Toad Delight

  Limpy gave an anguished croak.

  ‘I need the lift now,’ he said.

  The dog wasn’t even listening. It was gazing into the distance, obviously dreaming about the kind of office or kennel an associate producer would have.

  Limpy didn’t have time to wait.

  He hopped away from the four-wheel drive, careful to avoid the remaining humans who were packing up their gear.

  At least he knew where Goliath was being taken.

  I’ll get to the city somehow, thought Limpy. I’ll hitchhike or borrow a skateboard or swim through sewer pipes or something.

  His leg gave a twitch. A storm was coming.

  And along with it, an idea.

  Limpy hopped back to the four-wheel drive.

  ‘Here’s an even better idea,’ he said to the dog. ‘With this one they’ll make you a primary producer.’

  Limpy explained about his crook leg and how it knew when a storm was on the way. Then he pointed to the hail dents in the four-wheel drive.

  ‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘humans need a bit of help with their weather predicting. Which I can give them, live on TV. The world’s first weather toad.’

  Limpy held his breath.

  The dog’s eyes were shining.

  ‘Brilliant,’ it said.

  ‘One condition,’ said Limpy. ‘I get the lift now.’

  The dog hesitated, looking at Limpy and frowning.

  ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’ it said. ‘Not just pitching me a yarn?’

  ‘Simple,’ said Limpy. ‘See how blue the sky is and how there’s not a whisper of a breeze? Give it a few minutes.’

  They did.

  The storm hit suddenly and violently.

  As the rain smashed down, the humans threw the last bits of equipment into the four-wheel drive and dived inside themselves.

  Limpy huddled in the undergrowth.

  The rain was making him shiver, and so were some second thoughts.

  Once the humans found out what his leg could do, he’d be kept in the TV weather studio for ever.

  He’d never see the swamp again. Or Mum or Dad or Charm. And they’d only ever see him on Ancient Abigail’s tablet, if she ever got the battery recharged.

  ‘Hey,’ called a voice.

  Limpy looked up. In their haste to get out of the rain, the humans had left the rear flap of the four-wheel drive open a crack. A nose was poking out.

  ‘Hop in,’ called the dog.

  Limpy sighed.

  He’d be a prisoner for life.

  Freedom gone.

  Would the sacrifice be worth it if he could rescue Goliath and the other cane toads in the cage? Plus help keep humans safe from violent storms and as a result keep Mum and Dad and Charm safe from violent humans?

  Limpy sighed again.

  Of course it would.

  After the rain stopped smashing onto the roof of the four-wheel drive, the loudest noise on the journey to the city was the thudding of Limpy’s heart.

  He hoped only he could hear it.

  The driver was listening to music and the other humans were dozing. So was the dog, curled up on some cables in the back.

  Limpy couldn’t sleep.

  The camera case he was hiding in also had a camera in it. Cameras, Limpy discovered, were very selfish about sharing space. Plus Limpy had too many thoughts racing through his mind for sleep.

  The dog had said Goliath was being taken to the TV studio for more filming, and something was going to happen there that Limpy wouldn’t want to know about.

  Limpy had a horrible idea what it might be.

  If the TV show was about how cane toads were greedy selfish monsters, the producers would almost certainly want a segment called ‘How To Kill A Cane Toad’. And they’d want a big greedy-looking one to demonstrate on. To show exactly how to do the bashing. And the stabbing. And the squashing flat.

  ‘Oh, Goliath,’ groaned Limpy.

  He rolled over to ease his aching back and anxious thoughts. As he did, he bumped the lid of the camera case, which opened a crack.

  Quickly he tried to close it.

  Yellow light was seeping in.

  Even though Limpy was panicking a bit, he couldn’t help noticing the light was an unusual colour.

  It wasn’t the colour of moonlight, and Limpy was pretty sure if humans were checking to see if a cane toad was hiding in their camera case, the torchlight wouldn’t just seep in like this. It would pour in after the camera case lid was flung open and then it would flash around a lot while the humans tried to bash the cane toad with the torch.

