The Terminator
No, I'm not talking about that guy who was photographed wearing a speedo with his Buddha Belly hanging over the edge. I'm talking about a Diva whose kitchen was invested with fruit flies!
It all began with a trip to the Santa Monica's Farmers Market. The organic peaches were fuzzy, firm and fragrant;the melons juicy and sweet and the berries so ripe I had to consume mass quantities in the car to prevent them from being bruised by the vibration of the drive. The fruit seduced me into leaving them out on the counter, rather than the fridge, so as not to ruin their wonderful texture. But by morning, I had realized the folly of my ways. The kitchen was boiling with fruit flies.
They mocked me by swarming around the heads of my birds, then landing just inside their cages on the food bowls. They sneared at me from glass-pained cabinet doors before jetting to the top of the ceiling, where they congregated on the light fixutres, high-fiving with their wings. Within hours the room had taken on the humid, frightening feel of the Amazon, complete with sound affects graciously provided by two cockatoos and an African grey.
I felt helpless as I waved my kitchen towel at them. Although I managed to knock down a few, I was eventually overcome by their sheer mass. I was terrified they would begin invading my nostrils, which provoked a snorting fit just in case I was too numb to feel their skillful assault. I cowered in the corner, pulling the dogs nearer. Rhett put his paw on my shoulder in silent tribute, then led Scarlett out the doggie door. Abandoned, I knew it was up to me - and ONLY me - to save us all.
I stood defiantely and marched out to the garage, where I rummaged for an old, retired electric bug zapper, dragging it by it's chord. I plugged it in and behold - white/blue light filled the room. I coyly waved my towel in a circular motion, all the while enticing the flies to "go into the light." My efforts were rewarded with a crackling zap. One down - 999 more to go. I maximized the attraction by turning off all the household lights and closing the windows and doors as I sauntered triumphant out of the room. Four hours later I returned, only to discover their forces had multiplied. Fruit flies are simply too tiny to get caught by the electrified bars. I had failed again. But from disastor comes creativity.
All avian eyes were on me as I dragged a circa 1988 Kenmore canister vacuum into the room. This was no ordinary cleaner, this had a removable wand and hose complete with two power buttons on the handle. I was now armed and dangerous! I laid in wait by the bird cages, watching my prey mass around a seductive piece of sugar melon. Without warning I clicked on the vacuum and sucked those ugly black flies into the dark recesses of the hose. Birds screamed and hit the bottom of their cages, crying a warning to all the Terminator was on the loose. No longer was the ceiling a limit as I attached the extension and swept the lights for more of the enemy. Once the initial assault was successful, I broke my weapon down and holstered it in my pocket. The flies fled to the cabinet doors. Flies are stupid. I merely cupped the nozzle around their flighty little bodies, snapped the button and WHOOSH - they were goners.
I noticed I began to enjoy the kill. I developed several different techniques for ridding the kitchen of these pests, settling on a waving motion, much like fly fishing, to dispatch them to the bowels of the cleaner. Rhett poked his head through the doggie door, then motioned for Scarlet to join him. Everyone likes to watch a professional at work. Within the next 20 minutes I had devastated the population. Birds flapped their wings in applause while Rhett and Scarlet took shelter behind my legs. Vacuums and dogs make for such cowards! But now I could rest. As for the flies, they WON'T be back!
It all began with a trip to the Santa Monica's Farmers Market. The organic peaches were fuzzy, firm and fragrant;the melons juicy and sweet and the berries so ripe I had to consume mass quantities in the car to prevent them from being bruised by the vibration of the drive. The fruit seduced me into leaving them out on the counter, rather than the fridge, so as not to ruin their wonderful texture. But by morning, I had realized the folly of my ways. The kitchen was boiling with fruit flies.
They mocked me by swarming around the heads of my birds, then landing just inside their cages on the food bowls. They sneared at me from glass-pained cabinet doors before jetting to the top of the ceiling, where they congregated on the light fixutres, high-fiving with their wings. Within hours the room had taken on the humid, frightening feel of the Amazon, complete with sound affects graciously provided by two cockatoos and an African grey.
I felt helpless as I waved my kitchen towel at them. Although I managed to knock down a few, I was eventually overcome by their sheer mass. I was terrified they would begin invading my nostrils, which provoked a snorting fit just in case I was too numb to feel their skillful assault. I cowered in the corner, pulling the dogs nearer. Rhett put his paw on my shoulder in silent tribute, then led Scarlett out the doggie door. Abandoned, I knew it was up to me - and ONLY me - to save us all.
I stood defiantely and marched out to the garage, where I rummaged for an old, retired electric bug zapper, dragging it by it's chord. I plugged it in and behold - white/blue light filled the room. I coyly waved my towel in a circular motion, all the while enticing the flies to "go into the light." My efforts were rewarded with a crackling zap. One down - 999 more to go. I maximized the attraction by turning off all the household lights and closing the windows and doors as I sauntered triumphant out of the room. Four hours later I returned, only to discover their forces had multiplied. Fruit flies are simply too tiny to get caught by the electrified bars. I had failed again. But from disastor comes creativity.
All avian eyes were on me as I dragged a circa 1988 Kenmore canister vacuum into the room. This was no ordinary cleaner, this had a removable wand and hose complete with two power buttons on the handle. I was now armed and dangerous! I laid in wait by the bird cages, watching my prey mass around a seductive piece of sugar melon. Without warning I clicked on the vacuum and sucked those ugly black flies into the dark recesses of the hose. Birds screamed and hit the bottom of their cages, crying a warning to all the Terminator was on the loose. No longer was the ceiling a limit as I attached the extension and swept the lights for more of the enemy. Once the initial assault was successful, I broke my weapon down and holstered it in my pocket. The flies fled to the cabinet doors. Flies are stupid. I merely cupped the nozzle around their flighty little bodies, snapped the button and WHOOSH - they were goners.
I noticed I began to enjoy the kill. I developed several different techniques for ridding the kitchen of these pests, settling on a waving motion, much like fly fishing, to dispatch them to the bowels of the cleaner. Rhett poked his head through the doggie door, then motioned for Scarlet to join him. Everyone likes to watch a professional at work. Within the next 20 minutes I had devastated the population. Birds flapped their wings in applause while Rhett and Scarlet took shelter behind my legs. Vacuums and dogs make for such cowards! But now I could rest. As for the flies, they WON'T be back!
<< Home