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Amphibian

Page 21

by Carla Gunn


  When we started off toward one of the ponds, I walked behind Caroline and Beth, and my mom walked behind me. She kept grabbing my pants with her garbage picker and I kept swatting her away. Did I ever mention that my mom is a big teaser? Never give a teaser a tool that’s more than a foot long because then they can irritate you even from a distance. My granddad used to do that to me too but with a really long blade of grass, which he’d use to tickle the back of my neck as we walked in the field.

  When we got to our pond, we could see where the beavers had built a dam on the other side. Caroline told us that if we came back at dusk, we might actually get to see them hard at work. There were so many animal sounds – like frogs and birds and squirrels – that it was hard to believe we were so near the city. The only sign of humans was the garbage – and there was lots of it: Tim Hortons cups, plastic bags, beer bottles, even an old car tire that Beth, who’s really strong for such an old woman, lugged out onto the path so we could roll it back to the road.

  As we worked, Caroline explained that there are sixteen species of amphibians found in our province and that the amphibian park is home to most of them, including seven different types of frogs. The one that’s of most concern is the grey tree frog. Although it’s not on the Red List of Threatened Species, there aren’t very many of them left in our province. Caroline told us that grey tree frogs can turn many different colours from white to black to green. The ones that stay grey are the ones that are either dead or in aquariums. That made sense. It also made me think of Cuddles but I didn’t have time to feel sad because there was so much work to do.

  We worked for over an hour and then it was time to head back. At one point, Caroline took us off the trail into the woods and lifted up a few big stones. Under one was a yellow-spotted salamander. She told us some things I already knew but that I like to hear about, like that salamanders belong to the Amphibia family, along with frogs and toads. They eat things like insects, worms, snails and slugs and use their sight and smell to find their food because they can’t hear, although they can feel the ground vibrate with their legs and jaw. They can actually regrow a leg if it’s bitten off by a predator like a bird.

  We looked at the salamander for a few seconds, but we didn’t pick him up. Not only would he not like it, but human skin has oil in it that is toxic to the salamander. Caroline then put the stone down next to him but not on top of him because he had moved and doing that would squish him.

  Further up the path, Beth pointed out some deep purple trilliums. She said that the nature preserve is also home to different types of rare plants too, including red milkwort and narrow-leaved gerardia. She said years ago women ate milkwort to help produce more milk for their babies.

  Then Beth talked about how many, many plants – including those used to make drugs to treat things like cancer and AIDS – are at risk of going extinct because we’re destroying the forests and other natural habitats. So basically we’re destroying the very things that can be used to heal us.

  ‘My grandfather had a Gaelic expression for that,’ I told Beth. ‘It was cac sa nid, which means shit in your own nest.’

  My mom said, ‘Phin!’

  But Beth and Caroline just laughed.

  Our team collected four bags of garbage. When we added ours to the other teams’, altogether there were twenty-three bags. That’s a lot of cac.

  When I got home from school today, my mother came out of her study with an envelope in her hand. She said, ‘Phineas William Walsh, have you committed some crime we need to talk about?’

  At first I didn’t know what the heck she was talking about. Then she handed me the letter and I saw the address of the environmental lawyers on the front. I tore open the envelope as fast as I could. This is what I read:

  Dear Phin,

  My name is Julius Crandle and I am one of the lawyers working to help save the woodlot. I got the victim impact letters and pictures you mailed to us, and I am amazed and impressed by the quality of both what you wrote and the accompanying artwork.

  I think that your words and pictures speak very well for wildlife. I would like to run your work in the local and provincial newspapers as a way of making people aware of the consequences of developing the natural areas we are trying to protect.

  We would like to discuss this further with you and your parents and ask you to please give us a call at the number above.

  Yours most sincerely,

  Julius

  I could hardly believe what I read and had to read it again to make sure I saw all the words properly. My mother was standing in front of me waiting for me to explain. I was a little nervous to look up at her face because I wasn’t sure she’d be happy or mad.

  ‘Well, Phin, what is the letter about?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Really, really? Even if it’s not good news?’

  ‘Yes, Phin!’

  So I told her about how I’d written victim-impact statements for the animals of the wetlands and sent them to an environmental lawyer.

  Her mouth hung a little bit open and she didn’t say anything right away, so I said, ‘Actually, Mom, you gave me the idea when you said I should write a victim-impact statement to Lyle.’

