The Fall Of Snail Kingdom

Throughout history, the fall of an empire has often been sudden and surprising: some unexpected turn of events occurs and all comes tumbling down. So, too, was it with the little principality known as the Grand Snail Hotel.

Those who have read the posts regarding Children and Pet Animals - and its sequel on The Grand Snail Hotel, will be primed to understand this post. If you haven't I suggest that you do, otherwise it will be meaningless.

You may recall that my wife and I found our sons building The Grand Snail Hotel in the lobby. It was constructed of plastics and provided a haven for gastropod life on our stairwell. It was also quite beautiful to look at. My wife promised to photograph it once we came back from the shops that evening.

Well, we did come back - but boy were we surprised at what we saw.

As the door to the lift opened, I saw my neighbour, with his back turned to me. In his right hand he held a large hammer. That didn't look good. Worse still, as I approached him, to investigate this strangeness, I saw that someone had kicked the hell out of the Grand Snail Hotel: it was lying in ruins in the stairwell, as if it had been attacked in anger. As I drew level with him, I saw something else: a blue powder on the floor to my neighbour's left: insecticide, I surmised, from the context.

After my sons had happily finished work on their hotel, and went back inside to loll contentedly by the television, mulling over their good deed, my neighbour had ventured from his home with a hammer and insecticide and set about killing my sons guests.

He looked at me and spoke in explanation: "Your sons have brought snails up here...they will eat my orchids."

It was quite surreal hearing a grown man speak of snails eating his orchids while he clutched a large hammer in one hand - and had once held insecticide in the other. It was like stumbling upon a serial killer quietly explaining why he was wiping out the neighbourhood: "They were eating my hamburgers." - or the like.

I nodded, to assuage him, thinking, that, noting the anger in his voice and the hammer in his hand that this was the most diplomatic choice at that moment. Besides, it was too late for most of the snails. They had either been squashed with a hammer - such a violent way to resolve the issue - or poisoned to death.

"It's a project." I pointed out, gently, putting the whole episode into the context of a child's exploratory life. I rather thought that, being Singapore, giving the situation an educative slant might mollify him. However, it didn't seem to.

He mumbled on some more about saving his orchids and I just nodded at what seemed like grammatically correct moments. I couldn't help but notice that he was all but choking on his own anger.

"Ask them to take them away by the end of today." He requested, at last.

I just nodded and oddly said: "Thank you."

I then went inside and told the boys the dreaded news about their now defunct snail colony.

"What?" was their simultaneous reply, as they leapt up to see what harm had befallen their guests.

I heard our neighbour explain to them that the snails would eat his plants so they had to go. He suggested that they gather them up - the survivors that is - and put them in a bucket so that they couldn't escape. He also said he wanted them gone by the end of the day.

They duly gathered them up into a bucket, covered it and left the snails alone for a few hours. By the evening it had gone.

This whole episode brought home to me what is wrong with Singapore. Kids are just not encouraged to play. The randomness of a good childhood is not thought worthy. There was so much to be learnt by my children through simply playing with and nurturing those snails - but that was not appreciated. It was taken to be a "naughty" act - which in this case was punished with the death of the snails.

Were his orchids really being eaten by the snails? I saw no evidence of them having left the stairwell...so no, I don't think so. They were well fed where they were and so had no need to seek food elsewhere.

I remember something funny now about our conversation. I pointed out to him, on hearing that they would supposedly eat his orchids that the children had left out food for them. "Yes," he said, delivering his words as if they were to be news for me: "Lettuce from your fridge."

I could hear in his voice that he expected me to be angry at this. He thought that I would see this as "naughty" and punishable, that I would somehow side with his world view and come down on my children for having the temerity to improvise a use for the food in my fridge. I knew then, that he really didn't understand my attitude to childhood - nor, what in my view, is a healthy attitude to parenting. For me, it is great if the children do something of their own volition. I like them to experiment. I personally couldn't understand why he would be so concerned about "misuse" of lettuce. It is more important that the children learn something, than that I have lettuce in the fridge. I can always eat something else - but they might never have another chance to learn this particular lesson.

I said nothing, however - for what could I say that would be understood by one whose views on parenting and childhood were so different from my own? I let it go, in silence.

