I watched the rainfall from my window. Another cold, rainy afternoon with me indoors yawning. Then I heard a knock on my door. Mail!
It was a small yellow envelope. I thought it was for another occupant of my house, but when I saw the handwriting on the outside of the package, I knew. This was an ambassador from the magical kingdom of gastropods. Roger had arrived.
I tore open the package quickly. “Hello! Welcome!” I said.
Roger climbed out slowly. He was almost the size of my hand with a smooth brown shell and undulating, slimy flesh. The large eyes regarded me from the end of the stalks on his head. “Red isn’t your color,” he said.
Ah yes. The famous social graces of snails. Anyone who’s ever talked to a snail knows: they’re crotchety. But I didn’t ask this slow-moving creature here because he makes me feel good about myself; I asked him here because gastropods are wise and give good advice. Better than Google Maps on its good days.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Yes. Terrible journey. Take me outside, put me down on the nearest fallen log. And carry me, this shell is heavier than it looks.”
I fetched my umbrella and we went out to the nearest fallen log, a nice rotted one. Roger almost sighed with contentment but caught himself. “I almost didn’t come,” he said to me, digging in to the nearest organic matter.
“How come?” I asked.
“I forgot my magnifying glass and my pocket-watch. That watch is the only timepiece I trust. My great-grandfather made it!”
I opened my mouth to wonder why he didn’t trust satellites, but changed my mind.
“Anyway,” Roger went on, “that Prince of yours found me wandering Atlanta looking for the nearest post office drop-box and someone to help me with the envelope. It’s not easy downtown, for a snail.”
He chewed thoughtfully on a bit of moss, then spit it out. “Gross. Always try it, never like it. So your Prince fellow got me all packaged off.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here!” I said. “I’m honored.”
“Hm,” he said. “I’m overdue for another nap. I’ll see you tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Don’t wake me.”
And with that, he crawled inside his shell.
I could send him back. But as snails go, he is on the personable side. The last one I had, Richard, didn’t talk about anything but food… Snail food.
Roger will like it here with me. I’m happy to have such a small, wise companion. Making sure he doesn’t insult someone who’s never met a snail… Well, that’s a different story.
