Don’t think of it as an infestation – think of it as having hundreds of new pets…

What’s most difficult, is telling them all apart.  I’ve had to invest in a high-resolution magnifying glass in order to differentiate.  I’m thinking of sewing wee little smocks with their names on them.  Alistair, Bernice, Connal, Dee, Ernest… I’m going for asexual in style – I don’t want to limit them.  Should they decide in 20 days that they don’t like the names I’ve given them, they can let me know what they’d like to be called and I’d be cool with that.

If I were truly practical, given their numbers, I could farm them.  Raise them, kill them humanely and then create a new niche Canadian niche food market, but who am I kidding? Now that I’ve named them, I can’t just lead them off to slaughter.  I’m just too darned attached.  Who can resist Freddi with the little red eyes and luminious coat?  And George – sweet little George with the maginificent forelegs? 

I’m feeling a kinship with Snow White – although my human-to-wildlife ratio doesn’t have bluebirds, bunnies and deer.  She’d have one lousy bluebird on her finger – me, I have easily 3 dozen fruit flies perched upon mine.  I even have them lining up all colour-coded in their wee smocks.

“No Hank, you’re there, next to Iggy, who’s beside Jem…  That’s right… Who’s a good fruit fly?  Who is?”

I’ve been keeping the fruit bowl full, just for them, but I wanted to give them a real treat – something to show them I cared.  I’ve been known to stop drinking the last inch in a beer bottle, just to set it out for them, but now… sob… I realize that their appetite for hops is killing them.  Let’s face it, in the summer the wine and beer flows more freely in our home, I find them hanging out around the empties – determined to grab what ends up being their… sob… last taste…   I knew I’d have to say goodbye, just not this soon…