My husband bought a brand new grass-cutting thing today and set about clearing the bottom of the garden. I call it the meadow, or the wildlife garden. He calls it the jungle. You could stand a small child in there and not see it. Our son tried to sort it with an old-fashioned push-push mower, but the blades broke and the gnome fell off his snail laughing.
I came home this afternoon and found it wonderfully, beautifully, clear. I can walk down the meadow without being caught in a rugby tackle by stray brambles.
I think we have moles. (We could have had half of Mistmantle in there and not known about it until now.) What I really want is a hedgehog.
I could advertise for one. Hedgehog wanted - free board and lodgings, and all the slugs you can eat.
Apply at the House of Stories.