In the center of the above-pictured garden I had a couple of healthy-appearing rose bushes, until a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly the foliage disappeared. Now the plants are denuded except for thorns and a few wimpy blooms.
A garden expert confirmed the presence of SLUGS in our midst, characterized by slimy trails which we had seen earlier but couldn’t identify. SLUGS! Not welcome, and what should I do? Chemical pellets are out in my vocabulary because I love my “pet” chipmunk who eats, drinks, plays, and sleeps in my garden.
Nearly forever, I’ve heard of beer for slug treatment—and that seemed like the least invasive way to go. Better an inebriated chipmunk than a dead one! So I forayed through the firewater department of our supermarket, perusing the cans of beer while looking for the cheapest brand.
But wait a minute! It’s been so long since Joe and I had beer and pretzels, that I’d forgotten an integral fact of beer-ology. Every can of beer in the store is attached to 5 other cans! And I’d hoped that the contents of a single can would do in my slugs.
Someone told me that I could get a single can of beer at most convenience stores. So I raced into a local gas station mart, stopping en route to an appointment.
“I need a can of beer,” I announced hurriedly. The store attendant gave me a strange look, and said they didn’t stock beer.
Wanting to clarify my odd request I commented, “I need the beer for my slugs.”
As I left the store, the attendant looked even more puzzled. Maybe he thought “my slugs” were relatives and friends.
Later back at the supermarket, I relented and purchased a 6-pack of a St. Louis brew—foregoing Milwaukee’s famous product in order to economize. My slugs don’t have to have the most expensive beer.
At the check-out counter, I had to show my driver’s license. This pleased me immensely, as I fantasized that the check-out man thought maybe I was under age. Ha! I needn’t have flattered myself. It’s simply a state law, to show one’s ID when purchasing beer, etc.
Still feeling the need to explain my worldly purchase, I told the check out man, “I need the beer for my slugs.”
He answered, “Tell your slugs, the next time they want beer they have to bring their ID.”
Now several servings of beer have been placed in our gardens, in plastic containers left over from Marie Callender’s delicious cuisine. (Yes, Joe and I sometimes have frozen dinners. You can gasp all you want, but we’ll continue to enjoy them on occasion—thank you very much!)
This afternoon when I walked Dylan, I noticed that he kept trying to get into my gardens. Finally I let Dylan lead, and he went straight for the beer. He tugged on his leash, and obviously wanted a slurp. This I would not permit. I’ll leave the beer for the slugs—and the chipmunk, if he decides to be silly.
Margaret L. Been, ©2010