Nothing But the Finest for our Backyard Friends

(Summer, 2005)

Our family recently took a weekend trip to upstate New York for a family reunion. We stayed in a quaint little town complete with lake for swimmers and boaters. One day while my oldest son, Grant, and I were wading at the water’s edge, we made a fun discovery. We shared the lake with freshwater snails. They were attached to a concrete wall that sectioned off the swimming area. Being a fledging homeschool mom, always on the lookout for a science lesson, I just couldn’t leave the snails there safe and sound. They’d have much more adventure in the energetic hands of my 4 1/2 year old. Carefully I peeled two unsuspecting creatures off the wall and put them in a bottle of water to take home, along with some intact empty shells we also found, just in case they survived long enough to grow out of their portable homes.

Amazingly enough, they weathered the seven hour car ride home in better shape than my husband and I, probably because they don’t have ears to hear recurring sounds like, “I’m hungry,” ”I have to go potty,” and my all-time favorite, the tearful, “Connor’s looking at me!” If I never hear Veggie Tales sing, On The Road Again, it’ll be too soon.

The easy part, actually, was getting the critters home. The hard part was figuring out how to house and feed them. Freshwater snails can attach themselves just about anywhere, but they’re picky eaters, preferring algae and microscopic cuisine. Where was I gonna come up with that? About the only gross thing in my home (besides whatever is growing at the bottom of my fridge) are dirty diapers. I could wait for the kids’ wading pool to turn green, but I wasn’t interested in entertaining mosquitoes as well. In the meantime, I placed the snails in a plastic container with some tap water. We have city water, which is chlorinated, and I wasn’t sure if our slimy friends could tolerate that. If they died because of the sanitary conditions, I had the comforting thought that at least they’d be well-preserved.

Apparently snails are tougher than they look, and very smart too. They know how to play dead. A few days after they settled into their home I decided to gently tip the fake Tupperware back and forth. Unfortunately our two new pets floated freely. I went outside to dump them before they started to smell, but when all the water and empty shells were on the ground, I found them clinging to the sides of the bowl.

They live!

Fortunately, by this time I had someplace more suitable for them. I’ve been rooting some ivy clippings in a bucket for later planting, and the water they’re sitting in has grown some algae. PERFECT! Welcome home boys! Or were they girls? Actually they’re hermaphrodites, but I’m not going to get into a sex ed lesson on snails. Look it up.

Satisfied that I had made the snails happy, I turned to another task at hand, this time dealing with some undesirable wildlife (as opposed to the slimy, one footed creatures with retractable eyes who now call the bucket of algae their home. Clearly I’ve lost my mind).

Recently Ryan and I have tried our hands at a backyard garden. If you’ve ever seen our property, this will make you laugh. Our house sits on postage stamp-sized turf, eighty percent of which is on an unuseable 45-degree angle. In our tiny backyard we have a swing set, sandbox, grill, patio furniture, kiddie pool, and...oh yeah...a bucket of green water with snails and rooting ivy. The kids never need to touch the ground when going from one thing to another. We cut the grass with scissors. Obviously I overstate the case, but you get the idea. Not much room for a garden, but we’re doing it anyway.

We’ve worked hard to cultivate our squash, peppers, and tomatoes, so when we realized we shared the backyard with a hungry groundhog, who made a burrow for his home on our hillside, I realized we’d never see ripe produce while he was at large. I immediately called animal control and they dropped off a trap.

I learned something about the intelligence of groundhogs, as opposed to the stupidity of raccoons. For example. Did you know you can bait a trap for a groundhog with the most succulent vegetables from the most expensive grocery store, and they will turn up their noses? Yet a raccoon will see an empty trap, say to himself, “why look, what an interesting contraption. Let’s see what happens if I crawl inside.” We’ve caught six raccoons this way, which is fine with me, because I’m tired of picking up garbage strewn all over my front lawn after they’ve ripped open the misnamed Steel Sak. “Hello, Hefty? I’m suing you for false advertising….”

Fast forward to today. I called animal control to pick up yet another ignorant gray creature we trapped sometime in the middle of the night. Before the officer showed up to empty the trap, I thought now might be a good opportunity to teach Grant about respecting wildlife. I took him out back to see the raccoon. “Oh, how cute,” he said, “but I think he misses his mommy.” How sweet, I thought, that he still has a tender soul that thinks of the animal’s happiness, unlike his cold-hearted mother whose main objective in life is to catch vermin, stand them all up in a row with blindfolds, and have them shot. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit harsh, and I don’t really feel violently toward God’s creatures. I love anything with fur or feathers...can’t get enough of them, really. I put bread out for the deer, fill the bird feeder for my winged visitors (and the squirrels, unfortunately), and even take pleasure on a stray cat passing through my backyard. I felt a little sorry for the forlorn creature in my prison, who looked up at me with sad eyes. But I can compartmentalize my affection for animals when it comes to the well-being of my kids and my garden. Off with his head!

I explained to my sweet son that even though wildlife is enjoyable to look at, he must never try to touch a wild animal, because she may bite and scratch in order to defend herself, and he could get hurt very badly. While Grant observed the incarcerated raccoon from a safe distance, I decided to check on the snails. I was not prepared for what I found.

The ivy that had been growing roots in the bucket were now strewn about, and not a single snail could be seen. At first I thought they had made their escape in the night. Then I saw it—broken shells all over the ground. I looked up at the cage, and quickly put two and two together. Apparently our raccoon friend came upon the gourmet dish while foraging, and had himself a tasty meal. Then, like the idiot he is, he climbed into the cage for an after dinner nap.

Just then the animal control officer came by to empty the cage. He thrust his pole into the contraption, lassoed the animal, and lifted him out. All at once the sweet, fuzzy creature with the soft brown eyes became an enraged, demon-possessed thrashing ball of teeth and claws. He did not ruffle the twenty-year veteran officer, however, who blithely swung the pole this way and that, down to the street where he placed the animal into another cage built into the side of his truck. In moments they were on their way to wherever animal control goes to put critters to sleep. I don’t feel guilty about his death in the least. He had a terrific last meal.

While my son played in the back yard with a potato bug he found, I reset and baited the trap with a piece of zucchini for the groundhog I know will not touch it. Next I placed the ivy back into the bucket of water, mourning the loss of the homesick snails that never knew what hit them. I’m sure they missed their mommies too.

Our next family reunion to New York will not be for two more years, but already I’m looking forward to trying again with more snails. I’ll have a bucket of fuzzy water sitting out in preparation for them, however, I plan to keep it higher up so our innocent creatures have a greater chance for survival.

Escargot anyone?

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