The other day my husband and I were off from work when my dad came into the room and asked, “Okay, so who can get rid of a snake and a toad?”
My husband and I looked at eachother and we leapt into action. While we were putting our shoes on I asked dad what his deal was with the toad. Ever since I was a kid he made it very clear he didn’t like snakes. The toad phobia however, was new to me. I questioned him about it.
“Oh, it’s that old wives tale that toads give you warts.”
“You know that isn’t true dad, right?”
“Yeah, I know but I still can’t help it.”
The snake was in the garage, the toad was on the front door thus trapping my father inside keeping him from doing gardening.
My husband and I went into the garage to extricate the snake. Secretly while all of this was going on I was fulfilling a life long dream of becoming Ace Ventura. Armed with a bucket, a stick to gently scoot it out of the way, gloves and tenacity we were able to coax it out. Then it would get scared and go back in the garage.
While our circus was going on my mom came out to get back to gardening. We kept telling her to stay back (we knew we had irritated the snake) when she calmly said, “I know,” unfazed by the snake trying to figure out what she needed.
My dad was staying his distance behind us.
My husband’s patience wore out with the snake so he finally picked it up, it promptly bit him on the glove and he released it into the driveway. He created some new dance moves while trying to keep the snake from going back.
Mission completed. Next we had to get the toad. Since he handled the snake, I figured I could get the toad.
The toad had wedged itself in the crevice between the door and the frame. It looked bored. So I spiced up it’s life by talking to it and gently trying to scoop it into my hands. It used to be so easy when I was 7, but in my older years, animals tend to be less receptive to me. Then again maybe that’s my perception giving way to the magic of childhood. The toad was stubborn. Like the snake, it too, had enough.
The toad performed a body slam to my nose, landing in the middle of my face with its crotch dangling by my mouth. A guttural shout came from the bowels of the defiant part of myself that thinks it’s the animal whisperer.
I flung my face down and to the left where the toad splattered itself by the nearest flower pot. Though it was unharmed it still made a satisfying sound for a creature that had the audacity to attack me with it’s nether region.
Meanwhile my parents were working on the garden, laughing, while my husband gave a sympathetic look and said, “Go wash your face.”
Now I know the real reason dad didn’t want to catch the toad.
Has anything like this happened to you? What did you do?