The Quiet Snail Race

One summer afternoon, on a quiet path through a quiet wood, two snails decided to have a race.

This was not, by snail standards, a small decision. Snails do not generally race. They have other priorities — chiefly, getting wherever they're going, eventually, in their own good time. But these two — Gerald (whom you have heard about) and a snail named Posy — had been having a long polite argument about which of them was faster, and finally Gerald said, "All right. Tomorrow. After lunch. Down the path and back."

Word spread.

By the time the race began, the whole forest was watching.

The fox brought a small picnic. The owl wore her best scarf. Two squirrels argued about who would call the start. A family of rabbits sat in a polite row. A hedgehog rolled up against a log, just in case it got too exciting.

"Ready," said a squirrel. "Set." A long pause. "Go."

The snails began.

Gerald inched forward. Posy inched forward. Their little horns wobbled with effort.

The fox unpacked her sandwich.

After about forty minutes, Gerald had progressed roughly eight inches. Posy was a little behind — perhaps six. The fox finished her sandwich and started on the apple.

After about two hours, Gerald and Posy were halfway down the path. The squirrels had switched arguments and were now arguing about which kind of acorn tastes best.

By suppertime, the snails reached the turn-around point. The owl, who had been napping, woke up and politely asked who was winning. Nobody could quite remember.

By full dark, the snails were nearly home.

It was Posy who crossed first, by about three minutes. Gerald didn't mind. He bowed politely (snails bow, of course). Posy bowed back. The forest applauded — in the soft scattered way forests applaud.

And then everyone went home and had supper.

The next morning, nobody could quite remember the result. But everyone agreed it had been the loveliest day in a long time, and they decided to have another race next summer.

And so they did.