Hunting Dogs and the Death of a Fly

Apparently a horse fly got into the house.  I noticed it while drinking my coffee this morning.  It sounded like a super tiny Boeing Vertol CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter was evacuating refugees around my head.  That was annoying, but it really took a turn when the dogs got involved. 

My overweight terrier Saphie, who happens to be afraid of her own shadow, channeled her inner wolf.  Years of domestication has altered a dog’s genetic predisposition to effectively hunt.  While certainly serious about her prey, she lacked the stealth of her ancestors.  She knocked over pictures, candles and a light.  And still the fly eluded capture. 

As this was going on, my other three dogs thought it was some sort of glorious game.  All four were running in circles while the fly flew…flipping them off, I assume.  Then in an attempt to save the living room, I too got involved.  We were all running fast, but not really going anywhere.  Invariably, my coffee got thrown into the mix…all over the floor.  And then in one splendidly magnificent bound toward the couch, Saphie caught the fly.  It was the most graceful thing you could observe while sliding in a puddle of spilt coffee.  I was so proud.  In that moment, she was a wolf.  She ended up spitting the fly out and one of my other dogs ate it, but she did what she set out to do.  She is a true huntress.