Beware the Ghost Slug

You'll love this.

I promise.

Call of the Wild

Dear Readers,

I do apologize for missing last Friday's Featured Creature post, but I'm afraid I was on the run.  You see, all of the denizens of the dirt, along with several among the creatures that prowl the open areas of the Earth and those who prefer the sky, they all are clamoring for attention.  It's almost like being stampeded by kindergartners, what with all the cries of "Me! Me! Pick me!" for the next feature.  Fear not, however. I will begin again shortly, once the uproar settles in. But for now, I can hear them approaching, and I must do my best to do what no slug was ever meant to do: run.

~A nameless slug in the Pacific Northwest

No Ransom Necessary

My dearest readers,

I apologize profusely for being gone so long. The aliens who kidnapped me were very strict about their computer access policy while we were in near enough orbit to hook into Earth's blogosphere. As it turns out, these particular aliens have decided that they would rather not take over planet Earth just yet. They found that the majority of the population had brains that were tainted by so-called "reality" TV, and were therefore unsuitable for invasion. I admit I find this odd, because I would think that minds so enthralled by such pursuits would be easily overtaken. In truth, the Titans assured me that they could take over such minds, they just found it distasteful to play puppet masters after a non-sentient entity had already taken control.

Now if we can just be as successful with the aliens who attack humans for their laundry quarters, we'll be in fine shape.

Slug in Peril!

I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one tentacle, it's horrific. All that salt, and what if a few grains have shifted out of line or left residue on the supposedly clear paths?  On the other, this could be a poster for the best action movie ever made.

A Slug's Resolve

Sadly, the wondrous icicle slug and her young have melted away, but their passing means that the weather has warmed enough for me to return to my blog. I would like to extend my personal welcome to 2009, and offer up a few resolutions for the new year.

In 2009, I resolve to:

1. Climb to the top of a very tall tree (not the kind that is about to be chopped down and sent to Hawaii for Christmas). Take that, Mr. Fly!

2. Invite friends over for dinner more often. What's the point of munching on a lonely cabbage leaf when there are plenty of leaves—and slugs—to go around?

3. Promote the underappreciated animals of this world. For the rest of the year, I'll be featuring a different unsung hero each Friday so you can learn a little more about the creatures with whom we all share this world. As Robert Anton Wilson mentions at the opening of his Schrödinger's Cat trilogy, the six-or-more-legged beings far outnumber all other life on this earth. While it is not just the insects I'll be giving their due, you can be sure that fuzzy little kittens and sad-eyed seals will not be making the list. They're fine creatures, I'm sure, but there's more to life than being cute. Take it from a slug (even if I am a rather good-looking slug, if I may say so).

Cheers!

Creature of Myth

Today, I would like to introduce you to a rare and wonderful creature. From my childhood, I remember hearing tales of the crystalline beauty of the icicle slug, but never did I see the fabled creature. Here, now, I present you photographic evidence that not only does the icicle slug exist, but it has a young icicle slug with whom to share its...dare I say it...iceberg lettuce and other such delicacies.

Take a moment to marvel in the wonder of the rare and wonderful icicle slug.

Slugs don't yawn

I'm not sure whether it's a benefit or a disappointment, but slugs aren't much for yawning. Yes, we do have mouths (and teeth--how do you think we munch all those cabbages?), but we just don't yawn a whole lot. If we did, I'd be yawning right now. It's icy cold and snowy and I merely squirmed up from my lovely warm hole in the earth to grab a bite or two to eat and check my email (more on that later this week). As I was sleepily munching on some leaves of perfect vintage, I thought to myself, "I wonder why I'm not much inclined to yawn." Maybe it's because I don't need as much oxygen as you mammalian types. I'll have to look it up when I'm less sleepy.

For now, may your doorsteps thaw enough that you never go hungry. I'm going back where it's damp and dark and not quite so chilly.

~A nameless slug in the chilly Pacific Northwest

Quick! First aid for Mister Fly!

Last Friday, I made reference to the "Mister Fly" song in my post. It turns out that a great number of people were not exposed to this song in their youth, I'm sorry to say. I heard it not too long after the phonics incident, but many times over as I dwelt beneath the children's room window of the local library. While I have always enjoyed the song's lively lilt and it's dark side, I choose to disregard the overall message given in the last line. My Internet searches for the lyrics only turned up a couple of sites that made reference, and those posted are just a little different from my own baby-slug memories of the song. So here I give you, from memory, my rendition of the song. If anyone knows the composer of this piece, please do let me know. I'll save my best cabbage for her or him.

The Tragic Tale of Mr. Fly:

Mr. Fly climbed up a tree,
Cried "I'm high as high can be!"
Lost his grip, came crashing down
Smashed to pieces on the ground

When the insects heard the sound
Echoing for miles around
They began to buzz and cry,
"Quick! First aid for Mr. Fly!"

"Get a bandage, get a splint!"
"Where's the liniment and lint?"
"Someone give him aspirin!"
"Should we call the doctor in?"

Then a wise old flea spoke out,
"You don't know what you're about.
He's beyond the reach of aid;
Get a pick and get a spade."

Then at last those insects knew
What they really had to do.
Now his tombstone bears the scrawl:
He who climbs too high must fall.

