It’s summertime and the living is easy except for the flies. I was in hopes that if I was religious about putting away my dog’s crap, somehow there would be fewer flies. It has worked so far but summer is now here, in earnest, and the front porch is becoming uninhabitable once again.
I must confess to becoming obsessed with these dirty little buggers. Each morning hundreds become deceased for my backhand is lethal but my fly swatter is falling apart. Big and small, the floor is littered with their carcasses and then they feed on the dead ones. The joy of the hunt is quashing the fornicating flies, not only is it a two for one sale but it is also the demise of the thousands yet to be hatched.
However, it is a losing battle for they just keep appearing and buzzing, those dirty little buggers. I am reminded of my favorite tune, “The Impossible Dream”, to fight the unbeatable foe, to run where the weak dare not go.
I shall not surrender!
If you are driving down Gibralter dirt
path and see this nut on the front porch swatting flies, give me a toot of
encouragement, please.
G. Goslaw
Landers, Ca.
