Toadmageddon

It was Toadmageddon in Ajax this week.

Well, maybe not that bad, but there sure were a lot of them, and we found them in the worst possible spot. For them, anyway.

In the parking lot.

Toads have been getting some positive press these days, what with toad lovers around the world rallying to provide safe crossings for the little fellows as they head back to their spawning grounds by the millions in the spring. The carnage on the roads is pretty nasty at that time – toads, like people, will get pretty reckless when it comes to love and sex – so it’s understandable that people will want to give them a hand in their travels.

Considering all the stereotypes – you know, the warts and everything – I think it’s awesome there are people who will hop to it for the little toad. One friend of mine has named her local backyard toad and remains hopeful that a kiss will transform the creature into her Prince. I told her that only works with frogs, but she was not to be dissuaded.

Mr. Toad

Anyway, with all the fuss over the spring mating migration, there’s nary a hue and cry over what happens when they’re all done in the summer and it’s time to go back to wherever they came from.

Which brings me to the other day, when dozens of little fellows were found in the parking lots of a plaza in north Ajax, all blissfully unaware of the dangers as they hopped their way from the pond. All was good, in fact, until we got to the high traffic areas and we started to see the bodies.

The things they do for love, huh?

Safe travels, little toads.

While I’m on the subject of cute little critters, I saw a budgie on Highway 2 in Ajax, just the day after the toad episode.

For a second I thought I was back in Australia, where these brightly coloured birds hail from. This guy was scratching about in the dirt in the middle of the road and as we were stuck in a traffic jam, I got out and cautiously approached her with the hope of, I dunno, seeing her fly onto my hand, I guess.

No such luck, as she flew away to the apparent safety of the parklands on the south side of the road.

A true bird in a gilded cage, she was somebody’s pet and her chances for survival are slim. But I’m hoping for the best.

The beautiful Budgie

And finally, speaking of all creatures great and small, I come to my personal nemesis in nature: the wasp.

I have been stung dozens of times by wasps in my day, including twice on the lip (once in front of the National Monument in Washington, D.C.), so it’s obvious we don’t get along.

Most of the incidents occurred in my childhood, but I have been plagued by the little bastards in my grown-up days as well.

Today was the latest encounter.

We were beautifying the landscaping beside the drive-thru at a Tim Horton`s in Pickering when I felt the first sting on my wrist. In the second it took me to realize what was happening I noticed three things. One: I`m standing on top of a wasp nest; two: there are a couple of dozen wasps angrily buzzing around my legs (can you blame them?); and three: I got stung again. This time behind the knee, and it swelled up pretty quick.

Little bastards. Lucky I’m not allergic.

The Bastard Wasp

(While this is going on I see a couple of dudes having a good giggle in their car in the drive-thru. They threw up the windows pretty damn quick, though.)

Not counting the wasp which came between the back of my hand and the window in the truck on the way back to the shop, I do get my own back on occasion, however.

My favourite wasp story happened 20 or so years ago in Etobicoke. There was a nest on the outside of my two-storey walk-up that I didn’t think much about until I entered the apartment one summer’s day to find several hundred wasps, having burrowed their way through the walls, making themselves right at home.

What to do? My fiancee headed straight down the stairs to safety so it was up to me to be strong and do something.

Can't say my bookie would have given me great odds, but I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and waded into the fray. Thuuup. Thuuup. Thuuup. And so on, until the bag was full of angry wasps and our apartment was safe once again.

And I only got stung twice.

Little bastards.

Better Days

It’s been a nightmarish ten days. My dreams are of better days ahead.

I spent the weekend worrying about David, my Father-in-Law. I’m still worried, but the last report I have is of him sneaking past the nurses to steal a smoke outside not long after his surgery, so I guess I can relax on that front.

On Thursday I paid my respects to a friend who died of lung cancer, and spent the afternoon after the funeral offering support and listening to stories told by his family.

The same day Doug died – the previous Saturday – my boss and his wife had to deal with the death of her younger sister, who was killed after a late night collision with a tree in north Pickering.

The next day I’m hearing the sad news from a colleague that his Step-Mom is terminally ill, with a prognosis of only a week or so to live.

Damn.

We’ve been sending lots of love and positive energy to David, who checked in to Hamilton General to deal with an aneurysm near his stomach. Doctors discovered a nasty blood clot on his lung during the operation, so that wasn’t a great update, and the two transfusions, the collapsed lung and the bout with pneumonia that followed didn’t fill me with good vibrations either.

But, like I said, he’s already been seen escaping from the clutches of his captors to grab a smoke, so he appears to be on the mend.

You get yourself home, David, and let Lene take care of you. I’ll be paying you a visit in Burlington soon.

My hope for better days ahead for David was preceded by memories of the good ol’ days gone by with Doug, who is the older brother of my pal Colin. Our day with Doug was bittersweet, as these occasions tend to be.

Doug, or Pluto, as he was affectionately called (because he was out there), had always lived life to excess, from his soccer playing days back home in Scotland as a youth – he was quite the talent, once upon a time – to his later years as a hard-partying, hard-living man here in Canada.

So the announcement that he had cancer wasn’t in itself shocking, especially as he had been feeling poorly of late. He was given nine months, which could give he and his family time to plan; to prepare.

He was gone in three weeks, after the cancer spread to his brain.

The funeral was difficult, especially for his nephew Justin, who lived with Doug, but the stories told by his family at his wake – usually involving Uncle Pluto falling asleep (anywhere), running out of gas (everywhere), or drinking (almost any time), helped ease the pain somewhat.

Doug lived just a short walk from one of the properties we maintain, so I'll always remember meeting him in the darkness on  random mornings as he strolled to the store. He'd be up before dawn every day, as I am, and we'd always stop and chat.

I'll miss that.

Rest in Peace, Doug. You have a lovely family and you will be missed.

R.I.P. as well to Cheryl, and prayers and love to Brian’s Step-Mom.

Better days ahead.