Go, brave humans, we're right behind you. Who am I kidding? We'll sit this one out.
Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,
Miss 22 came in with some terrible news yesterday. (Actually, let's start calling her by her initial, she's getting a bit old to be referred to by age.) Miss C came down with terrible news yesterday. She had seen five cane toads in our back yard!
Mum and Mr 20. Er, Mum and Mr D were horrified by the news. Actually, Fanta and I had known about the problem, but kept it quiet in case it meant we would be confined to quarters.
Cane toads (for those of you overseas who have never met one of these hideous creatures) are among the most evil creatures on the planet. Their skin is poisonous, and can kill any household or native animal that dares to have a taste. They can spray poison from a great distance, and can kill you with their evil stare. They poison water holes, and intimidate innocent animals. Fences don't keep them out, because they turn themselves into toxic ooze and pour through the tiniest gaps.
Toads were introduced to eat the cane beetles in Queensland sugar cane farms. The toads weren't interested in cane beetles, or in staying on the cane farms, and have spread all over the state and started encroaching on other states, in a terrible invasion.
Well, my humans were willing to let someone else deal with the toads encroaching on the rest of Australia. But our yard is meant to be a safe place for us, and for baby Joey, to play. Toads invading our yard means only one thing: war!
Mum and Mr D began to plan strategy.
They discussed all the "traditional" toad eradication methods: golf clubs, spraying Dettol on them, driving the car over them. When Mr D suggested the whipper snipper, Mum turned a shade of green I've never seen on any human before.
Then Mum checked the RSPCA's website. Yes, cane toads are so evil that even the RSPCA wants them exterminated. The RSPCA used to recommend catching cane toads, putting them in plastic bags and putting them in the freezer. They stopped recommending that when they discovered that hypothermia wasn't a painless death after all, but rather a kind of toad torture. Mum says she'd never put toads in the freezer with her food, anyway.
The website recommended three styles of toad execution.
One was to stun and decapitate them. Mum turned green again.
Another was prolonged exposure to carbon dioxide - that didn't seem practical.
So, it has to be the third method, a product called "Hopstop", to be sprayed on each individual toad.
Today is Australia Day, and Mum and Mr D plan to celebrate with that most Australian of all traditions - killing cane toads. The plan is to buy some "Hopstop" and go and spray cane toads. Then, with a bucket and the pooper scooper, to do the corpse retrieval and the doggy poo clean up all at once.
Of course, like the invasion of Afghanistan or the Gulf War, the war on cane toads won't be over in a day. All they need is water and a single female toad can lay something like a million eggs. (Oh, 30,000 eggs, well that's close to a million.) That means almost a million more toads the next day. This war could go on for the entire wet season.
Go, valiant humans, fight the good fight, for glory, for the love of your family and animals, for the knowledge that you are protecting Australia! Fanta and I are right behind you. Who am I kidding? We'll sit this one out. Let us know when the yard's safe again.
Enjoy your Australia Day.
Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere,
As you know, I really didn't need a doggy sister, and Fanta is surplus to requirements.
However, I do have to admit she did something quite awesome the other evening.
If the humans had sensible rules, of course, I wouldn't encourage anyone to break them. However, my humans have the most stupid rules.
One of the ones that makes the least possible sense is the "no corpses in the house" rule.
This rule is just hypocritical. The humans go to the shops and come back with bits of corpses they cook, or put in the freezer to cook later.
When I kill some fresh meat, Mum freaks out and all of a sudden I'm a "bad cat". I'm an especially "bad cat" if I bring my fresh meat into the house.
So I was, reluctantly, impressed with what Fanta did the other evening. Not long before night time lock up, Mum walked into her bedroom to find Fanta sitting quietly beside a pair of her shoes. Inside a shoe was a headless possum. Fanta was very proud.
Mum threw out the shoes, and Fanta was called a "bad dog". It was just fantastic.
Fanta was unhappy about being called "bad", when she'd got such a great present especially for Mum. That of course, made it all the more awesome. Mum went nuts, Fanta was upset, and a stupid rule was broken all in one go.
What a night!
I wonder if I can convince Fanta that "bad dog" actually means Mum loves what she did? That would be so great. It could give me all kinds of entertainment.
I can just imagine it now. Yes, Fanta, go and chew up Mum's special teddy bears, if she says "bad dog" it just shows how grateful she is. Do you think she would fall for it? She's just a dog, so she's not very bright.
Excuse me, I have to go....
Oh Fanta! Fanta! Miss Fantasia Dog my beloved doggy sister! Here doggy, doggy doggy....
Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere,