I was nine years old and my mother, brother, and I had just moved to a rural area in South Carolina to live with some friends for about a year. It was a totally new world for me, and since I am a curious chap, I was eager to explore it. One Saturday morning, I jumped out of bed, wolfed down some cold cereal, and then rounded up my brother and two of the neighborhood kids. “Let’s explore,” I said. And off we went to explore the nearby vegetable patches, woods, and as much of the surrounding area as possible.
        

Right near the garden, a quick movement caught my eye. When I went to investigate, I noticed a salamander, emerald-green in color and only about three inches in length. The creature quickly scurried away and fascinated, I followed him. He quickly disappeared into a bush, but he led me to a new fascinating discovery. Suddenly I noticed clusters of brown, tan, and white that piqued my interest. Intrigued, I drew closer, and then I picked up a few. I quickly realized that these strange-looking creatures were snails; they were so tiny – only the size of the first segment of my pinky finger.  Yet they were little tiny works of art. Each snail was decorated with a mint-like spiral groove in the center of its shell. I gently rubbed my fingers over the shells. The roughness felt like splintered wood. Some shells were cracked while others were glossy and smooth like plastic. They seemed so fragile. Their shells were as productive as a piece of paper wrapped around your arm to stop the blow of a hammer. I decided that I would like to take them back as a pet, so I inquired if anybody had a cage. As one of my friends jogged back to his house, I started to collect some of the shells. I assumed that there was going to be a snail in at least a few of them. When my friend came back, he brought me a cheap looking cage for amphibians; it had a bright-green top. I proceeded to place the snails within the cage and took them back to my house. Unfortunately, the snails stayed covert within their shells for more than my attention span could handle, and I left them alone.

Over time, I returned to the cages to see two of the brown shells had moved and one of the tan shells had also moved; however, I didn't see the actual snails. This recurringly happened until eventually a week later when the shells eventually stopped moving. Upon asking my brother why, he responded, “They probably died. What did you expect when you didn’t feed them?” I felt guilty and took them back to where I had found them. I returned the cage to my friend and gave up on keeping snails. I still visited the spot to hope to see a snail moving.

A few weeks before I had to move, I was visiting the dry spot in spring. Most of the shells were gone from the first time I had traveled there. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brown spec moving ever so slightly between a few blades of dark green grass. Moving up to investigate, I saw its light-brown skin and lilliputian white dots covering its skin in rows. Its long antennae like eyes were moving leisurely to judge its next move. A smirk of amusement emerged on my face, and I, being content, strolled back to the house.