We have a garden wind whimsy, made from plastic water bottles. The two halves turn gently in opposite directions in the breeze, and spin in the wind.
It’s cleverly designed, with precision construction. The chap who made it is dead now, and Mani has had to do a bit of re-engineering after a violent (for here) wind had it whirling wonkily. It amuses us.
I was idly looking at it the other day, letting a particularly challenging thing I was reading sink in … and look – something in one of the top cups.
But more – why?! What can have been going on in its tiny primitive brain? (You’ll note I’m carefully not ascribing gender to this snail.)
There it stayed, in full sun, through baking hot days, and wind-driven spins – with apparently nothing to eat or drink.
This morning, with even an hotter forecast, I thought I’d shift it to somewhere green and cool, damp and leafy – the kind of place I’d like to be if I were a snail not bent on self-cooking.
And – it had changed accommodation. It is now in a bottom-half cup.
Could it perhaps have gone right down overnight into the tub of comfrey the pole stands in, for a light snack or some company, and come up again to its high-rise apartment?
Please, all snail-psychologists out there – what is happening here?
If I intervene, am I spoiling some grand snail aspiration? Will I destroy some pioneering instinct that (if it ever manages to connect with a partner from these dizzy heights) will result in an evolutionary leap? What to do, as the temperature heads above 30 degrees again…. (BTW, these are not the snails that are good to eat, so leaving it there to cook is not one of the options.)