This slug's for you

It’s rained here for the last two days on and off, and the air is humid and balmy. I’ve been dashing off to the garden in between showers, to check on the progress of the veggies that were on the cusp of picking.
So tonight as usual, my husband follows me out there before he leaves for work. He’s become more involved in the garden that I thought that he would, and his checking with me each evening is nice.
So tonight when we went out there, imagine my surprise when checking on the melons (they’re everywhere!!) to find a slug.
“Ugh” says I.
Husband says there’s a few more over here. Holds one up and wiggles it at me. “Ew, stop it!” I say.
I tell him to stop playing around and help me pick them off and drop them in the bucket, when he flings it at me! What the hell? He missed, but damn! So I go back to picking slugs, when I felt something move on my foot. I squeal like the girl I am, and Husband laughs at me. So I flung the slug at him, and it hit him square on the cheek, and it stuck there. I pointed and laughed at him gleefully, as he glowered at me disgustedly.
He departed for work, and I was left to pick slugs alone. When I looked over at the bucket, and the bastards were trying to get away!
So I went up front to the house, and retrieved three expired beer from the icebox, (Bud, foul stuff we bought for my father when he visits, thus having it in the first place, and thusly it being expired.)
The neighbors eyed me curiously as I headed out back with three beers in my hands, apparently having heard the squeals and the laughter.
I poured the beer in the bucket, and retrieved the escaping slugs. Who are not all that slow when trying to escape I’ve learned.
From there on out, I would call out to beckon them so that I might drop them to their slimy, foamy, drunken death.
“I’m gonna get 'cha, I’m gonna get cha” (Think Dorie, Finding Nemo stlye.)
I single-handedly brought mass murder upon a hundred or so slugs tonight.
So, again I say, this slug’s for you.

“Thank you Ralph, that was very graphic.”

Is beer-drowning more entertaining then salt-burying? I have always enjoyed watching the pests shrivel up and ooze under a pile of NaCl.

Ug, slug. Worse n’ a bug. Oozing over the rug. Make me want to chug.

Stepped on more than one in my time–thankfully while wearing shoes. Had a wee slug crawl up my leg once. Revulsion, horror, squealing, dancing and flinging ensued.

I don’t give them beer or salt–I like beer and salt, and I’d hate to ruin my own enjoyment. I pick them up if they’re in the plants, and I’m wearing gloves, with a trowel (can’t have too many layers between The Slug and I) and fling them into the woods. It usually takes a week or so for them to make it back to the garden.

Slugs. Ug.

Catch and release slugs! Do you tag their little ears so you know when one returns?

I discovered on a trip to Seattle that the only thing worse than stepping on the outside of a banana slug barefoot is stepping on the INSIDE of a banana slug barefoot that someone else previously stepped on the outside of while wearing shoes.

UGH. SLUGH.

I wonder what the sensation would be if you chewed on one.

When my daughter was a toddler and apt to put anything and everything in her mouth she once picked up a dead and dried up slug off the sidewalk and bit it in half before I could stop her. :eek:

We were mightily grossed out by that.

But she grew up just fine anyway so I guess you can bite a slug and grow up to be an upstanding citizen.

My pug ate one once. I know this because she threw it up somewhat later. If anyone wants to know, gastric juices turned it very stiff.

I heard you can put out roofing tiles or something similar in the garden and the slugs will hide under them during the day, allowing you to just step on them good and hard once a day.

Ask my dog. :frowning:

Escargot!!! :stuck_out_tongue: