Sunday, July 09, 2006

I ain't got no cabbages no more

Because of this fellow:

photographs give you no scale, but this fellow was six inches long

This morning dawned warm, but wet, and I was awoken at the ungodly hour of half past five by a serenading Jack Russell Terrier. Senility is a terrible thing, and the urge to sing with the first birds is surely a sign that you're progressing up the grim reaper's list (he's checking it once, he's checking it twice...) I threw Chiswick out the dog-flap and crawled back into bed, but the damage had been done.

Wandering out into the misty wetness a couple of hours later, I was confronted by not one, not two, not even one hundred or two hundred, but legion upon legion of slugs. Our lawn was no longer green with a hint of dachshund vomit (an unfortunate reaction to a meaty-treat filled bone), but contrasting shades of shiny black and shiny brown.

I thought I had grown accustomed to Arion Distinctus* and his nefarious cabbage-eating ways. I thought that the night-time torch and sharp knife had seen him off. I truly believed that the rain-proof ferric phosphate pellets were the answer. But it seems I was deluding myself. A bit of rain, a warm night and the little (and not so little) buggers were at it like the high days of Sodom and Gomorrah. A love-in, it was. Slimy bodies entwined in sluggy ecstasy as they consummated their vegetable-devouring love.

Still, I understand salt is a good way to kill them. Maybe Lot's wife would oblige.

* strangely enough, I remember Arion as the Lord of Atlantis, a rather tortured hero of an 80's DC comic book. I never realised that he was actually a slug. It explains a lot, though.


Blogger Sandra Ruttan said...

"Ain't?" You working on your southern slang there pardner?

July 10, 2006 3:59 am  
Blogger JamesO said...

Ah sure am, purty lady. Hyuk, hyuk.

July 10, 2006 8:28 am  
Blogger Sandra Ruttan said...

Damn boy, you've nailed it.

Can't wait to hear it in person.

July 10, 2006 2:54 pm  
Blogger Gabriele C. said...

Eeew, we've had summers like this, too. Torches and a sharp shovel, and my brother and I standing on the balcony directing my father, 'there a real fat one under the rose bush, wait, there's TWO real fat ones under the rose bush...'.

Too bad it isn't the sort you can fry in garlic oil.

July 11, 2006 12:53 am  

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