Shoo, fly.

High: 68° F
Low: 35° F
Conditions: Partly cloudy with rain arriving late

Maine has six seasons, and we’ve just entered the most unpleasant one of all: blackfly month. You can’t really understand how especially terrible this season is until you’ve experienced it first-hand. When Greg and I moved here seven years ago, we took the natives’ warnings about black fly season in stride, thinking they were either prone to tremendous exaggeration or eager to offer a big helping of highly fictionalized local lore to a pair of gullible newcomers.

Sadly, neither was the case.

The black fly (Simulium venustum) is an impossibly pernicious creature that looks far more like a gnat than it does a house fly. I recently found this 19th-century rendering of the insect by someone who had clearly never encountered a living black fly in Maine:

Had the artist lived here during early summer, he would not have been able to devote the meticulous time and care needed to complete this homage. In fact, I dare say that the mere thought of spending this much time contemplating Simulium venustum would drive even a resolute mortal mad. Had the artist maintained the stalwart steeliness needed to complete the task, he surly would have at least included devil horns and a pitchfork or something else to indicate the fly's malevolence.

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I mean that sincerely. This fly is evil.

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Never in my life have I truly hated another living creature. That is, until I met the black fly. Now, before you think me overly dramatic or uncharitable, let me explain myself. Black flies swarm in groups of hundreds if not thousands. Like mosquitoes, they are attracted by heat and carbon dioxide, which makes dogs and humans walking blackfly feeders. Unlike the mosquito, however, the black fly is not content with a little casual drilling for blood. No, this little devil prefers to rip off a hunk of flesh larger than its head. In its place, it leaves a mild toxin that results in a nasty red lump that both itches and throbs at the same time. Here is one of multiple pictures we found on the web, all displaying their injuries as if evidence in a metaphysical court of animal justice:

People in New England try their best to have a good sense of humor about black fly season, which runs from Mother’s Day to Father’s Day each year. Our favorite microbrew has a black fly stout with a label that only mildly embellishes the experience of anyone who dares to go outdoors this time of year:
Our local ice cream company, Giffords, offers a limited-batch ice cream called Maine Black Fly.

I ordered it once, thinking it a suiting salve to my welts. But I soon discovered the hunks of strawberry and mini-chocolate chips looked way too much like my neck and arms for me to enjoy the cone. Even Ari didn't want to finish it.

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Like most dogs in our area, Ari is no fan of blackflies, either. The insects are particularly attracted to orifices and wet tissue like the eye--especially if said eye is husky-blue. They don’t respond to the caninaturalist's nips in the air or her sullen barks, either. In fact, she's pretty much as powerless as I am to their assault. Still, Ari has one very important tactical advantage: Simulium venustum prefers to swarm higher, rather than lower, so in a crowd of creatures, they will almost always pick the highest one among them. I swear the caninaturalist has figured this out for herself: these days on our walks, she hangs particularly close to me, then acts oblivious when I turn it a swatting, cursing crazy person while she remains relatively unaffected.

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This does not please me.

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Here’s the worst irony of all: black flies need really clean running water to reproduce. So they’re a sign of how healthy our ecosystem is right now. That’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, especially this week. In honor of National Dog week, the Carnival of Green Pets is currently underway on the Web. Organized by Pets for the Environment, this weeklong project seeks to raise awareness about eco-friendly initiatives for pets and the threat of toxins in animals. It’s really made us aware of what a crucial role healthy environments play in the lives of healthy pets.

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Their's is a worthwhile project if ever there was one. And after reading some of the information on their site, we know we’re lucky to live in a place with running water clean enough to breed black flies. We just wish Simulium venustum didn't feel the need to express appreciation for their clean environment in quite such a bloody way.

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For her part, Ari is still working on devising a way to bite back. Knowing her, she’ll figure it out soon. Until she does, though, I’m sticking to a daily dose ice cream and beer--at least until Father's Day.