Quit Bugging Me

Chapter 9

"Really." The ferrets scurried over to beg for a quick pet, which he gladly gave them. "I mean, look at these little turds. They smell, they have no idea what personal space is, and they've accidentally ended up in the washing machine more than once. As far as they're concerned, clothes are prime nesting material no matter where they are or who they're on."

As if to prove his point, Mable yawned, clambered up Mr. Woods' sleeve, and fell asleep with her tiny pink nose poking out from under the fabric.

"Looks like they've really grown on you," Taylor said.

"It took a while, but yeah. For my project, I made a maze to test how quickly they could memorize paths. Turns out ferrets don't care what humans want them to do." He chuckled. "They jumped over the walls, chewed through them, and did everything else they could think of to avoid doing what I wanted. They're lucky they're so adorable, or else they would have driven me bonkers decades ago."

The pair jumped as a crash echoed through the room. Mable awoke with an angry chirp as her partner in crime stumbled around with a broken flask around his neck.

"Really, Ichabod? Again?" Mr. Woods sighed. "Sometimes I still think they'll send me off the deep end. Could you please finish mashing the rest of the apples for me while I help this doofus?"

"No problem." Taylor attacked the apples with renewed vigor, careful to wipe off the pestle between batches so as not to cross-contaminate the different varieties. "I hope I'll like my flies as much as you like your ferrets someday."

"Give them a chance and enough time, and you will. I promise." Mr. Woods pulled a half-empty bottle of vegetable oil from inside his desk and started oiling Ichabod's neck. The ferret chittered and squirmed in a futile attempt to get away. "As for you, quit whining. It's not my fault you don't practice basic lab safety."

After some annoyed muttering and fidgeting, the ferret's head popped free of the flask. Ichabod bolted right back toward the glassware before letting out a squeak as Mr. Woods picked him up and deposited him in his shirt pocket.

"Wouldn't it be easier to keep them leashed?" Taylor asked.

"Maybe, but it wouldn't be as fun. And I'm pretty sure they'd tie knots around my legs faster than you can say deoxyribonucleic acid."

"That's not hard!"

"Maybe, but still." Mr. Woods examined the bowls of fresh applesauce. "Nice job with those apples. Now we can get to the meat of the experiment."

He brought out a rack full of test tubes. Each of the little glass vials was labeled with a piece of tape that said which type of applesauce should go inside it. The pair spent the next fifteen minutes carefully measuring and distributing the applesauce varieties with eyedroppers.

"Okay, now I need you to get a few of your flies into these. Let's try to get exactly ten in each tube."

"How?"

"Watch this." Mr. Woods squinted at Ichabod. The ferret leaped from his shirt, scrambled across the room, and returned with a pencil clamped in his jaws.

"Wow! How'd you get him to do that?"

"All I need to do is focus on him hard enough and think about something I want him to do. It can't be anything too complicated and he doesn't always listen, but it works well enough. Why don't you give it a try?"

Taylor eyed her flies and imagined a handful of them drifting into one of the test tubes. Sure enough, they obeyed her. She couldn't help but feel proud, even though being able to direct her flies didn't seem like it would be good for much.

Soon enough, Taylor had divided half of her swarm among the test tubes. The tiny bugs pinged against the glass but didn't put so much as a wing outside of their containers.

"Excellent work," Mr. Woods said. He carefully taped pairs of tubes together before settling down with a notebook. "Now I just need you to stay here for a little bit while I record which varieties they prefer. They'd get too agitated for me to collect data if you left."

"Thanks for letting me help."

"My pleasure. Are you up for doing this again later this week? It would be great if I could narrow things down more."

"Sure thing."

As she carried the scent of freshly made applesauce home that afternoon, Taylor thanked her flies for helping her have such a fun time with Mr. Woods.