Toad of… eh Base Camp and the Brazilian kickboxer

Every week a new and exciting prey presents itself to The Flatpack. She likes to stay outside well into the night enjoying the cool air and comes in around 11 to snore in her leaba at the foot of our bed. The other night while The Brazilian was catching a few well-deserved Zzs I heard a commotion outside followed by some excited barking the like of which I’d never heard coming from her gob.

She was barking at the wall of base camp, right where the colony of rats used to live (Team Rato has gone for extensive training elsewhere), right leg pointed at whatever it was that had her attention.

And what was it?

Only a toad taking a bath in her water dish. A big feller too. Venomous. I’d seen one on my first trip to Brazil two years ago. They’re dangerous in the sense that if attacked or threatened they shoot a kind of acid at the perp which acts to burn the skin.

Or, as The Brazilian describes it, they can do a really good wee on you, hon.

He recounts a story where he was ‘got’ by a toad years ago. I have no sympathy given his penchant for annoying local wildlife. I’m sure he wasn’t exactly an innocent bystander, he probably got his just desserts.Sure what the hell was he doing in the vicinity of Kermit’s nether regions anyway? The skin on his leg bore the brunt and the scar was visible for a few months.

Obviously we like Miss Flatpack in all her hairy glory so we emptied Mr Toad of Base Camp out of the dish and well away from our fearless hunter. But that didn’t stop her from patrolling the area like an overzealous trainee Garda, walkie-talkie in hand, no doubt practising the phrase “And where are you going this evening?” What is it about *Gards that makes me immediately feel the need to start committing to all manner of crimes? Even those predating my existence?

Jack the Ripper? Yes Gard, that was me.

Shergar? Yup I hit him over the head with a hatchet, Your Holiness.

Back to The Flatpack. She eventually caught her man, bit into him and dropped him like a hot spud. We thought she’d been sprayed as she began frothing at the mouth so The Brazilian sprayed about a gallon of water into her gob to wash out the acid as she stood there frothing. She was even given a mouthful of raw tobacco plant to help her get sick and expel the venom.

Then it dawned on us that Toady McToad had been in an empty washing powder carton and what had caused our dear hunter gatherer to froth was in fact bits of Brazilian Daz mixed with her saliva.

Her breath smells great ever since though…


In other news we’ve had a rough few days with Mini Me. He’s had a little ear infection and although, says she gripping the wooden table, he seems to be on the mend now he’s been well outta sorts: clingy, crying and feeding like a Z-lister recently released from I’m a Celebrity.

Added to that misery he’s been abandoned by his grandma and left with his pure useless parents who won’t spend hours pacing up and down the house attending to his every squawk. Three weeks old and spoiled already.


It’s coincided with a good oul wallop of the baby blues for me so there’ve been a lot of tears shed. I started to wonder if it’s normal or if I could expect to be jabbed with a needle and dragged off to a calm place but I read up my Preggo Bible and apparently I’m only halfway through the sobbing period.

Attention Irish pals: send tissues and wine!

But back to the boy, he got so mad yesterday he resorted to physical violence, punching me square in the titteen and then, to make sure I got the point, kicking me right in the section scar. A double whammy: the boy sure knows how to hurt his ma. No need for kickboxing lessons for this one.

To add insult to injury he puked on me all the while pulling lumps of my hair out. I now understand why new mothers complain about hair loss, it’s not the hormones, it’s the mini Tyson in yer arms practising his swing.

His da gets away with just a light pummelling of fists to the chest. I look forward to the day when Mini Me kicks him in the crotch. I know, I know I’m evil but I had to endure it for flamin’ months on end when he was on the inside didn’I?

All I’m asking for is a swift jab to the testicles every now and then, just to even the score.

Of course this Ma knows how to get revenge. It’s payback time: I’m stocking up on glittery nail polish and girly hair slides to take embarrassing photos of him for later use, mwahahahahahaah.

*All Gards, except that is for my retired Garda pal!


One comment on “Toad of… eh Base Camp and the Brazilian kickboxer”

  1. Aww – he’s not spoiled at all – he’s only three weeks old!
    He has needs, you’re attending to them. That’s not spoiling, that’s just good parenting.
    He cries – you feed / change / walk / cuddle / attend to ear – he stops – you know you’re being a good Mammy.

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