I just killed a big fat fly. He’d been cruising around my cottage since last night but he didn’t annoy me to murder till this morning. I obliterated him with the back of my little spiral notebook, and then I had to wipe the black wing-flecked smear off the notebook, the window screen, and the floor.

“Black bug’s blood,” I said with a grin as I tissued off the notebook. That was one of my father’s favorite tongue-twisters. The other unusual one was “A box of biscuits, a box of mixed biscuits, and a biscuit mixer.” We also did the regulars, about pepper-picking Peter, industrious woodchucks, seashell sales and even the naughty verses about slit sheets and smart fellows, but I never heard about bug blood or biscuit boxes except at home.

Back when I was first exposed to it, black bug’s blood was rare. Flies were hard to kill. If I went at one with a rolled-up magazine, the air I forced ahead of the weapon usually warned the insect away. I had to use a fly-swatter; its mesh allowed the air to remain undisturbed so I could sneak up on the beastie.

But flies have changed in my lifetime, and I don’t understand why. Nowadays houseflies seem lazy and inattentive. They are a breeze to swat! I like how easy it is to rid my environment of the little invader, but I’m disturbed a bit about the change. It seems like we ought to have healthier flies.

Has anyone else noticed this?