Is that snail on my...?

Sam is once again roller blade bound. He has his fifth flat tire in one month. This time it's a repeat of the back tire. We put goo in the tire after the last flat and earlier this week all the goo started to squish out of the tire... What now? At what point to you say, "too bad, no more bike for you."
Anyway, today after school, Sam burst into the house, roller blades and all with his pencil box from school. I could see there were flower petals and leaves inside. "What is this?", I asked.
Sam: A baby snail.
Me: Is it the slug you were holding this morning before school?
Sam: No, this one has a tiny shell.
Me: Your homework is in my purse, go get it done.

Sam proceeded to ignore me and watch Ghost Whisperer.
I looked over 20 minutes later and he was sitting on the couch next to the open pencil box. Also, he was digging around his crotch like he'd just lost something and it rolled under him.
Me: Is that snail on my couch?
Sam: No, it's curled up in it's shell, taking a nap.
Me: Get that thing off my couch.
Sam: (standing up so he can find the thing) It's ok, it's inside it's shell, completely.

He then finds it and holds it in his grubby little hand, gazing at it like he's in love.

A few minutes later I look over and the snail is perched on his arm, but still inside it's shell.
Sam: (in a girly voice) Is that snail on my poody?
I rolled my eyes at him. Who knew a kid named poody could be so sassy. Maybe I should tell him the snail isn't coming out because it's dead.