The Flies

A small fly fell out of the pine seedling I have standing, potted, on the deck table next to my chair. 

It fell together with a large fly which held it in its clutches. When hitting the table, the large fly was compelled to release its victim. The small fly landed on its back, but valiantly struggling with wings and legs it righted itself and began grooming its wings with its hind legs. The large fly, for whatever reasons flies might have to pursue each other, made motions to recapture its pray. 

However, when the small fly sensed the approach of the large one, it abandoned its toilette and hopped a few inches away. 

At that moment, the large fly must have caught the scent of the hunting grounds: the foot of my empty beer glass. Instead of continuing the pursuit of the small fly, it flew up and over the rim of the glass and began to eagerly taste the remnants that had escaped me. 

It must have sensed the approach of the camera - it was there, in the glass, just a moment ago. If I chased it away - the small fly has the benefit of the deserted field.