Toad

There was a lot to do that day. Harry got up early. Clothes to wash, to hang, to dry. Lunch to be had, several cups of tea. The big looming piece on his list was the steps on the shed. They had to be ripped off and replaced. Not a piece of it was worth salvaging. The winter had rotted the wood beyond usability.

He ate quickly, pressured to catch time in the sun to work. He drank the tea as if it was water, rolled the toast up to cover more surface area with each bite. His rushing ended in mishaps when he worked outside. Forgotten protective gloves and unbalanced leaning led to gashes in hands, scraps on knees but he pressed on, spewing an unnecessary cocksucker out she side of his mouth whenever he got injured.

He grabbed the first step with his two hands, larger than they were supposed to be, they dangled off of his arms like a sports fan’s foam glove. He clenched his upper chest to pull up, but the stair came loose and crumbled in his hands.

Harry stood up, face scrunched to the sun, wiped his hands down his chest and stared at the debris. Picking up the chips of wood sprawled in mud was not part of his plan.

Rotten.

He turned his head and launched a spit across the lawn. He headed inside the shed to look for a pair of gloves.

The shed didn’t have much left in it. Tools, overly organized. Garbage can and recycling bin were cleaner than most people’s washrooms. Pop cans washed and drained to avoid gathering critters. A lawn mower in one corner, snow plow in another. Rakes and brooms hooked against the wall. A milk crate of gloves pushed underneath the workers bench he had built from scrap wood found throughout his lifetime.

He took the gloves out and furiously wapped them on his leg to rid them of dust, eyes pressed tightly shut. He headed back to the crumpled splinters to gather.

His large hands grappled at a piece of wood and shoved it into the other, then into a bucket. Out of the corner of Harry’s eye he saw movement. He jumped back and yelled out.

Way oh hey yo

He shook himself off and realized it was likely a shadow. He walked slowly towards the shed, one stair still attached, the other flung about. Slow tippy toes, back bent and head poked out. Then he saw it, a small toad, eyes black and wide, hidden under the intact step.

Harry couched down, removed his glasses and took a closer look. He moved slowly to make sure he didn’t spook him. He moved his glasses atop of his head.

Well would you look at that.

Harry was fully crouched now, bent legs pressing forward, hand reached out, mouthing psst psst to the creature. It didn’t move, besides eyes blinking. Harry grabbed a slight hold of the stable step and pulled it up slowly trying to make sure that it didn’t crumble on top of the toad. It came out in one piece and he moved it ever so slowly, and tossed it to his left. Once it was removed, he saw that the toad was stuck in the mud.

Harry stood up now, staring down at the creature, unsure of his next step.

Poor ting.

He rushed into the house, his head kept looking back at the toad, making sure it was still alive, skipping every second stair to his front door.

Lover! Lover!

His voice came out in pleas begging for her to hurry.

She came around the corner, eyes pinched in frustration, shaking water off her hands.

What? What?

She asked impatiently, hands now spreading out in front of her, flapping with each what.

Come, come outside. Hurry. There’s a little toad, he’s stuck. Poor feller.

She came rushing to put her shoes on, still unsure of what she was looking for. A toad wasn’t common around here, and her mind couldn’t picture what he could possibly mean.

Luh, would you just luh at ‘in

His wife put her hand over her eyes, tipped her head down and caught a glimpse of the toad. She stood up straight.

Now would you look at that. G’wan a toad.

They both stared at him for some time and they noticed he didn’t move.

Sure Lover, he’s stuck.

They got closer, their feet walking in little quick steps over to the shed.

You’re right.

With his gloved hands, Harry squatted down near him for a closer look. He palmed his hand under the little being’s belly and scooped him out of the mud gently. His legs were stuck to his body and he still didn’t move. Harry placed him in an empty salt beef bucket that he had used to carry gravel. He left the bucket outside the shed, went in and grabbed a rag, went inside and doused it in warm water and then returned to wipe the toad off gently and slowly.

What do you suppose they eat? Sure he could have been there awhile. He looked up at his wife from the bucket, eyes pinched by the sun.

Sure I don’t know. We could look it up, I sp’ose.

He took off his gloves and tossed them on the ground. They both headed inside and she looked up toads on her Ipad.

Slugs, spiders, worms

Her finger still swiping up on the screen looking for more answers.

Sure can’t get that too easy. What will I feed him here now?

Harry returned to his bucket, his wife no longer interested, lost in the Ipad to something else.

Hey buddy what will I feed ya at all

He remembered the battles he had with his daughter. Everything he made her she refused. Cereal in thick condensed milk, toast with butter, hard bread, cream of wheat. Sometimes she tried it, sometimes she hated it by looking at it. He remembered she came home from a friend’s house once, said she had pork chops. He was delighted. He couldn’t believe she had real food. He bought pork chops right away. Cooked it up, cut it in small pieces for her. She tried it and pushed the plate away, I don’t like it. He was crestfallen. Such hope he had for that protein. He ate up the rest of the pork chops himself.

Now he was back in the game of food, it seemed impossible to find a bug for his buddy in the bucket.

He tossed some grass in there in case. He wandered around the yard looking for spiderwebs reflecting the sun. He dug in the mud where the toad was stuck and found a worm, dangled it from his two hands and chucked it in the bucket for the toad.

There ya go buddy

Every day he was in and out checking on Buddy. His grandkids visited and he was excited to show them. One boy gave the toad a gummy candy from his lunch bag and named him One Jeff, the other boy named him George.

He called his daughter in the mainland and asked her what her boy and girl would call the toad. Later she texted him that her daughter named it Chad, her son asked for a picture first. He sent a picture of the toad, still in the bucket. She texted back: He named it Fart Master. Harry chuckled.

Every day Harry got up and after finishing his tea in loud slurps which rattled his wife, he slapped his baseball cap on his head and ran out to check on Buddy. The toad was still in the bucket, but he moved around, always in a different spot whenever Harry looked at him. As Harry’s day went on, putting the garbage out, mowing the lawn, hanging the clothes, he had a few comments for Buddy.

Some sunny wha’ Buddy. Some day on clothes hey Buddy.

Harry’s kids had animals growing up, which he hadn’t cared for much. A lot of work for animals. They had tropical birds that escaped into Newfoundland woods, hamsters who passed on quickly, and fish flushed down toilets. They even had a dog named Sam, but the kids weren’t much help with him. He never took to the animals, chaos of two working parents, children with needs, the house to be cleaned.

One morning he woke and told his wife it was time to take Buddy out of the bucket.

Let’s go to a brook, pack a lunch and let him go on. Find his other buddies.

They made sandwiches. Diced up fruit and thermosed tea. As they packed the car, Harry went to gather the top of the salt beef bucket to close up Buddy so he wouldn’t escape in the car.

Once he got to the bucket it was empty. He questioned himself at first, wondering if the toad was camouflage. He picked the bucket up and looked underneath it. Maybe toads could stick to things, maybe toads could hide in plain sight for exceptional disappearing acts. He looked around where the bucket had been but the toad was nowhere to be seen.

He called out to his wife. She had a couple looks around the shed when she realized he was gone.

Looks like he went on to find his friends around here. That’s good right? He’s good enough now to go on his own. She said to him with a hand on his back.

He took his cap off, bib now in his hand which lay by his side. He nodded and smiled at his wife.

Bye Buddy, George, Jeff, Chad, Fart Master, said his wife and she waved in circles to the sky.

Harry gave her a half grin. Well, that’s all she wrote, hey Buddy.