Pests

There are no snails in Rian's garden.

Slugs, yes. Big, fat, happy slow slugs. Nibbling at the hostas, sleeping under broken bricks, leaving trails beneath the hydrangea.

But no snails. Is not a snail simply a slug with a home on his back? Where Rian grew up snails thrived. Every morning one awoke to silvery roads shining across concrete. If one got up especially early, the snails were still out and about in armies, and one had to walk on tip toes to keep from crushing the creatures.

Where are they snails, in Rian's garden? Perhaps they cannot survive harsh winters.

Rian has, lately, been feeling much like a snail turned slug. Protection plucked away, vulnerable, naked.

I want my shell back, yes? Perhaps it is time to upsize.