No snail left behind

The other night, I accidentally stepped on a snail. And then I cried. Just a little, but it was more than I expected to feel. I just couldn’t escape the reality that I had ended the life of another living thing. This poor little snail who had worked so hard, and so slowly, to move from the plant where I’d seen him last, to wherever he was headed next. And here I came, this gangly destructive giant, and obliterated his journey, and his life, in one simple step. It seemed so unfair. Especially because he wasn’t hurting me, and I didn’t intend to hurt him. (I don’t, for example, feel bad when I kill mosquitoes.)

So something about this article, about a vet performing surgery on a stepped-on snail, resonated with me.

I don’t know that I’ll take a snail to a vet the next time I (inevitably) step on one, but I like knowing that other people think of snails as animals too, and that there’s someone else out there who thinks they’re worthy of living their lives (or two people, the woman who took it to the vet and the vet who took the time to fix the snail).

 

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