A family of toads lives in our garden. They reside in an empty drainpipe my late partner Graham thoughtfully installed beneath our hedge. When it rains, it is not unusual to find one squatting by the back door or resting in a clump of grass.
I am irrationally scared of toads.
Flossie is fascinated by them. When she first saw one, she tried to play with it, patting it with her paw and racing around it in circles. I think she was disappointed when it didn’t respond.
She has now learnt to leave them alone. It’s taken a while, particularly when at one time we had three toad couples, each locked in an amorous embrace, on the patio. I ran inside the house trying to contain my ridiculous screams.
Graham calmly relocated them by gently scooping them into a plastic container that we keep specifically for this purpose. He placed each pair back under the hedge, careful not to disturb any romantic clinch.
Toad relocation is now one of the many tasks I have to manage on my own.
Last week I discovered one while I was mowing the lawn. It was the size of my hand and I jumped back from it with a slightly hysterical shriek.
Flossie and I looked at it and then at each other. I was going to have to put my big girl’s pants on and deal with it.
I fetched the special toad container. The toad didn’t move while Flossie kept it under close surveillance. I took the plunge and gingerly positioned the container just behind its hind legs. It hopped. I let out a squeak. Flossie gave me a funny look.
We were near the hedge so I placed the container near its back legs once more and braced myself. Again, it hopped. I repeated this until it had made it safely to the hedge.
I breathed out heavily. My heart was pounding, but it’d done it, all on my own, under Flossie’s supervision, of course.
As published in the Bath Chronicle, 23 May 2019
Suzy Pope is a certified copywriter and newspaper columnist specialising in pets, business and lifestyle. If you would like help with a writing project, please get in touch.
