Get her through September without a single new welt.
In 14 days — without a fly sheet, a mask, or a single chemical. Because the flies were never coming from the manure.
In 14 days — without a fly sheet, a mask, or a single chemical. Because the flies were never coming from the manure.
You don't need anyone to describe her to you. You've been watching her since June.
You spray at seven. By lunch they're back on her and you're reaching for the bottle again.
She rubs the fence rail raw, and every year it comes back thinner than the last.
Six of them. Two hundred dollars a season, every season. Not one of them held.
You muck it religiously. The flies never cared. Now you know why.
You never lost because you picked the wrong spray.
You lost on arithmetic.
Stable flies don't breed in fresh manure. They never have. They need wet, rotting plant matter — and there are exactly four places in your paddock where that sits.
You've been cleaning the wrong thing. Carefully. For years.
Bedding soaked with urine, gone black underneath. The one nobody lifts.
Dropped grain and chaff, damp and going mouldy where she spills it.
Where the hay meets the ground and stays wet. Dark, matted, warm.
Churned mud and standing water from every refill that overflowed.
And not the manure pile. Fresh manure is too hot and too dry for them — it's the one place in the yard they can't use, and it's the only one you've been cleaning.
Eggs can't reach pupa without moisture. Take the water out of those four spots and the whole batch dies where it lies — and the next batch has nowhere to be laid.
Take the water out anywhere in those first twelve days and the larvae never reach pupa. You don't kill the flies. The batch never becomes flies.
Every homemade recipe on the internet flashes off in twenty minutes, because nothing in it holds the oils to her coat. Ours has the fixative, at the ratio the entomology literature actually measured, mixed in the order that keeps it from separating.
A few dollars a gallon. And by week three you're not mixing it as often, because there's less coming at her.
Here it is, in their words.
← swipe →
The spray you mix yourself — with the fixative that stops it flashing off in twenty minutes like every other homemade recipe.
This is what covers her from day one. Everything below is what makes you stop needing it.
Where the flies are actually coming from.
What to do, and the day to do it.
Everything else that works — and what doesn't.
Ten minutes a week. One number.
Run the ten-minute count before you start, and again on day fourteen. If that number hasn't come down, write to us and you get your $27 back — and you keep every file. You have sixty days.
We can say that because the count isn't our opinion. It's yours.
By email, the second you pay. PDFs you can print for the tack room or keep on your phone.
Yes. Three of the four spots are inside your own stall and paddock, and the recipe is yours regardless of whose land it is. There's a page on how to raise the fourth with the barn owner without it becoming a thing.
Every oil is listed with its dilution and a patch test. The table also tells you which popular oils to keep away from horses — several well-known blends use them.
No. The formula replaces it from day one — that's what it's for, and it costs a few dollars a gallon instead of $18 a bottle. And once the four spots are dry, you'll be mixing it less and less, because there's less coming at her.
Because they overwinter as larvae in the same wet material. What you dry in September decides how many are waiting for you in May.
No. Twenty-seven dollars, once. Nothing renews.
Ten minutes to find them. Fourteen days to watch the count fall.
Get The Dry Line System → INSTANT DOWNLOAD · 60-DAY GUARANTEE