  Curious, Limpy pushed the camera case lid open a bit more and peeked out.

  Through the back window of the vehicle he could see the dark sky and lots of yellow moons. Rows of them, floating past, one by one.

  They looked strange and beautiful, if a bit small.

  That’s weird, thought Limpy. At our place I’ve only ever seen two moons, the one in the sky and the one in the swamp water.

  Perhaps it isn’t only the weather that’s changing.

  Perhaps the moons are too.

  Then Limpy noticed, between two of the moons, a huge pair of glowing golden buttocks.

  He’d seen those buttocks before. They were the golden buttocks on hamburger boxes that humans sometimes threw out of cars.

  Hamburger boxes from the city.

  Limpy realised these moons weren’t moons, they were something he’d heard glow worms whispering about.

  City street lights.

  Limpy tensed. It was time.

  In his mind he ran through the list of things he had to do.

  Get away from the dog and the humans. Rescue Goliath and the other cane toads. Find the TV managers and demonstrate his storm-alert leg and become the network weather toad so that every time humans turned on a screen to check the weather they’d be reminded how friendly and generous and useful cane toads could be.

  It seemed a lot.

  Limpy didn’t panic. He remembered the advice Dad gave him when they were taking the rude bits off centipedes so Mum could stuff slugs with them.

  That had been a lot to think about too, but Dad had made it easier.

  ‘Don’t try and do it all at once,’ he’d said to Limpy. ‘One thing at a time.’

  Limpy knew the first thing he had to do now.

  Be patient and stay hidden until they got to the TV studio.

  He managed it. And he knew when they’d finally arrived because the huge building they stopped in front of had a familiar sign on the wall, the same sign that was on the side of the four-wheel drive.

  A big gate slid open and a human in a uniform waved them through.

  Limpy took some deep breaths.

  This next bit wasn’t going to be easy, even doing one thing at a time.

  As soon as the four-wheel drive was parked, Limpy hopped out of the camera case.

  The dog was waking up, yawning and stretching.

  ‘We’re here,’ said the dog to Limpy. ‘Time for me to introduce you to my human. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you once he realises we’ve got an idea for a TV series.’

  Limpy didn’t reply.

  He stayed in the shadows until the humans got out of the four-wheel drive and opened the back flap. He waited until one of them picked up a heavy camera case.

  Then he flung himself up onto the case and did a loud croak right into the human’s face and poked his tongue out.

  The human, startled, dropped the case.

  Limpy bounced off the case and rolled painfully across the ground.

  He didn’t mind.

  As he’d hoped, the humans were yelling and fumbling with the case, trying to see if the camera was broken.

  Limpy hopped across the dark carpark in a fairly straight line to a pile of rubbish. He squirted the pile with his poison glands, then headed on to some bushes at the edge of the carpark.

  ‘Come back,’ he heard the dog calling. ‘Weather toad. Where are you
?’

  Limpy crouched under the bushes.

  After a while, he saw the dog sniffing around the pile of rubbish. The dog stayed sniffing a long time, sure from the smell that Limpy was in there. But eventually a human whistled and the dog gave up.

  ‘We had a deal,’ howled the dog into the night. ‘You selfish greedy wartbag.’

  Limpy tried not to feel guilty.

  He waited until the lights in the building went out and the humans got into their own cars, one of them with the dog, and drove out through the gate.

  He waited while the guard locked the door of the little room next to the gate and walked off down the street.

  Then he went to rescue Goliath.

  The first four-wheel drive, the one Goliath had been taken away in, was standing in the carpark.

  Limpy hopped over to it.

  ‘Goliath,’ he called.

  No reply.

  Limpy dragged himself up onto the roof of the four-wheel drive and hopped around as noisily as he could. Goliath was a heavy sleeper but he couldn’t bear anything jumping around near his head, which is why he always checked his scalp for fleas and frogs before he went to sleep.

