly run up to the window to check and see if a dead one might be present in the ledge.
I must say that his obsession isn't entirely irrational. I've been a little like Charlie, obsessed, tracking flies. I started with one flyswatter, then realizing I was inadequately prepared. I would see a fly resting peacefully, but having left my weapon in the other room, the fly would disappear when I returned, knowing I was after it. So, being the evolved, intelligent creature I am, I strategically placed a flyswatter in each room (that's right, I own more than one), leading me to be more elusive, agile. Charlie watches me, his dad, proud. When I don't let him eat the dead flies as they fall to the ground, he looks at me, a little disappointment growing in his eyes.
After the fun of hunting wore off, Charlie became more concerned about the diseases the flies left behind. If you know anything about flies they can be fairly gross creatures. So Charlie retreated into his "cage", the kennel he loves when he wants to feel safe and protected, and hid from these filthy creatures that were causing him consternation.