31 July 2014
Black One. Not Too Big.
I had let the dog in and out. The Hammer was on the floor hoping I was going to phone in sick. I was at the kitchen table drinking coffee in my underwear. The Hammer knows there is always a chance I will stay home until she sees me pulling my work clothes on.
The Hammer got up as I rose and emptied my Millwall mug into my liquor ravaged gut. I walked over the same warm area she had vacated. As I did so I noticed a slimy sensation on my left foot. A slug had hitched a ride on the dog into the house and I had stepped on it.
Black one. Not too big.
If it had been a big one I would have vomited.
Somehow I had not killed it. It looked up at me with his half squished slug eyes.
He was not happy with me. Nor I with it.
I picked him up in a piece of paper towel and threw him out the window to Freedom.