Sammy the Snail

Last winter, Ken and I had a house guest. He was very quiet; he didn't eat us out of house and home; he never wore his shoes on the white rug; and he never left wet towels in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Sammy the Snail moved in with us by accident, on the potted chives, when we brought them indoors for the winter. It was around 3 weeks before we even noticed him. We figured that since he was in, he may as well stay. And so it was that he enjoyed a luxury winter get-away that would have been the envy of any snail.

I thought I should do a little research on snails, so I consulted the online resources. One of the first things I learned was that snails are just slugs with shells on.

Ew.

Suddenly he seemed slightly less cute.

But I got over my squeamishness. He had a cream and brown pinstripe shell, and those cute eyeballs on stalks - how could I resist him? No, he was more than a slug. Although I would still keep him away from salt.

Sammy alternated periods of inactivity with bursts of Super Snail energy. For a week he'd be sleeping in the same spot in the chive pot, and then one day we'd come home and find him halfway up the nearest wall. He also liked to check out the other potted plants in my collection. He'd get himself up onto the rim of the chive pot, and s-t-r-e-c-h his sluggy body over to the next pot rim. Then he'd swing over. You could actually hear his shell go "Clunk!" against the pot.

Sometimes Sammy pushed his explorations too far, and he fell. A couple of times, Ken found him on his side on the rug, looking shriveled and half-dead. Ken picked Sammy up and rushed him to the kitchen where Ken fried him in garlic butter put him in a dish with a little water, until Sammy re-hydrated. When Sammy recovered himself enough to start scooting around the dish, Ken returned him to the chive pot.

Of course, spring finally came, and when the chives went back out onto the patio, Sammy went with them. We bid him a fond farewell and wished him well.

This fall I waited expectantly for a knock at the door. I thought I'd open the door, not see anyone there at first, and then look down. And Sammy would be there, with a tiny suitcase, ready to move back in with us for another cozy winter of wall-climbing, pot-exploring, and long naps.

No such luck. I hope he's hibernating somewhere safe.