Our very rainy weather yesterday brought out the creatures gardeners love to hate: the slug.
That is, unless that gardener is 3 years old.
We spent the majority of our day keeping the slugs outside of our home. Our house is just fine with the four of us, however our daughter disagreed.
"Sluggie is cold," she said, cradling the slug in her cupped hands. "He wants to stay inside."
"Out!" we demanded. And poor Sluggie was left to the porch, where he was unceremonious rolled around between the pavement and my child's fingers. "It's OK, Sluggie, I will find your sisters," she reassured it.
At one point, we had thought she was through with the obsession, and my husband quickly went to pour salt on a slug and it's "siblings." "Look! Daddy is making the slugs a bed!" she declared happily.
We cleaned up the aftermath quickly.
Still, she remained undeterred throughout the afternoon. Slugs came in the house. Slugs went out. Slugs stayed in her hands non-stop. Slugs were talked to and carried and, in a 3 year old's mind, clearly adored.
And finally, she declared, happily, while rolling more slugs between her fingers and the concrete, "Jesus gave me a slug present today."