***

It's not quite the same read as it is sung, but this will have to do. At least until I release a "Nameless Slug Sings: Dirges in the Pacific Northwest" album.

Ouch...But Why?

I believe I have mentioned before that I don't find my cousins the snails to be the brightest of creatures. Need I say why?

I don't care how tasty someone tells me it is; if I see something that looks like that, I'll send my slime trail in the other direction.

Potentially Serious

This news item torqued my tentacles today.

Hawaiians importing Christmas trees from Oregon seems logical when one thinks about it; I'd simply never thought of it before, agnostic gastropod that I am. But leave it to a snail specialist to make sound as though the impending slug army was about to spell doom for all vegetables in tropical paradise.

I shudder to think of those sandy beaches and wide-open searing blue skies. Perhaps, rather than rushing to judgment of the unfortunate travelers' intentions, the plant specialists might have turned an ear downward and listened to the mournful cries for the grey drizzle of home.

My dear trans-Pacific friends, I hope you are well, but I fear that at the mercy of a snail specialist--as if snails are so terribly complex as to require a specialist of their own--you may have met an untimely demise. May the cool winds and warm rains of the Aftermulch shroud you in their care.

Farewell.

Why Not Celebrate?

Since today is the American Thanksgiving holiday, I thought I'd come up with a list of things I'm thankful for:

Rain
Slime
Questions
Clouds
Rotting cabbages
The Thanksgiving food scraps in the trash
Compost piles
Dirt
Other slugs

And, of course, blogs.

Go, Bigfoot, Go!

Forget the economy, the weather, and any other kind of crisis. Here is the news you need to know:

Oh yes, we are "exotic" beasts.

Do you really think our only transportation options are a)boat, or b)house plant?

Anyone up for a slug invasion? (The writers of that article obviously missed an earlier grammar lesson I offered.)

I guess it was a slow news week in Alberta.

Unseen and Unheard

Google check:

Are our dear friends still flagging the word "eyestalk" in their spellcheck?

It seems they are. Oh, Googods, will you ever learn?

Also, for those of you criminal-to-be types out there, having a typo in your post date format is no longer just an error. It's now illegal. Just type 11/31/2008 into your own blog time stamp and see. Keep an eyestalk out for the time code police.

You don't have a blog? You'll just have to take my word for it.

Musing on the Muse

I believe I've mentioned before that I have a love of science fiction writers, in part because they have always been open to the wonders of the weird. This interview tells me that love is fully justified. Check out the answer to the third question. Sadly, that author's story has nothing to do with slugs, and the lack of rain makes it a rather horrific story indeed.

The News You May Not Know

I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for the bats or cheer for the mold.

Maybe a little of both. I have nothing against bats--they're as maligned as often as slugs--but that's some enterprising mold there, and I can't help but admire.

Mug o' Slug

I realize that a lot of people out there aren't too fond of slugs, but I feel the need to point something out. We come in many shapes, colors, textures and sizes, but a good many of us-- myself included--are the exact same color as that other Northwest favorite, the perfectly roasted coffee bean.

What's not to love?

Please?

I've been looking around, but in response to my earlier post, no one has yet dropped a signed, unsealed ballot on the ground for me to vote. Did I offend by asking? Or is it simply that no one has a ballot to spare? I'll keep a lookout for one more day, but I think it's unlikely that I'll have a say in the American leadership of the next four years.

At least that saves me from the quandary I have yet to solve: how does a slug get a ballot envelope into the mailbox?

Celebrating the Northwest

I just thought I'd share some typical Northwest scenery with my beloved readers.

No, slugs don't usually climb too far up into trees, but then again, neither do ferns. Apparently, no one told this one.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

And a merry slshhlshlhsshl.

Reminder

Just a reminder to the good folk of Google:

I notice that eyestalk has not yet been added to your spellcheck dictionary. Once again, I urge you to add it at your earliest convenience. I assure you that the word is indeed valid, and have had an opposable-thumbed friend check it out in the dictionary to confirm.

Slughugs,
~a Googling gastropod

Slugs Can't Shrug

This is one of the primary problems in gastropod-human relationships: slugs cannot--no matter how much we want to--shrug. We have no shoulders. The most we can manage is a sort of heaving forward with our upper bodies, which generally looks like we're trying to run away but our tails have gotten stuck to the ground.

You see, I believe that we are perceived as unfriendly because of our lack of ability to shrug. I might be just casually crossing a body's front porch, and when the front porch's owner steps out and says, "Just what do you think you're doing there?" if I could, I would surely give a genteel shrug with downward cast eyestalks that says, "Oh, just passing through, didn't mean to bother you. I'll be on my way." And that would be that.

But without the shrug, I am a cold, rude invader. I seem, to the uninformed, to be deliberately ignoring all attempts at friendliness. Without the ability to communicate multitudes with a casual gesture of my nonexistent shoulders, all is lost.

Slugs are not snobs; we're not unfriendly types at all. So put the shovel and the shoe and other tortures beginning with "s" away. If we slugs can forgive you your heavy-wheeled garden carts and ridiculously double shod feet, I beg you to forgive us this one foible, that we cannot communicate, as you do, so eloquently with a simple shrug.