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The mission is murder. 

The buzz word is fly!

In the name of fair play, I did warn them.  I said, “If you don’t leave this premises, you will die! This is not your home. You are not allowed to gather here!”

But, they cannot help themselves. 

It seems they have invited swarms more. The house is a buzz of activity.  I am not as hospitable as they have assumed.  They have over-stayed their welcome and have gotten on my last nerve.

They are pests. Pests that like to do the backstroke in my morning coffee or drown in it. They bug me, these uninvited guests. They steal the very food from my plate – pests. Their flying buddies like to swan dive into my hair or fly up my nose. They don’t understand the word, ‘No!’ It amuses these pests to touch my body with their creepy little insect feelers. They won’t stop.  It gives them a buzz then they get high! They just won’t stop irritating me, even going as far as landing on my hands as I type this!

Enough! 

The mission is now murder!

Fly swatter in hand, I am in full stealth mode.  My trusty cat is assisting me in stalking the many-eyed prey! It seems that they have pestered her beyond her limits as well.  She alerts me to their presence with her surreptitious cat call.

The flies think they will out smart me by camouflaging themselves on dark furniture or hiding in plain sight.  I suppose they assume they can out maneuver me since they have thousands of watchful eyes observing my every move.

 “Wrong!”

The swat team and I have taken down a number of assailants.  Their bodies are piling up!  Some of the fly survivors are conducting forensics on the dead or perhaps they are cannibals foraging on their own kind. 

They get the smack down.  At times, it’s a smorgasbord; multiple bodies with one swat or a two for one deal – a regular kill pattern for this experienced swat team.

It’s war. We have no mercy, the pests were forewarned!

Finally, after an hour of stalking and murdering flies, it has gone deathly quiet.  The pests that are left have gone underground or into cracks or crevices. They are difficult to find. 

But, I am smarter than a fly. I will patiently outwit them.

I only need to wait until the time is right before I raid their fly encampments.  For now though, the swat team has further business to take care of.  Death is cumbersome and we must dispose of the multitude of fly corpses before their living relatives feel the sting of the upcoming raid. There will be more bodies. The remains will be disposed of.  This is not a game. This is war; I must take time to plan the next siege on these pests before the next swarm appears.  These pests have eyes everywhere.  I dare not rest, the swat team and I need to plan and perhaps rally more troops.

In the meantime, if any of you have had the intention of visiting in the form of an insect or let’s say; a fly on the wall; beware – my buzz word this season is, ‘Fly,’ and I’m on a murder mission.

All other company is welcome! Please feel free to bring your own swatter! Be prepared to raid flying pests when necessity warrants.

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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“Who let the dogs out?”

The Sun let the dogs out!

Obviously, the Sun’s dogs needed out for a good run, perhaps they’d been penned up for too long of a stretch or maybe they just needed to get out and howl at the full moon last week.  Dogs can be very insistent when they want outside.  Madam Sun probably coined the term, ‘hounded!’  In which case, I am totally able to relate to her or even sympathize!

Dog Owner Beware!

(more…)

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Compassion is about forgiveness;                                                  Learn how to forgive;                          
Start with yourself...

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She drifted on an endless tide.  Emotions lapped at her sides like waves.  Some passed her by believing her to be redundant.  Others saw her value and tried to bring her aboard.  She was very desirable, a streamline, timeless vision.  Her knotted, gnarly appearance only added to her mystic. Along with her intrigue, she held little bark. Truly, a quality piece, one that they could work with but her weight was camouflaged within her well hewn exterior and to their surprise, she was heavy.

They pulled, tugged, heaved and attempted to rope her in to no avail. (more…)

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Trust in your instincts;

Follow your heart without delay;

This is how you become a leader.

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I know patience is a virtue but could you please hurray up!said the Turtle to the Snail.

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When you judge another; You are judging yourself; Let go of your illusions.

