Dim's Write Stuff

I may not be the most tolerant of people at times. But I do try to be charitable. I turn a blind eye when one of the chooks demolishes a chili plant. I don't mind the fruit bats gorging themselves silly on my guavas and mangoes night after night. I allow the wretched wasps to build their mud condos all over my house because they do such a good job rounding up the spiders and caterpillars for their babies. But the thing which sets my blood boiling is the nightly, ritualistic, denuding of my veggie patch by those slimy, stealth like, slug faced molluscs that call themselves, Snails. Don't be fooled by their cute whiskery apperance here either. Midnight torch raids have revealed a revelry of ruminating renegades. Marigolds droop, caught in a slick skin of slime like something out of Ghostbusters. Whole rows of seedlings are eradicated in less time than it takes to say What's Up Doc? Honestly, I have enough in my back yard to start my own French bistro. Apart from ...