A month or so ago. . .

Emerging from a winter so cold  and gray I nearly went mad, I anxiously set out to reclaim my garden from the season’s unforgiving hand.  I tread cautiously, winding my way over the freeze dried lawn, my toes scraped by the prickly carnage.  Just days before, I’d spread enough nitrogen to build a bomb, and felt triumphant, smug, as I tossed the chemical bag to the side and began watering.  I wanted green, and be damned how I’d get it.  I watched carefully for signs of life and was ready to take the next step.

Chin in hand, I studied the trays of  Begonias.  I’d been down this road before and couldn’t help but wonder at my sanity; but I’d done a little research, made a few mental notes, and I’d wage war if I had to.

I planted the flowers, feeling a little giddy at the display.

I checked them the following day, feeling eager and a bit too full of myself, but the emotion soon fled as I discovered something had had  its way with them.  With guarded optimism, I poured another shot of water over them and waited; yet disturbingly, they were even smaller the following day.

On my hands and knees, I inspected them closer, peering through the foliage while searching for some elusive clue.   Slimy trails wound their way through the freshly laid mulch, criss crossing it wildly.  Well fuckity-fuck, I thought to myself, they did it again.

I remembered the powdered baits I’d tried.  I took the creatures for fools and they mocked me, determined to reach the buffet of pink on the other side.  I remembered the  ton of diatomaceous earth I’d spread - I have no idea what it is, but it didn’t work either.  I’m certain they laughed while springing over it like a slinky.

I’d try something different this time; something simple, easy and cheap.  So there I stood, my liquid minions in hand - a couple dozen tiny bowls  and a twelve pack of  beer.  I’m sure I looked nothing short of insane.

Through a cloud of desperation, I waged war.  I twisted the top off a beer and took a long hard swallow before looking around to make sure no one was watching.  I alternated between sipping, digging, and watching until all the tiny holes were complete.  I set the bowls down into the holes.

I noticed my neighbor stepping outside, raising a bushy eyebrow.  I smiled, waved, and continued, topping each bowl off with a healthy dose of the beer.   In theory; they’d slither into the alcoholic moat and drink till they drowned.  It sounded pleasant enough.

I took a few more swallows and sat down Indian style on the front porch, silhouetted menacingly against the brick wall.  I swatted maniacally at the mosquitoes that were loitering around and picked away at the mulch that caked beneath my finger nails.  I finished another beer but I was getting tipsy and having second, and well, third thoughts.

With questioning eyes, family members took turns peering through the glass door, turning away and whispering things to each other.  I frowned, held up my empty bottle, and mimed them off (best done in combination for the scariest effect).   By now, my ass was falling asleep and I was running a little short on beer.

With all the clarity of a drunk in the dark, I made my way to the flowers but the walk rushed the alcohol to my brain and I saw nothing - they were waiting in the shadows for me to give up, or pass out.  It made no difference to them and I could have sworn my bushy browed neighbor peered through his window again.  Now three sheets to the wind and mosquito bitten; I was still no closer to a slug annihilation than before.  And so it goes…

I really have no idea exactly how the evening ended, but I’m certain I gave up and went inside.  Since no one had me committed and the flowers are still there, I’ll count it as a victory, but who knows how long it will last…