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When did you ever become less by dying? by Stafford Betty When Samantha was just shy of her fifth birthday, an age when her delight in every manner of living creature was well underway, she noticed a slug on the sidewalk. This was the same slug she noticed just a few hours earlier, slowly crawling down the front steps of her home. Only now it was smashed on the sidewalk. "What happened to it?" she asked. "It looks like it got stepped on, Samantha," said her mom. "But why isn't it moving?" Her mom looked at her husband as if handing off the conversation. He said, "Samantha, it's not moving because it died." Read here
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