Molluscs

 

I have a sad story and a happy story and they both involve molluscs.

Last night, a few hours after I got home from Emergency with my broken toe, I had the screen door open because one of the larger slugs was on the inside track tidying up for me and I didn’t want to disturb it while it had its head stuck down in the trough. So I just kept half an eye on the open door to make sure no mice crept in, and got on with my dinner.

When I was done, I hobbled over to the doorway and instead of crouching down as I normally would I lay down because that was easier on my toe. So there I was draped over the threshold with one little slug nibbling – well, radulating – and one big slug doing the same, and a couple of others down below on the pavement mucking about.

I greeted them all, my friendly allies, and took note of the pleasant air where no screen was there to stop it from moving against my skin. And I took a few relaxed breaths and watched them at their work. I had with me a small piece of apple to see if I could lure my large friend from its task.

There was something comforting about breaking up this little piece of fruit and distributing it amongst them. Comforting because I was treating them as I would any other creature, rather than simply despairing or resenting because of the work they do on plants I’ve been cultivating, or being grossed out because of their form and fluid state.  Comforting to drop the illusion of being enemies.

The little one stretched out its tentacles as it inspected its piece and the two below moved towards theirs at that gentle pace that slugs employ. But the chunky one on the inside of the threshold didn’t even blink. There was something delicious in that trench, that place that I can’t get at very easily to clean, so I left it to its meal.

You know how, when you are around people who are revved up and ready to dance, their energy can be infectious and before you know it you are revved up, too. Or when you are with praying people or meditating people that can inspire you to feel prayerful or meditative, in that moment. I found that being up close to these beings, with nothing I needed to do, watching them moving in their sedate way, I slowed down, as well. And as I watched them move, extending their tentacles or changing direction in a slow but flowing manner, I began to realise that if they were humans moving in that way and not these creatures that people find so horrifying, I would describe the movement as sensual or like a dance.

I became mesmerised and very happy spending time with them.

I went away and returned when it was time to go to bed. I needed to move my little friend whether it liked it or not. But when I returned it had made a fast track across the doorstep and up the frame halfway to the top. As gently as I could, I took it by its waist and began to detach it. This action met with great resistance. Slugs are very good at gluing themselves to things when they want to. I wonder what kind of substance it is that can both act as a lubricant to move across and a glue so they can’t be pulled away. Even when I had peeled the entire length of this being’s body away from the frame its chin stuck fast. I began to worry I’d do damage if it wouldn’t let go, so I used another finger to jimmy it loose. The amazing thing to me was, when I placed it down on the apple bit, it went straight to nibbling, completely unflustered by our struggle a moment earlier.

It is a deep pleasure to find again and again that time spent in quiet observation of beasts, from bears to cats to spiders to slugs, always leaves me with the sense of having been fully and wonderfully alive.

I have changed my mind about one thing. I’m not going to tell you the sad story. Let’s stay with this one for a bit.

Image of a small slug in the door frame. Casey June Wolf.