is my personal saviour.
I have a little problem with beastly things that lack appendages. If it ain’t got armpits, I’m not interested in sharing space, air, or a glance back and forth (house mice are an exception. I hate them too even with their little quick-moving appendages). While the lesser offenders are earth worms and escargot, the greatest of all evil is the slug. It leaves a slick trail of goo as it travels through my garden destroying all it can get it’s slimy eyeballs on. It serves no purpose that I know of other than to glisten in the night sky and give me the serious heebie jeebies.
In Vancouver, giant banana slugs as well as teensy black inch long slugs invaded my yard and I set slug traps in our ongoing war. The Husband had to check the traps because even being a foot away from dead slugs had me jumping from foot to foot and gagging, but still, I fought the… things daily. I kept a large bag of salt next to the door and my mother in law would watch, considerably worried, when I danced throughout the yard, yelling at the ground and sprawling salt with violent obsession. She, like many, thought that I loved all creatures, big and small, and that I believed we should all hold hands and sing kumbaya around a campfire. Hell, the little slimy buggers even like beer – and ya know how I like beer so you’d think we’d be compatible.
But no. No appendages, thus no love. I hadn’t seen a slug since we came to Cowtown. Until tonight. In my backyard. By the dozens.
I’ve salted the earth in the darkness while The Dog watched curiously. If nothing grows back, I’ll be content as long as the slugs have been successfully murdered, turned to mush, and unable to multiply.
Thanks for the peace of mind, Sifto.