Snails.
A couple of days ago a good friend of mine, we'll call her 'Chief', trod on a snail. Crushed to death instantly. She was, and I believe still is, full of remorse. We've all done it... it's dark, it's been raining, we need to go to the shed/garage/underground blitz bunker and we aren't looking, and can't really see, what's beneath our feet. We stroll to the bottom of the garden: 'Tra la la la la, Oh my hasn't it been raining hard? That'll do the begonias no end of good. Maybe I can replant them in the... crunch. Oh.' Immediately you know what's happened. There is no question that you've trodden on something else. You know you have just killed a snail. What the first thing you do? Check the sole of your shoe (if, indeed, you were wearing shoes. If not, worse luck), and look around on the ground for more so as not to maim the rest of the family and feel a bit bad; but do you feel remorse?
There are many things that snails are, and high on the priority list of most people they are not. I would imagine you, like me, are more careful on that particular journey to the shed/garage/tanning salon at the bottom of the garden following your recent snail trample, but the next night, in the pitch dark after a heavy rainfall, snails have eluded your memory completely until: 'Tra la la la la Well Marvin, I really must say, what you just did in there was something I haven't seen done since I was holidaying in Thai...crunch. Oh'.
So why do some people feel a real sense of sadness when that underfoot termination occurs? Maybe it is a sense of care for all things living? Maybe a responsibility? Maybe, as Chief suggested, it's because the slimey buggers are actually ingenious and carry their mobile home with them wherever they go. Unlike slugs (which I bet you wouldn't know you'd even stood on, except for the momentary skid on your tread, which could've quite easily, you tell yourself, been a soggy leaf or a sodden plastic bag), snails cart their little coiled houses for their whole lives. They also race against other snails. This, obviously, makes them infinitely cooler. When I was younger I used to race snails up the window until one day, because they were so slow, I forgot about them. About three days later I returned to find one snail shell empty (dead) on the window sill and the other shell still stuck to the window. When I went to remove it I found there was no snail inside only a crusty residue which had been baked in the heat the day before (also dead).
I guess there isn't much we can do in terms of snail death. We can be more careful, keep our eyes open, try to remember there will always be a few lazying around after dark in the rain, but what's the point if the French continue to insist on eating them bathed in garlic. Snails, sadly, just aren't one of the nations favourite animal, which I find sad because I like them immensely (although this is probably only propelled by guilt due to the incineration incident), so maybe for me (and my guilt), next time you see a snail give it a little high five for being cool (this will have to be an imaginary high five as they don't have hands, and the force of a human hand would surely crush them to death) and then go about your business. It may just make the snails life a little bit brighter.
That's right, a post about snails. I never said it would be interesting.
A couple of days ago a good friend of mine, we'll call her 'Chief', trod on a snail. Crushed to death instantly. She was, and I believe still is, full of remorse. We've all done it... it's dark, it's been raining, we need to go to the shed/garage/underground blitz bunker and we aren't looking, and can't really see, what's beneath our feet. We stroll to the bottom of the garden: 'Tra la la la la, Oh my hasn't it been raining hard? That'll do the begonias no end of good. Maybe I can replant them in the... crunch. Oh.' Immediately you know what's happened. There is no question that you've trodden on something else. You know you have just killed a snail. What the first thing you do? Check the sole of your shoe (if, indeed, you were wearing shoes. If not, worse luck), and look around on the ground for more so as not to maim the rest of the family and feel a bit bad; but do you feel remorse?
There are many things that snails are, and high on the priority list of most people they are not. I would imagine you, like me, are more careful on that particular journey to the shed/garage/tanning salon at the bottom of the garden following your recent snail trample, but the next night, in the pitch dark after a heavy rainfall, snails have eluded your memory completely until: 'Tra la la la la Well Marvin, I really must say, what you just did in there was something I haven't seen done since I was holidaying in Thai...crunch. Oh'.
So why do some people feel a real sense of sadness when that underfoot termination occurs? Maybe it is a sense of care for all things living? Maybe a responsibility? Maybe, as Chief suggested, it's because the slimey buggers are actually ingenious and carry their mobile home with them wherever they go. Unlike slugs (which I bet you wouldn't know you'd even stood on, except for the momentary skid on your tread, which could've quite easily, you tell yourself, been a soggy leaf or a sodden plastic bag), snails cart their little coiled houses for their whole lives. They also race against other snails. This, obviously, makes them infinitely cooler. When I was younger I used to race snails up the window until one day, because they were so slow, I forgot about them. About three days later I returned to find one snail shell empty (dead) on the window sill and the other shell still stuck to the window. When I went to remove it I found there was no snail inside only a crusty residue which had been baked in the heat the day before (also dead).
I guess there isn't much we can do in terms of snail death. We can be more careful, keep our eyes open, try to remember there will always be a few lazying around after dark in the rain, but what's the point if the French continue to insist on eating them bathed in garlic. Snails, sadly, just aren't one of the nations favourite animal, which I find sad because I like them immensely (although this is probably only propelled by guilt due to the incineration incident), so maybe for me (and my guilt), next time you see a snail give it a little high five for being cool (this will have to be an imaginary high five as they don't have hands, and the force of a human hand would surely crush them to death) and then go about your business. It may just make the snails life a little bit brighter.
That's right, a post about snails. I never said it would be interesting.
No comments:
Post a Comment