Do Snails Think?

Around 0730 this morning I went to get the paper–

Just a thought, en passant, it’s interesting how ‘the paper’ has come to mean ‘the paper that you read’ – you wouldn’t say, for example, ‘I’m going to get the cabbage’ would you?

– Anyway, on my way back to the house, approaching the front door, I noticed a little snail, climbing up the wall. It was going very slowly, in fact I couldn’t detect any movement at all. I watched for a while, wondering what made him, (or her) decide to climb up a blank, white wall. Is there a thought process involved? Or do they just react to feeling cold? Or amorous? Or hungry? Apart from assuming it’s green stuff, I don’t know what snails eat, do you? It didn’t look to me as if there was anything of interest further up the wall, or on the ceiling.

Back indoors I pondered further on the process of thought and, being a normal, self-centred being, I thought of my own, which, it has been noticed, is sometimes a bit slower than average. Not that I don’t get to the point, but most people have moved on before I get there.

However, by way of compensation, my unconscious reaction speed is lightning fast. Knock a vase over on the other side of the room and my body will be flying through the air, arm and fingers outstretched, to grab it before the vase hits the floor!

I was once dragged into a cricket team – to make up numbers. I protested in vain. The opposing team had a locally famous opening batsman and our captain placed me at ‘silly mid-on’.

The bowler bowled, the famous opener swung his bat and the ball was heading for my tummy before I even heard the sound of it being hit.

I went into auto.

My hands adopted precisely the right position: wrists together, fingers slightly bent and stretched back in a wine-glass shape. The ball struck, my fingers closed over it and the power carried in that red, leather-covered missile knocked me over backwards.

But the locally famous opener was out! First ball! Caught – by me!

Nothing else exciting occurred during the match as far as I can remember, and although feted and praised for my wonderful performance (which could be summed up as having been in the right place at the right time to catch the only ball that came my way in the whole match) I declined – more firmly – subsequent requests to join the team as a regular.

Following my self-laudatory tale about an occurrence that occurred sixty years ago I’ll get back to the subject which set me off on this ramble: snails.

I googled the question and, apparently, they have at least two brain cells one of which might tell them that they’re hungry, the other that it can smell food. There must be a third which kick-starts them on the journey to the pie shop. I think perhaps that the snail on the wall at the front of our house might be missing that one.