One time long ago in the town of Carmanville there was a young boy who was a bit of an imp and loved to play tricks on his grandfather. His grandfather hated these big blue flies with such a passion and always made sure one didn't live too long if it came into his house. Those days when the fish was being dried on the flakes there were more of them arround then there are moose today.

The grandfather had a daybed in the kitchen, as was the style them days. He had a stand by the side of it, on which he kept his cough medicine, radio, pipe and tobacco and his ever-ready fly squatter. The cough medicine is a story on its own I will tell you at another time.

One day the grandson captured about a dozen big flies in a tobacco can, one that he could fit in his pocket. Gleefully him and his friend headed into grandfathers.

The old man was snoozing on the daybed, quite contented. The boys were given a slice of lassie bread and a glass of lemon crystal, enjoying and giggling about the fun soon to begin. Slowly the imp opened the lid and let out a fly. The buzzing was quite loud and soon got the old man's attention. He jumped to his taps, grabbed the fly squatter and started chasing the fly arround the kitchen. At this time the grandson let out a couple more. In a short time he had let out about a dozen and was laughing in tears to see his grandfather dancing arround the house trying to kill about a dozen flies.

By this time grampie figured out that he had been duped again by his mischevious grandson. With a roar he said, "you little anishore I'll kill ya." The kids charged out through the door and rolled in the grass laughing. That was just one of the many tricks this fellar played on his grampie.

O, I forgot to tell you, I was the grandson.   Submitted By: keith Collins