Having a body resembling that of a slow moving garden slug means dark green envy spills over when I spy a slug catapulting himself up my gable end, or up the stem of a plant.
Watch them, they really aren’t all that slow moving at all.
This morning I watched a light brown slug on my living room windowsill. His entire body swinging in open space, his back-end the only piece securing him to the cliff edge of the sill.
Extending his body, he tried to reach the ledge, only every time he stretched, he missed. He then attempted folding his body back on himself, as if using his own torso as a rope to return to the safety of the windowsill, that too failed. Next, he began swinging himself about, like a climber dangling from a rope on a cliff face, hoping to launch themselves back onto pockets of rock, only there was too much space between the slug and the wall beneath the sill.
Finally, he began emitting his slug slime, creating a rope between his back-end and the sill, lowering his body toward the safety of solid ground. Centimetre by centimetre I watched as the slug transformed into a new species of spider-slug, until his rope snapped and he free-fell the final few centimetres.
The last I saw of him, he was headed toward the security of my lawn, where I can only assume he intends to have a deserved nap before resuming his day as an adventurous garden slug.