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Man Eater – Chapter 3

By: J.V. Andrus

 

It was summer now and all was calm.  I was outside playing one evening when I spotted my run away pony, Judy.  With her head down, she stood quietly in the corral by the barn, stamping her small hooves and flicking her thick white tail back and forth in an attempt to fight off the hoards of black flies that bit at her small golden body.  Slowly, I walked towards the barn and nonchalantly swung the gate closed to trap Judy.  I turned to find myself cornered.

I was frozen to the spot.  Man Eater dove at me, white rimmed eyes full of hate and black ears flattened to the back of his head.  Grabbing me with his teeth, he flung me into the air.  The world exploded as I hit the ground and in half a daze, I crawled under the corral to safety.

Luckily for me, the jacket I had been wearing was my brother’s and being four sizes too big, I had slipped out the bottom.  I sat and watched in mute silence as Man Eater tore the jacket to shreds, then turned heel and headed for the hills.  I was soon to learn that this would only be the first of many attacks by the insane stallion. (more…)

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Man Eater – Chapter 2

By: J.V. Andrus

I was only a small girl but I’ll never forget the first time I saw that wild horse.  He was crazy-mad and full of hate.

We stood still as Daddy and Frank brought him through the yard, fighting and screaming.  His nostrils were flared wide and red and his white rimmed eyes were full of hate.  His head and short mane were caked with blood and lather covered his huge black body.

The angry stallion fought the ropes that circled his neck and held him between the two other horses.  He dived at Daddy’s horse only to be brought up tight by Frank’s rope.  He turned and charged at Frank but was thrown backwards when Daddy’s rope pulled tight.  He was a mass of flying feet and catching one of the ropes in his teeth bit down on it with such fury that the rope snapped but, Frank was too fast and another rope whistled through the air and landed over his head.

I was sick.  I thought the poor horse would kill himself before he would stop fighting.  It took the men an hour to corral the crazy, mad fighting horse. (more…)

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Gone But Not Forgotten

I have always been fascinated by the power of words to convey a message.  When I was young, my mother used to read us stories some of which were her own.  I loved those stories.

J.V. Andrus
Dec. 2, 1934 – Oct. 10, 1989

Sometimes, however, an artist’s work isn’t fully recognized or appreciated until after they are gone – the following story has never been published but, it needs to be. It is a story I have never been able to get out of my mind.

Written by my mother, J.V. Andrus, Man Eater is about a wild mustang captured in the Alberta Foothills before the majority of wild horses disappeared from the range.

Many people like to romanticize the good old days – truth is, times were hard back then and the bitter reality of that truth can be harsh. The story of this wild mustang is raw.  It’s real. It is a battle between a wild animal fighting for a territory being encroached upon by man. So, let’s take a step back into our not so distant history and enjoy my mother’s story of a wild stallion who roamed free in the foothills of Alberta in the 1939’s or 1940’s.

Proudly, I present:  Man Eater by J.V. Andrus.

The following is Chapter 1 of 3.

Man Eater

By: J.V. Andrus

When I was a little girl, my family lived on the CC Ranch southwest of Nanton.  The Ranch, situated on Willow Creek was silhouetted by the wild and beautiful Rocky Mountains.

The land was filled with bush and farther in towards the mountain was thick timber.  I remember that it was not uncommon to see bear, moose and deer on this land.  We knew that many wild horses made their home in the mountains although they were rarely seen.

My story is about a black stallion who gained the band of wild horses and who was snared in the mountains by my Dad and his best friend Frank.

I had only seen the wild horses a few times.  My Dad, who was foreman of the CC Ranch, said the wild horses were inbred.  They had large over-sized heads, crooked legs and big pie feet.  Some were very small.  The wild horses usually had long unshed hair and the older mares had matted manes and tails that hung to the ground.

They stayed high up in the mountains most of the year and grazed on the tender grass that grew along the timber line.  Their bands were very small.  The cold harsh winters and deep snow found the colts and weaker mares starving.  Some were pulled down by Timber wolves, some by another hungry predator. During these times, wild horses usually descended from the mountains into the foothills.

The ranchers hated the wild horses. (more…)

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