Slither Night

This is what I have become...

Sometime between ten and eleven o'clock at night I'll be out with the dogs and the big torch, ostensibly to keep an eye on Cleo, to make sure she actually pees instead of crashing through the back door in search of a high-value treat. She hasn't that many accomplishments but being able to open every bloody door in the house is one of them.

But what I am actually keenest on doing is counting and observing garden snails. They are such fascinating creatures. The snails range in size from tiny translucent babies whose delicate shells might be broken by a breath to the big lads with shells as large as walnuts. I say lads, but snails are hermaphroditic. A couple of times I have spotted a pair of them closely entwined and suppose that they are having snail sex although I'm not sure how they do it. Philip Watson explained it all to me about thirty years ago but I was phobic about slugs and snails then and couldn't bear to listen to him. There was something about knives maybe? 

My slugs and snails phobia originated in that ghastly nursery rhyme, which I took literally. It was horrible thinking of dismembered puppy tails mixed up with slugs. My fear and dislike of slimy things was not helped by having Cousin Patrick pelt me with those huge black slugs found on the shores of Lough Neagh some sixty years ago.

Soft rainy nights are best for snail-watching and I know all their favourite spots. Near stone walls, tiled paths, Bert's hostas, the sunflowers, around the windows. I have to be very careful where I walk. I try not to tread on them. Most nights I count around eighty.  Tonight it was 14 slugs, 84 snails and two accidentally crunched.

This is what I have become.