Our Lady of Piffle

See, the decidedly odd thing about this particular dead fly (which, in itself, is certainly no oddity in this household) is that it is suspended vertically,against the window, backwards, in its death throes. The lower edges of the wings, not the legs are the point of contact.

"Well...", you say, "clearly the poor thing was flying, um... backward and got stuck against dog slobber, which we all know literally coats all the glassy surfaces of your domicile."

True, up to a point. See, this particular bit of glass is waaaaay above the level of the dog, near the top of the sliding glass door. The only nose prints or slobber at such an elevation is from Charles. Or me. If we stood on tiptoe.

The window is clear of adhesives, organic or otherwise.

"Well, then," you postulate, "it's the frozen tundra season in Wisconsin. Clearly the poor thing was flying backward and brushed against the frozen window and stuck. Just like those idiots who get their tongues stuck on flag poles each winter on a dare.

Ah. But you see, it'd been unseasonably warm. Lows in the 40s and all that. No freezing of the window.

"Ok. Here's what happened. Charles, being that master of all things involving hand-eye coordination, batted the bug into the window with a home theater magazine."

Don't think so. There's no smooshing or mooshing. The corpse is attached by the mere wisp of gossamer wing-edge.

"Bah. Still. Just a dead fly. Slow there at the casa del Piffle, eh?"

Au contraire, mon ami. See, I don't think it's the fly itself that is the thing.

I think the miracle is in the blurred, dark grey dusting that outlines it.

Here, let me remove the deceased with a bit of toilet paper.....There. Now see:



The face of an alien? Scowling visage of Mothra, god of flying pests? The robe of Jesus? Silhouette of Elvis in his white rhinestone jumpsuit? Other thoughts?

Which one would bring the most on e-bay?