  ‘Oh, don’t credit me with this, Phin!’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘So, what … ? Is the law firm writing to thank you for your letters?’ asked my mom.

  I handed her the letter and watched her face as she read it. At that moment I wished I was a chameleon whose eyes tell his brain what colour to turn – or at least had on a shirt the same colour as the wall.

  After a minute, she looked up at me. Then finally she said, ‘What do you think about what they’re asking, Phin?’

  ‘Awesome?’ I said but kind of asked.

  My mother looked at me like she had just noticed something different about my face. Then she looked down to the letter and back at me again.

  She said, ‘Okay, Phin, if this is really something you think is important and want to do, then it’s all right with me.’

  When she said that, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Really. Truly. With a teeny weeny little black-capped chick-adee feather!

  I jumped up ran to the phone to call the number on the letter to tell Julius Crandle he could use my pictures in the newspaper!

  When Bird and I were walking home from school today, it started to rain. Bird started to walk really fast, saying, ‘Hurry up, Phin, we have to get out of the poison.’

  ‘What the heck are you talking about?’ I asked, looking up at the sky.

  Bird said he heard on the news last night that chemicals that make female hormones have been found in the rain and snow.

  ‘What do you think would happen if we got too many female hormones?’ asked Bird.

  ‘Well, I think we’d likely have higher-pitched voices and maybe grow breasts,’ I told him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ yelled Bird. ‘Really? You think it could make us grow boobs?’

  ‘Yep, among other things,’ I said. What I didn’t tell him is that scientists have also found that human boys’ penises are getting shorter because of chemicals in plastics.

  ‘Arghhhh!’ howled Bird.

  We decided we won’t catch the raindrops on our tongues anymore like we used to.

  When we got to Bird’s house, I asked him if he’s worried about what’s happening to the environment now.

  He said, ‘Yep. I don’t want boobs. My mom says a good bra is really expensive and I’d rather spend my money on video games.’

  I figure that if the people like Bird, who doesn’t get worried very often at all, are now starting to become worried, then that’s a good thing – even if it’s only because of boobs.

  When I got home from school today, Mom had a big smile on her face and a newspaper in her hand.

  When my mom and I met Julius at his office last week, he said that likely my picture
s would be on half a page, but they were on an entire page! Julius Crandle put all three animal victim impact pictures and statements in the paper at the same time, and they took up a whole page. The entire page!

  I was really excited and talked super fast and Mom laughed at how excited I was and helped me scan the page to email it to my grandmother and my dad. I also emailed it to Bird, who must have been sitting at the computer because he wrote me back right away. He wrote, ‘Thats wicked!!!!!!! your famus and we could be even more famus if we tell everyone about how we tried to rescue cuddles!!!’

  I wrote back that I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I don’t know how long I can keep him quiet about that.

  The next day, Mrs. Wardman brought my pictures into school to show everyone. Then she posted them up on our Morning News board. That was kind of funny to me because of how my Earth Day picture didn’t even make it onto the Earth Day wall. But I was feeling too good to let it ruin my day.

  I was feeling so good that outside at recess when Lyle started bugging me, I wasn’t even bothered, at least not at first. I reached in my pocket and rubbed my worry rock and tried to ignore him.

  But then Lyle said, ‘Your pictures sucked, froggie boy. You’re nothing but a little fucker,’ and then he shook his middle finger in my face.

  Maybe it was because I was feeling so good that I said what I said. I said, ‘I sure hope you never become a fucker.’ A reproducer is the last thing I want Lyle to be. Then I stared back at him and tried not to blink. Bird tugged on my arm so I stepped back a bit.

  And then Lyle said, ‘What are you talking about, you fuckface froggie fucker?’ and stepped toward me with his face all scrunched up like he was trying to turn it inside out.

  Bird stepped between me and Lyle and said, ‘Get lost, Lyle, or I’m going to use this on you,’ and pulled out a little spray can that said pepper on it.

  ‘What’s that, little Birdie boy, you think you can scare me with a little can of fruit spray?’ said Lyle.

  Bird took the cap off the bottle and held it up so Lyle could see it better. He said, ‘If I press down on this, Lyle, you’ll get a face full of pepper that’ll make you want to tear your eyes out.’

  Lyle said, ‘Yeah, right,’ and stepped so close to Bird that later he told me he could smell Lyle’s breath and it reeked like rotting meat, likely from the kids he’s eaten.

  Bird held the can up level with Lyle’s face and put his finger on the nozzle.

