A lot of time has passed since then, and you might say that my views on the slug issue are EVOLVING. That's because I've recently become interested in growing hostas, which apparently fill the same dietary role for slugs that Queso Dip fills for humans. The slugs in my backyard have been gorging themselves each night while I'm asleep, in what appears to be an all night movie binge and hosta snack-a-thon. As I look at the decimated, hole-filled remnants of my former hostas, my only consolation is the knowledge that my slugs are probably filled with self-loathing when they consider how much they ate the night before. I know it's vindictive, but I hope my slugs are no longer able to fit into their cute jeans, and are lurking underneath my stone-work right now with their give-ups on.
|Here's what my Hostas look like now :(|
"Hey guys! What's this over here? I think it's a buried tunafish can filled with beer!" the slug exclaims.
"AWESOME!!!!" The other slugs chorus.
And then, somebody yells "CANNONBALL!!!" And all the slugs pile in, having the most fun of their slug lives.
Then, when the first slug decides that he's swam enough and he wants to get out and eat some more hostas, he realizes that he's TRAPPED IN THE BEER. That's when the party gets ruined.
In essence, that's what I have planned for the slugs in my shade garden. You may think it's cruel, but I actually think it's a pretty humane death. In all honesty, if we were allowed to pick our own death's I think Sean would likely choose DEATH BY BEER. My only hang-up is the loving memory I have of Beauty and Spot. They would be so appalled if they knew what a monster I have become. So, in remembrance of them, I have decided to dedicate a small corner of my garden as a slug sanctuary, which I vow never to contaminate with slug bait and beer. RIP Beauty and Spot. You will be missed. As for the rest of you, I know how much you are missing your fallen brethren. It would mean so much to me if you would join me for a drink in their honor.