Well first off, here's a slightly blurry seasonal photo of me, standing in a field just on the edge of Aberdeen. This is for those of you who (understandably) really aren't that interested in following Gail's progress on her online 'Nature Writing' course.
I note, however, that a few commenters last week did enquire about how Gail's story about me peeing on a tree trunk was received.
It seems that the students are not awarded grades on this course, but the tutor does provide plenty of insightful feedback. And guess what he said last week? He absolutely loved all the bits about ME, and thought Gail's piece would have been even better if there has been more about my peeing habits, and less about the city council (I'm paraphrasing here). I'm liking this tutor already!
For this week's task, Gail had to write 500 words about some object that was or had once been alive, focusing on the senses other than sight, i.e. sound, smell, touch and, if appropriate, taste. I'm delighted to report that, once again, I feature front and centre in this true story.
Worse than 'Eau de Rotting Fish'
It was the crackling sound that caught my attention, just as I passed the door of the study. My dog Nobby likes to relax in there, curled up on the seat of an ancient armchair. Nobby is a serial chewer of all kinds of objects, animal, vegetable and mineral, but this noise was unfamiliar, the notes higher and thinner than when he’s attacking his current favourite, the deer antler I picked up in the hills a short while back. What on earth had he found now? Was it a pen or biro perhaps? I thought I’d managed to hide all those. At least it didn’t sound like the shattering of expensive varifocals, this time.
Then I entered the room and the smell hit.
Dogs born with a hunting instinct and an overdose of curiosity – and mischief – will present their owners with a wide range of ‘challenges’ to the olfactory senses. We will be familiar with the outcome of our beloved pup’s enthusiastic rolls in fox poo or a decomposing fish carcass (the male canine equivalent of the teenager drenching himself in Brut at a 1970s disco). Our noses will also recognise the unfortunate odours associated with tummy upsets caused by our Best Friend’s less discriminating food choices.
Today’s smell carried notes of all the above, amplified with a uniquely revolting overlay of pungent sweetness. With trepidation, I approached closer to investigate.
Part clamped between Nobby’s still enthusiastically chomping jaws, part smeared on the armchair, was a dark mass of semi-congealed slime. Mixed in with this, jagged fragments of gastropod shell, the coiled pattern still discernible. Texture-wise, think raw egg that didn’t survive the trip home from the supermarket. But texture was not the main issue here…
Horrified, I cried “leave it Nobby!” To my surprise, he released his prize catch. I fetched a disposable nitrile glove from my Covid-era supply and, suppressing a strong gag reflex, I scraped the fetid remains of what was once a garden snail (exact species indeterminate) off the cushion of the favourite old recliner.
How was it that this organism smelled so utterly horrid? To me if not to my pet, whose tastes are clearly atrocious. The snails I find alive and well in my overgrown back garden do not give off a unpleasant odour; neither do the faded empty shells of those long deceased. But a Google search reveals an abundance of eloquent and colourful accounts describing the dreadful stench emitted by dead snails. A friend later tells me that these creatures are known to secrete a toxic substance when scared, although she is not sure about any associated aroma. Well, if Nobby’s ‘treat’ was still alive when he first set teeth in it, I’m afraid it isn’t now. I only hope it has done him no harm.
I have a trip to Paris scheduled for early December. I shall not be tempted to choose ‘escargot’ from a restaurant menu.
Happy Nature Friday, and thanks once again to our LLB Gang friends for hosting this, always our favourite blog hop.
