Snail Vendetta
I am now on every snail wanted poster, dead or alive. I am sure they have posters of my face plastered on the inside of every snail shell on Castle Hill Island.
Let me explain. Sam and I went to the beach last Tuesday for a romp in the sand. I wanted to see how she did if she got to just run, run, run for the whole day. She did really well, no yelling, having a very good time. We wandered next to the waves a bit and poked around in the mud. There were lots of tiny snails and some hermit crabs and lots and lots of old sea shells. Sam started to collect all the little snails and we got some crabs in too, by accident. When we went to the playground, Sam didn’t want to leave her friends behind, I didn’t think, just took them along.
Matt, at this part of the story, interrupted me. “You took the snails with you? What were you thinking?” Indeed, I wasn’t. You see, I thought I could just put them in some water with a proportionate amount of table salt and that would be it. As I read on-line about snails, I discovered they, like any other ocean creature, require a salt-water tank. I was not going to go to the pet store and plunk down hundreds of dollars for a tank and saltwater environment, water filter and who knows what else they eat. So we put them in a glass vase and Sam helped me put them to sleep on the porch before she went to bed. She leaned in and sang the alphabet song to them for bed time, then she went to bed.
The next day, first thing, she had to go downstairs and say good morning to them. After she came home from Jim’s and had lunch, we gathered up the bowl and set off again. It was about 2 in the afternoon, pouring rain off and on, and I was not about to travel on 93 through the heart of Boston in beginning rush hour in the pouring rain to return snails to their beach. So I told Sam that we would release them in Mystic Lake and they would find their own way back to their families. The only way I could convince her to let them go was to say they needed to be with their families.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she sat in her car seat on the way to the Lake talking to the snails, telling them how happy they were going to be to see their grandparents, aunts and uncles and mommies and daddies very soon. It broke my heart to hear her say that, knowing I was carrying them to their certain deaths. It’s amazing how guilty I can feel about silly little snails when my daughter is sitting there talking to them like they are talking back. I guess this is one of those black marks I get to have on my mommy record for all time.
So, I now refer to rule number one in wildlife walks: always leave wild things where you found them, no matter how small.
Let me explain. Sam and I went to the beach last Tuesday for a romp in the sand. I wanted to see how she did if she got to just run, run, run for the whole day. She did really well, no yelling, having a very good time. We wandered next to the waves a bit and poked around in the mud. There were lots of tiny snails and some hermit crabs and lots and lots of old sea shells. Sam started to collect all the little snails and we got some crabs in too, by accident. When we went to the playground, Sam didn’t want to leave her friends behind, I didn’t think, just took them along.
Matt, at this part of the story, interrupted me. “You took the snails with you? What were you thinking?” Indeed, I wasn’t. You see, I thought I could just put them in some water with a proportionate amount of table salt and that would be it. As I read on-line about snails, I discovered they, like any other ocean creature, require a salt-water tank. I was not going to go to the pet store and plunk down hundreds of dollars for a tank and saltwater environment, water filter and who knows what else they eat. So we put them in a glass vase and Sam helped me put them to sleep on the porch before she went to bed. She leaned in and sang the alphabet song to them for bed time, then she went to bed.
The next day, first thing, she had to go downstairs and say good morning to them. After she came home from Jim’s and had lunch, we gathered up the bowl and set off again. It was about 2 in the afternoon, pouring rain off and on, and I was not about to travel on 93 through the heart of Boston in beginning rush hour in the pouring rain to return snails to their beach. So I told Sam that we would release them in Mystic Lake and they would find their own way back to their families. The only way I could convince her to let them go was to say they needed to be with their families.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she sat in her car seat on the way to the Lake talking to the snails, telling them how happy they were going to be to see their grandparents, aunts and uncles and mommies and daddies very soon. It broke my heart to hear her say that, knowing I was carrying them to their certain deaths. It’s amazing how guilty I can feel about silly little snails when my daughter is sitting there talking to them like they are talking back. I guess this is one of those black marks I get to have on my mommy record for all time.
So, I now refer to rule number one in wildlife walks: always leave wild things where you found them, no matter how small.
posted by Anonymous | 7:23 PM
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