On the Table, Part 1

The morning I was set to horse sit for my brother over the Memorial Day weekend, I received the following text: 

You’re gonna love this one. I left a bag of fly predators on the kitchen table. There are instructions on the back. Will you just check the bag daily and see when you see live predators? When you do, spread most on the wet manure in the big corral and then some in each round pen. Hopefully they won’t hatch until we get back, but just in case. Sorry!

My response:

Perhaps a little back story is in order. 

My brother and his family live on twelve acres, where they have seven horses. All three kids rodeo, so on the weekends they’re traveling to compete, I often stay at their place to take care of the five horses they leave behind (plus the dog). 

This is typically a relaxing experience. It’s beautiful and quiet out there. It’s an ideal space to write, sitting outside on the back porch. I think of it as a mini vacation. 

There is nothing relaxing about the words fly predators. 

Over the years I’ve learned to expect moments of culture shock with life in the country. We didn’t grow up with horses—horses are a passion that emerged for my brother (and father) in adulthood. I’ve learned to overcome what I would describe as a healthy fear of horses so that I can be counted on to do favors like horse sit when needed. I’ve gotten pretty good with a pitchfork. I can take a wheelbarrow of hay into a corral full of horses and they don’t chase me back into the barn (any more). 

There has been a lot to learn. For example, I’ve learned that this object is more than just the murder weapon from the horror movie, I Know What you did Last Summer. 

Wrapped and placed under a Christmas tree, it is also a thoughtful gift for someone who moves hundreds of bales of hay at a time. (Who knew?) 

It’s been several years at this point, and I think I let myself get complacent. I figured I had encountered all the dissonance I was likely to encounter in my life as a part time horse sitter. 

(Oh, so very wrong about that!)

All day I worried about what I would find on that kitchen table.

How big was this bag?

How secure?

Would it be teaming with hungry insects, streaming over each other in their attempt to escape?

When I opened the bag, would they pour out in a rush, climbing up my arm before I could shake them down onto the ground? 

(Anyone else have visions of those carnivorous ants from the last Indiana Jones movie?) 

I shared my brother’s text with everyone I work with, and the response was unanimously one of horror—immediately followed by the Google search I was too afraid to do.

If you’re wondering, as many of my colleagues wondered, What in the world are fly predators???, the short answer is that they’re insects that eat fly larvae. When sprinkled in places that flies like to lay eggs (like horse corrals), it cuts down on the number of flies that will hatch and be annoying all summer. 

So, a valiant cause—and circle-of-life nightmare I was about to experience in real time. 

(Part 2 of On the Table will conclude this slice of life adventure next Tuesday.)