Introduction to the Slug-hunter

What I loved about my garden the slugs also loved: slugs of every variety - big black fat slugs, brown slugs, beige slugs, green slugs, slugs with an orange frill! There were thousands of slugs in my garden and their appetites knew no limits.

Every seed I sowed, every plant I planted was laid waste by the slugs. What had stood tall and full of promise by evening had next day been felled or had vanished completely.

Anger drove me to action. The pragmatist in me urged me to buy slug pellets and have done with the problem overnight: the environmentalist in me flew into a rage at this suggestion. I realised that I would have to become a slug-hunter, revolting though it may be as an occupation.

My fellow house-holders, the Co-collector and the Black Cat, advised me to practise organic gardening. There was an implication that my husbandry skills were poor, that I did not care for the soil nor nurture tender plants. The absence of a man in my life suggested other short-comings in my husbandry.

General Arion presented himself, and took to mocking my ineptitude. He and his henchman, Swaddie, criticised my every action in the garden, whilst thieving whatever took their fancy.

This diary is a record of my tribulations. Alongside my own comments are those of many another gardener enraged by the mollusc and also those of a more maganimous disposition.

© 2008-2010, Jane Brachi