There is a slug convention going on in Berlin right now. They are everywhere and it is all I can do to keep from stepping on them or running them over with my bike tires. Annika told me she was collecting them in her bike basket the other day, I laughed. When we got to the park, I had her lay her bike on the side so that they could slither out while we played. Well, a couple made it out, a couple more hardly moved at all, and one did THIS:
I had no idea what to do. Annika said, “Don’t worry Mama, I’ll get it out.”
As she grabbed it with her fingers and began to squeeze tightly while pulling the slug, I had to turn away. It was one of those gut-curdling moments when your kid is going to do something that probably won’t bother them at all but is totally going to make you want to vomit. Sadly, the slug did not budge from this position. You would think with all that slime that it would just glide right out. No such luck.
We rode back to our apartment building.
The slug was still in the same spot.
I thought: I can’t take this into the basement! I guess I’ll have to get it out.
Annika said with an air of complete nonchalance, “It’s ok Mama. I’ll just cut it open. I wanna see what’s inside.”
I thought: Is this the first sign that she’s a serial killer…ok, probably not, just curious, but still ewwwwww.
I said, “No Ani. Let’s see if we can just get it out.”
I took one look and even made one attempt to actually reach for it before I did my heeby-jeeby dance. I called Andy. He is the kind of man who knows how to fix things. (Un)Fortunately, he was in the middle of fixing dinner and unable to come down.
I locked Annika’s bike up outside next to Andy’s and asked him to please remove the slug on his way out that evening. He forgot…probably because he was on his way to the biggest beer festival in the world.
The next day, we were packing up the gear to head out on a bike ride. The slug was STILL THERE in the EXACT SAME SPOT, a little dry but definitely alive.
Naturally, Andy barely even flinched as he pushed the slug through the basket with a stick and gave it to Annika to put in the grass. She promptly flung it on the ground and we had a little chat about treating living things with kindness (which shall from now on be referred to as the “Please-don’t-become-a-serial-killer chat).
I then asked Andy, “What does it say about me that I couldn’t do that?”
Andy said, “Nothing honey. That was disgusting.”