My grandfather had a pet fly. The same fly every year. I believe his name was Bub.

My Mom told me this with a grin. As a child, she didn’t know that flies don’t live too long, and had thought he really had a pet that returned year after year. A charming thing for my grandfather to do, who was always hilarious in a very understated way. With the same grin, she told me how he used to hit her.