'Look, it's not that I think you are an ugly mofo per se,' I assert. 'It's just that...'

'But you said it.' The slugs words almost drip slime in the air, they are so liquid, like it is talking underwater. I am already ashamed for what I said out aloud, so I slowed down my hearing so I could at least make a show of being considerate before I stomped on the asshole. There's no real need to call a bug a mofo before you squish it. That's just a double insult.

'Yes, but you did just wipe out the brassicas overnight. Forgive me, but I'd be calling the most Anne Hathaway of you a ugly mofo. I'm just not feeling your vibe right now.'

'Vibe? Girl, we're just surviving here. We don't have supermarkets. We have whatever is in this few square feet of garden. What would you have us do?' As it spoke, it's pseudopodia extended from it's foot, exploring the soil around it as if ready to eat lettuce seedlings right in front of me. The cheek!

'Go somewhere else?' I'm losing patience. I'm feeling attacked. This is my garden. How very dare they.

'What exactly is your problem?' a chorus of slugs bubble at me. Silver slime trails behind them as they gather in their masses in front of me.

'Wait - is that a placard she's holding?' I ask, incredulous. 'Are you freaking kidding me? What does it say?'

'Maaate' the main slug says. 'First of all, that's a bit ignorant. She's not a she no more than I'm a she or a he. You know we are hermaphrodite? We have a bit more of an interesting and creative response to reproduction than you lot. Never heard of a love dart?'

'Ew' I say. I don't really want to know about the mating rituals of slugs. 'And what is that noise?' I ask. Suddenly I realise it's a crowd of slugs chanting. "Slugs Unite, Nature's Cleanup Crew in Sight!" shout a gang at the back.

"Step by Step, We Garden Prep!"

"Gooey Glory, Soil's Success Story!"

"Trailblazers of the Earth, Sliming for Rebirth!"

'That sign?' the leader of the slug gang says, dripping slime. 'It says SLUGS HAVE RIGHTS'.

I'm starting to feel a little abashed here. The little wet slimy buggers have a point. They contribute, in their own way. Breaking down the soil, aerating it - all useful stuff. And I don't even pay them.

'So what do you want?' I say.

'Leave us alone!' they glug and gurgle. 'Spray us with a bit of water - it's really hot!' says a guy at the back. I mean - a hermaphrodite. It's hard to remember these things, when it comes to slugs.

'What about a bowl of beer?' I say.

'OOOOh, yes please!'

I should have called them *stupid" mofos.

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***Note, a beer trap is a tried and true recipe for trapping slugs and snails. They can't resist the yeast. Sorry sluggies - you must die.

***Slugs are good for the soil - like most garden 'pests', they have their place.

**Images by Midjourney. Slugs can't spell to save themselves.

*This post was written in response to this week's Hive Garden #creativegarden challenge which you'll find via @gardwnhive. It was meant to be a conversation with an insect, but I got half way through a conversation with a gang of thug slugs so had to continue anyway.

With Love,

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