Fly Assassin

  How long can a fly stay airborne? This is not just a random thought, it actually has a source of inspiration and a practical application, at least more so than many of my truly random musings.  I’m chasing a fly around the house with a cute little pink flyswatter that my wife bought. It’s cute, but it doesn’t do the job worth a damn. It’s too flimsy and catches too much air, making it slow to swing and wobbly to aim, but it’s cute. 

  Thus my interest in how long can a fly fly? I know they can’t fly indefinitely; they have to get tired, run out of steam. I chase him from one corner of the room to the next, into the kitchen, into the living room, following the buzz and the glimpses of a small black blur. He’s fast. If I can’t hit him, maybe I can chase him to death, make him keep flying until he crashes out of exhaustion.  I can just picture him losing control, weaving back and forth as he screams towards the floor, then crashing, sliding, tumbling and finally winding up as a twitching black wreck on the rusty tile floor.

I know flies live about two weeks and can survive for three days without food, but I don’t know what their aerial endurance is. This one may be average or he may be the marathon champion among flies. I’ve been chasing him all over the downstairs, always swatting at him as he tries to land and sending him back into the air. I’m hot on his heels. I’ve even launched mid-air attacks on him, always without contact, but it spurs him on. I continue the pursuit.

  Then a horrible, terrifying thought springs forth from my memory. Monarch butterflies travel from the northern USA to Mexico each year. One hell of a flight, granted a nonstop flight it is not, but still they cover miles and miles each day of their migration. I can’t be chasing this fly for mile after mile inside my house. That could take hours. I need a new plan, a better strategy, something devious. I stop chasing him and use my superior intellect, I walk over to the window and with a mischievous grin, I open it. I remember something else about insects, birds love to eat insects, a bird can eat his own weight in insects each day. So I open the window, walk around the room waving my cute little pink fly swatter and sure enough he flies out into the world of vicious insectivores. I smile as I listen to the birds singing in the trees outside, then close the window, another triumph for man, the dominate species of planet Earth.