Snails

Something is going down. The word in the undergrowth is that it’s going to be big and there’s only one name in town.  The King of the Gastropods is back.  He’s rarely seen.  He only comes out at night when the grass is moist and the air is damp and cool but you can tell where he has been by his trail of slime.  He’s amassing his troops, thousands of them, preparing for battle. They’re marching across the lawns, across the driveways, up the plant pots and over the garden gates.  He’s commanding them from his lair in the fetid leaf mould underneath the Lavatera, dark and dank.  He’s communicating with them through his antennae that constantly twitch from side to side, picking up the slightest movement, the slightest signal.

The Snail divisions are heavily armed with coiled shells on their backs, defensively strong structures that offer protection from the heat and from attack but they are heavy and not as manoeuvrable as the Slug brigades.  They are the light infantry of his forces.  They can creep under stones and into nooks and crannies unencumbered by armour but they are vulnerable.  The Slugs lead the way, scout the locations, lead the attack and soften up the targets.  The Snails take up the rear and finish off the job in hand.  It has to be that way, the Slugs cannot be left out in theatre when the sun comes up.  The Snails at least have some protection should they be caught away from the barracks.

It is night time, it’s dark and they’re marching on their single feet, slipping and sliming and covering the ground slowly and steadily marking their way with their silvery tracks.  They’re crack troops with night vision goggles, making their way into your gardens, into your vegetable patches and in amongst your Geraniums to bite and chew and to masticate.  There are thousands of them and their mission is to destroy, to defoliate, to deflower whatever stands in their way and to take control of all the territory that is claimed by the King of the Gastropods.