  Nothing.

  Goliath wasn’t in there.

  Must be in the building, thought Limpy. They mustn’t have wanted him peeing in the vehicle.

  Limpy went over to the main building and quickly discovered that the dog had been right about the security.

  Everything was locked, shuttered, bolted and screwed down tight.

  The big roller doors sat in specially made grooves in the ground so not even an ant who wanted to audition for a gardening show could get in.

  The windows all had rubber seals, the air-conditioning ducts on the roof were all welded shut and the stormwater pipes all had mesh drain covers on them.

  Limpy tried desperately to shift the mesh.

  He couldn’t. He dragged himself wearily away from the last pipe.

  Who would put drain covers on a drain? he thought bitterly. A TV studio who doesn’t want a cane toad to be rescued, that’s who.

  Limpy sighed. He’d have to wait till morning.

  He hoped the studio didn’t do filming at night. Specially not a segment with Goliath in it called ‘How To Kill A Cane Toad’. He hoped they were going to wait till morning as well.

  They probably will, Limpy told himself. They probably want whoever does the killing to be well-rested and not drop the cricket bat or the tree branch on anyone’s foot.

  First thing tomorrow, Limpy promised himself, as soon as they open up, I’ll get in there and find Goliath.

  He went back to the corner of the carpark and flopped down under the bushes. He tried to go to sleep, but couldn’t stop thinking about things.

  Mostly how he’d scared a human on purpose and let a dog down when they had a deal.

  This is dopey, thought Limpy. I’m trying to show humans how kind and generous and friendly cane toads can be, and instead I’ve been mean and nasty and selfish.

  He hoped the humans never found out, or the weather, or either of the moons.

  The early morning sun twinkled painfully through Limpy’s eyelids.

  He tried to ignore it.

  Couldn’t the sun see this wasn’t the time for painful twinkling? Didn’t it know a cane toad who needed more sleep when it saw one?

  Clearly not.

  Then Limpy realised the sun was doing him a favour. It was giving him a hint. How To Rescue A Cane Toad, Lesson One.

  Start early.

  Limpy opened his eyes and dragged himself to his feet.

  Ow.

  TV studio carparks were very stiff and sore places to sleep. Gritty and lumpy and not the slightest bit nice and swampy. But that wasn’t the sun’s fault.

  ‘Thank you, sun,’ said Limpy.

  He peered at the TV studio building, hoping to see a door or a window or a drain cover that had been opened to greet the new morning.

  Nothing. All still shut.

  Limpy remembered Dad’s advice and tried not to see the locked-down roller door as a disastrous barrier to Goliath’s survival.

  He tried to see it as a centipede’s rude bit.

  One thing at a time.

  Limpy hopped towards the other side of the building to see if anything was open there. He was hopeful. Lots of cars were in the carpark, so the TV studio workers must already have arrived.

  Human voices were chattering in the distance.

  Limpy didn’t want to run into any humans, just the doors or windows he hoped they’d left open. With, he hoped, no guards on duty to stamp out rescue attempts.

  He reached the other side of the building.

  And froze.

  Oh no.

  Word must have spread he was on the premises.

  Hundreds of guards were standing in a long line, almost the whole length of the building.

  Luckily the guards hadn’t seen him. And at least they didn’t look ruthless or violent. Most of them weren’t even wearing uniforms. Just, Limpy was puzzled to see, t-shirts with pictures of cane toads on them.

  It must be so they can identify what they’re guarding against, he thought.

  Slowly Limpy started to edge away.

  Then he stopped, even more puzzled.

  Some of the guards were holding fluffy toys.

  Not just any fluffy toys. Fluffy cane toad toys. Which might also have been to help identify the enemy. Except the guards were cuddling the toys as if they liked them.

  Other guards with big plastic sacks were handing out more t-shirts and cane toad toys to guards who didn’t have them.

  What was going on?

