It must be huntin' season!

I live in a hunting family. It's just what we do. We (hubby and I) both have hunting in our family history. My hunt this morning began shortly after I woke up, got dressed, and then came out into the kitchen. This is what I found:

And right next to that one was his brother:

Of course, I immediately went into "Huntin' Mode." Forget breakfast, or morning chores. It's time to go hunting. I got out my weapon of choice. Most folks use a swatter for these pesky things, but not in this house. We are evolved. We don't even own one of those things. My mom taught me a long time ago the preferred method of indoor hunting was to use one of these babies. (Hunting family! What can I say?) I've since passed this hunting knowledge onto my children. The tradition continues.

There's a learning curve to all things, and hunting is no different. The trick to hunting flies is to be slooooooowwwwwwwwwwww. I'm pretty good at that. So I turn the thing on, and away I go, a smile on my face, and a long line of tradition in my heart, hunting on an August morning. Hunting flies. Makes me proud! ('Scuse me while I get a Kleenex) The first one was no sweat. He didn't move, and I sucked him up (probably a yearling.) With the first one bagged, I then turned my attention to the second one. That one flew away, though. And landed on my shoulder. I brushed him off. Then he landed on my arm. I brushed him off. Nobody ever said hunting was easy. He flew around for a few minutes, then landed on the counter next to the stove. I figured this one needed a little more stealth, so ever so slowly, gently, gently, I moved the end of the wand towards him. He jumped up and flew away. I turned off my fly sucker-upper. I've learned not to even try to get them "On The Fly" (ha!) so to speak. No matter how much I practice, I've never purposely been able to get one in the air. It's happened by accident, but never on purpose. But I digress. Here I am, waiting for the fly to land where I can see him. Picture this: he lands just to the right of the stove, a little to the front. I'm ready for him. I turn on my machine, and lay the end of it on the counter about 8-10" away from him. I move the wand in 1/4" increments toward him. Sloooooooowwwwwwly! Takes me awhile, but I get to within 2" of him. He's still sitting there, moving his front feet. He's keeping an eye on me. Actually, probably about 50 eyes on me! I move the wand even slower. Ahhhhh, by the time the end gets an inch away, I know I have won. In he goes, and success is mine. I have upheld the family tradition.