Hoods Up

We have a slug problem at our house. In Spanish, they are called "babosas". They are everywhere in the garden patios at Casa Ambato and quite frequently, especially in the past month, we have woken up to slimy silver trails on our rugs, clothes, and now, walls! (How do they DO that?) The artwork on our bulletin board even has evidence of babosa activity. We have found trails on Jon´s soccer socks and along the edge of our brown floor rug. The silver path really shows up quite nicely against the coffee color, I must admit. I have even found fat slugs in mid-slime, crawling slowly towards our chest of drawers, to do who knows what, once they got there. In addition, I have also salted a few trying to make their way into the kitchen. They dissolve into a slippery yellow and green pile of mush and slime, once the salt has been administered. A small, small part of me feels sort of bad, but the entire rest of me feels very glad to have one less slug in the world.
The climax to all this babosa business came yesterday morning at 6 a.m., when I awoke to Jon exclaiming, "Sick!!!", in a very disgusted sounding voice.
I turned over to see him holding a slug in his hand that he had just pulled out of his hair. Yes, that´s right, out of his hair.
He explained to me that he had felt something wet at the back of his neck, and had thought at first that maybe I had been sucking on his curls during the night, which was completely not true. Uncomfortable with the thought of something damp in that region, he reached back and pulled out a nice fat babosa, who had apparently been nestled quite comfortably in his ever growing locks.... How did it get there? Were there more waiting in the folds of the sheets, in position to slither into MY hair? Would there be further attacks in the nights to come?
I was thoroughly grossed out and took the slimy mass outside wrapped in toilet paper and put it in the trash. I had a hard time falling back asleep and found myself grabbing at the back of my neck and hair to feel for slugs.
The next night before going to bed, I was ready to wage war. I could not fathom the idea of being woken by a slimy mass crawling around in my hair. So, I got the jar of salt from the kitchen and lined the most frequently used slug-route-wall with salt. I also secured the back entrance with salt that I drizzled on the inside and outside baseboards of the door, in hopes of warding off any new nighttime visitors. I then proceded to try and fall asleep, with the hood of my babyblue terrycloth sweatshirt pulled secure and tight over my head. I also slid the bed away from the wall, thinking that we could all use a little space from one another.
I slept better but definately dreamt heavily of slugs and in the dream Jon was telling me that we had found a cardboard box that was infested with the little guys. I woke in the morning and carefully peered over the edge of the bed to locate and put on my shoes....no slugs. I checked my own hair...no slugs. The salt was still there, with no dead creatures amidst the pile and Jon´s hair seemed untouched and dry. VICTORY!
Later that morning while I was making our bed, I looked up on the wall and just behind the headboard discovered a very silvery trail that started strong then abruptly stopped a good four feet or so up the pale yellow plastered wall. What happened? Had the trip suddenly been aborted? Had the slug jumped ship, or wall, for that matter?
I showed the guys and we decided that Jon´s little night-time-hair-friend must have been headed for some cool destination, the ceiling perhaps, but then, just as we suspected, "jumped wall" and fell, mid-slither, onto Jon´s pillow below, and later made his way into his curly locks.
So while I feel relieved that no babosas have yet to slither their way into my hair, I am still keeping the salt handy, and my hood on.