I wonder what my children thought when they went outside and saw the ruins of their Grand Snail Hotel. What would they think of adults? They would have been confronted with the image of a man with a hammer, some blue powder on the floor - and a crushed hotel. How would they feel that their creative work - for all play is creative - should be so disregarded by an adult, that it should be destroyed in this way?

It was not what you would call encouraging for their efforts to receive this treatment. I am only thankful that I don't think Fintan noticed that snails had been killed. I am sure Ainan made the connection, however, but he said nothing to Fintan, which was sweet of him.

Together they gathered up the few snails that remained and made their goodbyes to them that afternoon.

Neither of them said anything about it - but I could feel that they were both disappointed. No doubt it has added something dark to their impression of the adult world. It would go something like this: "We build...adults destroy." or "We care...adults don't."

I am sure they understood the point about the snails eating the plants - but even so, the snails could have been moved by consent. All the neighbour had to do was knock on the door and ask them to take the snails away. He most certainly should not have set about killing them with a hammer. That is ugly - and unsettling.

Had I been in his position, I would have taken the "knock on the door" approach. It would never have entered my mind to start killing the neighbour's pets, simply because I didn't like them. In most places, that would be regarded as a crime. It probably is here, too.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged seven years and eight months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, four years and one month, and Tiarnan, eighteen months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, College, University, Chemistry, Science, genetics, left-handedness, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, gifted adults and gifted children in general. Thanks.)

Construction of the Grand Snail Hotel

Childhood doesn't seem so far away, when one has children to observe, at play.

At the weekend, Fintan, 4, and Ainan, 7, decided to make their snails more at home. (See the post Children and Pet Animals, for background). They decided to build the Grand Snail Hotel.

The Hotel was quite large, if you were a snail. It was built on the landing of the stairwell outside our flat, between our flat and the neighbour. The construction materials were of the lasting kind: polystyrene and a range of plastics (selected, I believe, by Ainan, because the snails would be unable to eat their residence, it being made of inedible plastic. This is always a good consideration, when one's hotel guests are hungry and unable to distinguish between food and furniture.)

The Grand Snail Hotel had all the attributes of a great and thoughtful hotel. Some polystyrene with a dip in it about a foot and a half long, provided what was, to scale, an Olympic sized swimming pool. Another section with a ramp leading up to it (for snails, like disabled people, are not good with stairs, and need ramps to reach elevated areas), provided a kind of dormitory where snails could sleep en masse. There was a snail restaurant providing the best of leaves - the staple being lettuce from my fridge - and even a supermarket, where there was a large store of unused vegetable leaves, for later purchase by any self-catering snail. The entire complex was self-enclosed in its own wall, protecting the nibbling snails from the difficult environment they might find in the world outside. All in all, it was a masterpiece of Snail Architecture. Credit for the Architecture goes to the creative team of Fintan Nadym Cawley and Ainan Celeste Cawley, who were the sole designers of this innovative construction initiative in the nascent hotel field known as Gastropod Tourism.

Anyway, all this actually happened and was carefully explained to me by the earnest architects: Ainan and Fintan. My wife and I were most impressed at the miniature compound they had created for their adopted snail pets.

As we left to go shopping, my wife called back at Ainan and Fintan: "We will take a photograph of it when we get back!"

We were both happy to see the two aspects of character embodied in that work: creativity in designing it in the first place - and the care for animals that they should think to do so in the first place. Besides, it was hilarious to see what they had done to the stairwell: it had become a Gastropod Hotel. There are not many stairwells in the world like that one.

(If you would like to read more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged seven years and eight months, or his gifted brothers, including Fintan, aged four years and one month, or Tiarnan, eighteen months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, genetics, left-handedness, College, University, Chemistry, Science, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, the creatively gifted, gifted adults and gifted children in general. Thanks.)

The mystery of the disappearing lettuce.

This post won't mean much unless you have read the post on Children and Pet Animals first.

On the morning after my sons had made their own snail colony, Ainan came to me:

"It's gone."

"What?"

"The leaf we left out for the snails. It is gone."

Sure enough the rather large leaf we had left in the stairwell with the snails had disappeared - not just a little gone - but as if it had never been there.