  Limpy couldn’t resist hopping a little closer to get a better look. He quickly wished he hadn’t.

  Human hands grabbed him and before he could say ‘put me down, I’m warty,’ he was up in the air, surrounded by human faces staring at him.

  But not staring angrily. Not even sternly. Most of the faces were smiling and laughing, as if they were pleased to see him.

  Limpy didn’t understand.

  He peered out from the two cupped human hands he was nestled in, trying to make sense of the long row of human guards with their cane toad toys and cane toad t-shirts. Some of them were even holding posters that had cane toads on them surrounded by love hearts.

  Limpy had a crazy thought.

  These humans didn’t look like guards at all. They looked more like fans.

  Cane toad fans.

  As Limpy trembled at the amazingness of that possibility, the humans suddenly gave a cheer.

  For a giddy moment Limpy thought they were cheering him. But they weren’t. A big roller door was opening and a couple of real guards, with uniforms and everything, were beckoning the queue of humans to come inside.

  Limpy huddled down into the cupped hands. He let himself be carried along in the crowd of chattering humans, grateful for the lift. The thoughts he was having were making him feel so excited he could hardly breathe.

  If these humans were fans, they were probably here to watch the TV show being made. And cane toad fans would not come to watch a show about cane toad badness.

  Cane toad niceness, more like.

  Limpy was so excited, he almost wet himself.

  Then he did wet himself. It was the quickest way to make the human drop him so he could have a squiz inside the studio and find out if he was right about the show.

  Amazing. The human dropped him but didn’t get angry, not even with toad pee on his hands. He just laughed and wiped his hands on a friend.

  Limpy hopped away.

  The TV studio was amazing too.

  It was lit as brightly as a campground shower block, but a million times bigger. On one side were rows of seats on steps, like in a country town cricket ground. All over the floor were cables, but not, Limpy was relieved to see, any dogs.

  And in a corner was a wire cage with one figure in it, all alone. The figure Limpy most wanted to see in the whole world.


  ‘Goliath,’ he croaked.

  He hopped towards the cage, ducking between human feet and nearly getting squashed by huge cameras on wheels.

  Goliath looked up and his grin stretched across half the cage.

  ‘Limpy,’ he said. ‘You made it. I knew you would. I knew you’d get here in time to see me be a star.’

  Limpy stared at his cousin.

  Was Goliath joking, to keep their spirits up?

  ‘These TV production humans love me,’ said Goliath. ‘They particularly like my cheeks. A dog who understands their language told me. So I assume they like my whole face.’

  Limpy felt relief relaxing his own face. If Goliath was right, this was wonderful.

  ‘I’m the star of the show,’ said Goliath. ‘We did a rehearsal before and it was mostly about me. Specially my body parts.’

  Given a choice, Limpy would have preferred to hear Goliath say ‘Specially my kind and generous personality’, but it was still wonderful.

  ‘Now that I’m a big star,’ continued Goliath dreamily, ‘Penny will come back to me, I know she will. Her family will be so proud to see us together. I’ll give them autographs or some frothy dribble or something.’

  Limpy wasn’t sure how proud they’d be, but that could wait till later. For now he had to be sure Goliath was going to be OK.

  ‘What kind of show is this exactly?’ he said to Goliath.

  ‘A really good one about me,’ said Goliath.

  Before Limpy could ask for more details, Goliath pointed to a couple of human production assistants heading their way.

  ‘Looks like we’re about to start,’ said Goliath. ‘I’m not sure exactly how the show works, but take a seat and you’ll see for yourself.’

  All the seats had humans sitting in them, so Limpy made do with a patch of floor under a rack of clothes near a wall.

  A thought hit him.

  He wished he’d asked Goliath about the other cane toads who were in the cage. Oh well, he’d probably see them in the show.

  Limpy watched a human production assistant lift Goliath out of the cage and carefully carry him to a table with trays of makeup on it. Limpy knew about makeup. Goliath had eaten some in a shower block once.