Beyond the Roadkill.

I live in the country. Yep, I have huge ditches on both sides of the road. And there is plenty of wooded, foresty areas. So, as you can imagine there is roadkill. And last night I was a contributor to the death of a opossum.  But let's just call him posse. No I don't normally name my roadkill. As many years as I've lived in the country I've only killed about 3 animals, at most. But each time it makes me sad. I mean it. It's not like I loved posse. It's just that I value life.

It was dark and Ian was in the car with me. I saw posse run into the road. She turned to look at me. And all I could think was "No, no, no!" I slowed down, but it was too late. It was as though she purposefully maneuvered in a way that I couldn't avoid hitting her. I heard the buh-bump.

I'm Sorry Posse!
"Oh no," I said.
"What's wrong Mom?" says Ian from his car seat.
"I just hit an animal."
"Why did you that?"
"I didn't do it on purpose buddy, it was an accident."

Unlike the accident of hitting posse there are somethings I do kill on purpose: Flies. I don't like flies. I'm not scared of them I just don't like them. They gross me out. All I can think of is dirty germs. I don't know if it's true but all I can think of is being told as a child, "every time a fly land it vomits". That was enough for me. True or not... I'm ruined.

Ian's "Little Friends"

We have recently been getting these big flies. They're huge and slow and are very satisfying to kill because I almost always kill them with the first swat and they don't try to get up again or twitch. One hit and they're down for the count. Unlike those tinier house flies where you have to be Mr. Miyagi to catch them they're so fast. But they had been coming in droves.

So it was unfortunate for me that Ian has decided to call flies his "little friends". What the heck? Great so now I'm killing off Ian's friends. I'd even taken to hiding it. I don't pull out the fly swatter unless I know he's not around. I make sure he's at school or outside or asleep in bed. Yeah, I'm weird. But I don't want my son to think I'm killing his little friends.

So, I was relieved when Ian told me the other day, "Mommy, get the flies."

I was thinking, "I thought they were your friends."

He continued, "They gotta die."

Phew. I pulled out the fly swatter.

(Much gagging and revulsion occurred during creation of this post while obtaining appropriate images... I think I'm going to be sick.)


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