The detective on the Case of the Missing Lettuce, that is, me, is looking for a small, slippery customer, strong enough to carry his own house on his back, escaping from the scene at about 0.05 mph. Shouldn't be too difficult to catch.

Seriously, though - letting the children play with garden animals like this does, I feel, teach them a lot about life. It also has a very subtle, important, and vital implicit lesson: a respect for the environment, for nature and for life. A child brought up with that value is a lot more likely to do the right things for this world, than one who misses out on that lesson.

As for us, we have three children who like animals - and play with them with respect. I feel pleased about that.

(If you would like to read more of the Cawley children, including Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged seven years and eight months, Fintan, four years and one month, and Tiarnan, eighteen months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, genetics, left-handedness, College, University, Chemistry, Science, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, the creatively gifted, gifted adults and gifted children. Thanks.)

Children and pet animals

When I was a boy - oh so long ago - we had a pet cat. Just one. Yet, being resourceful, this pet cat one day turned into a pregnant female. Then we had many cats. Though that was several cat generations ago, there are still cats to this day, descended from our very smart sole kitten, of my childhood days, at my parents home.

Now, there is a dog, too - a large Sicilian Corso: dramatic, powerful, watchful. A good dog to have around if you like giving intruders a nasty surprise.

Yet, here, in Singapore, where we now live, we have no pet animals. We live on the top floor of an apartment block (the "penthouse") and thought it cruel to have a conventional pet, in such restrictive surroundings. It would not be fair to the poor animal to be cooped up in a small space all day. In my mind, I compare the spacious surroundings of my childhood, with apartment living and just can't see a pet as part of it.

However, my children love animals. They seem to have an affinity for them which just won't go away. They engage with animals much as frustrated mothers-who-can't-be engage with other people's little children: with love, affection and just a little sadness. It should not be this way - but I just cannot see the run-of-the-mill animals living in a top-floor apartment with comfort. So, we have a pet-free apartment.

Yesterday, Fintan, who is the prime animal lover in our household, came up with his own solution. I came home to find a large collection of very small (for the most part) snails, in front of my apartment door. At least one had come upon a fatal accident (perhaps a mis-step by someone entering the house) - but the others were lively enough, moving around in what, no doubt was a panicked run, for a snail, as they sought more familiar territory than the stone tiling outside my house.

Fintan, Ainan and Tiarnan were all captivated, in their various ways, by the snails. Fintan, simply had a fascination for them; Ainan saw them as a scientific phenomenon to be observed and learnt from - and Tiarnan thought they were yukky: "Eek!" he said, when he saw them, his face wrinkled up with disgust.

What I thought most telling of my children's attitude to other life-forms, was seeing Fintan, walking around later in the day with the biggest of the snails perched on his hand. He had brought into the house to play with and was not at all squeamish about its slimey form. He was very careful not to hurt it and invariably moved it about by picking it up with its shell. At one point, he wanted to show its form, pointing out the various parts to me and showing what happened when he prodded it in various places - gently of course. "Don't hurt it!" I said. "I am not." he reassured calmly, placing it down again.

They spent quite some time playing with their "pet" snails. They even tried to put out some food for them: I noted delicately sliced banana laid down in the midst of the snail colony. That evening they put the snails on a stairwell. Ainan asked me to buy lettuce - which I duly did. And he placed what he considered a generous sized leaf out for them to have something to eat in the barren landscape of the stairwell.

Seeing all this made me a little sad that they did not have a household pet to play with. Clearly, the urge to "mother" an animal, to nurture a pet, to play with one and learn from one, was strong in them: so strong that they even made snails from the garden into pets.

Perhaps a reader of this post, will have some suggestions as to child-friendly pets that live comfortably in top-floor apartments, without being messy or smelly to have around (we have got three kids, so that is messy enough already!).

If anyone has a really good suggestion, based on actual experience of what that particular pet is like to have around, we might just get a pet to satisfy those pet-rearing instincts of my children.

(If you would like to read of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged seven years and eight months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, four years and one month, or Tiarnan, eighteen months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, genetics, left-handedness, College, University, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, the creatively gifted, gifted adults and gifted children in general. Thanks.)