Saturday 12 November 2016

Natural Born Pest Killer? Not Me!

Natural Born Pest Killer? Not Me!

As an ex farmer I had a survival mentality regarding pests on the farm. However I didn't go shooting all and sundry with a shotgun, spending trigger-happy hours camouflaged, blazing away. In fact, although I did have a small .410 bore shotgun. I only used it twice in ten years for pigeons, but missed both times by a mile. I didn't allow much rough shooting on my grassland farm but did give permission for two villagers, each on a mission to shoot pigeons or foxes. Pigeons weren't a problem, or rabbits, but after a fox massacred 40 of my free-range hens and left their bloody and headless carcasses strewn  over a half mile radius  I gave permission to the foxy one to go a hunting. He spent several weeks,  perched in a tree every night, overnight. And he finally shouted up at my bedroom window at five in the morning to display his trophy - a handsome red dog fox. 'Ok if I keep it?' he asked. 'Yes please' I yawned. So I killed by proxy. I'm obviously not a natural-born killer.

These days I have a suburban garden and the pests are smaller, but equally hard-hitting. I used to kill wasps on sight, but apparently they are now good insects, killing other insects that eat or maim plants and pollinating, so I now have a live, let live and avoid wasps philosophy. 
Not so with slugs and snails: I squish and quash, trap, drown, get them drunk and poison them with little conscience. It's a messy job, and I've got to do it, no-one else in the family will. 
But I'm getting soft in my dotage. Killing these creatures is bothering me. Yesterday I sat on my patio in the sun with a cup of coffee in my hand, watching an elongated black slug slithering towards a pot of enticing young seedlings. It had visited there the previous night - threadbare stalks were left as evidence. As I watched it get nearer and nearer its succulent goal I knew what I had to do, but I really didn't want to be its executioner. Finally and reluctantly I plucked up courage, picked up a brick and did the deed. Crunching snails is having a similar effect on me.
I spoke to an irishman who was in my audience recently, and he told me that as boys back in Ireland, they used to earn a few bob from the local farmer. They had to crawl on hands and knees through root crops, pick out the slugs and squish them between their forefingers and thumbs. He had to admit that the work was extremely messy and unenjoyable.
Not for me definitely.
And here's my slug dedication to Doug - my pet slug (Illustrations Don Mann)





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