  Lyle said, ‘You don’t scare me, little birdie boy,’ but his mouth twitched a little.

  Bird pressed down a little more on the nozzle. ‘Try me, Lyle, just try me,’ he said.

  Lyle growled, ‘Where’s your Try Me button, you little brown fucker?’

  Bird said, ‘I mean it, Lyle. This will burn your eyes out.’ He moved the bottle even closer to Lyle’s face.

  Lyle paused for a second and then he backed up and said, ‘I’ll get you later, you little scumbag shithole,’ and then he spat on the ground and walked off, likely looking for someone safer to bother.

  I couldn’t believe what Bird had just done. ‘Holy crap, Bird, thanks!’ I said.

  Bird just shrugged, but his eyes were bugging out and I could tell that he couldn’t believe what he had just done either.

  ‘Where did you get that stuff, anyway?’ I asked.

  ‘From my grandmother. I told her what Lyle did to you. I sure hope he doesn’t tell Mrs. Wardman about it because I sure don’t need another misbehaviour. And what the bleep’s wrong with you, anyway, Mr. “I sure hope you never become a fucker”? Are you trying to get the crap beat out of you?’

  ‘Let’s just hurry up and get rid of the evidence in case Lyle’s on his way to Mrs. Wardman.’

  Bird and I decided to bury the pepper spray in the gravel next to the apple tree. I stood in front of him to hide what he was doing while he dug the hole and put it in and covered it up. We agreed that if Lyle looked like he was going to hurt one of us, the other would run for the pepper spray and use it if he had to.

  I don’t think I’d have a problem doing that these days either. Things are changing now that I’m almost ten. So long, Mr. Nice Guy.

  Today I mailed a letter to my dad. I wrote a little bit each day for over two weeks. It’s four pages long. I followed my mom’s advice and told him how it feels to hardly ever see him. I tried to say it in a nice way but in an honest way at the same time.

  To write one part of my letter, I watched the evening news for a week. I did this so that I could find out about some of the horrible human-rights things that are happening right here in Canada. I’m thinking that if Dad knew about them, then maybe he would be interested in doing stories closer to home. I made a top-three list:

  1. The murdering of Native women in the west of the country, which the police don’t seem to do much about.

  2. The fact that the Canadian government still allows asbestos to be sold to people in other countries – even though they know it kills. Isn’t that just as bad as the melamine in foods from China that gets lots and lots of news stories?

  3. Oil and gas companies being bullies with people who want them to stop ruining their land and making them sick.

  Near the end of my letter I told Dad that Mom sometimes sees another man and that I can’t help thinking about how that’s not right. Every time I see her with him, I get angry. I told him that Mom says that she and he will never be back together. I asked him if he feels that way too. I just want his honest opinion. Then I drew him a few pictures of the creatures on Reull and explained what has been happening there.

  I felt relieved to drop the letter in the mailbox, care of the news company he works for. My dad is coming home in a few weeks and I know my mom is going to make me talk with him about all that. She calls it ‘the big talk.’ So I figure it’s better that he knows some of it in advance so that he’s prepared. I hate it when I’m not prepared for bad news.

  Also, since my mother doesn’t make much sense when she tries to explain it to me, I’m hoping that maybe my dad can tell me exactly how it is that a person can love someone one day and then not love them the next? I don’t think any animals in the world do that. Maybe if humans were in a social group together and they all had to work really hard to get enough food to eat and keep them all alive, they would stay together. Maybe then they’d be like the other animals who really do mate for life, like the shingleback lizard, the Canadian goose and the grey wolf.

  But maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe humans aren’t animals who mate for life. Maybe they’re more like the mate-for-a-season animals.

  I know what my mom thinks about her and Dad, but I also need to know what Dad thinks. If his and Mom’s season is up, I need to know that for absolute sure.

  This morning just as Mom and I were about to go to swimming lessons, the phone rang. It was Caroline calling to ask us to please come help with a toad rescue taking place in the wetlands – the very same wetlands that now has a big road right through it, the one where Julius’s law firm is trying to stop further development. She said that hundreds and hundreds of toads are trying to get across the road to their mating grounds on the other side but are being squished by cars.

  My mom said going was up to me but that I’d miss my swimming lesson. I got my rubber boots on right away. Then I remembered that when I told Bird about cleaning up the amphibian park, he said that he would have liked to help too and why didn’t I call him? So I asked my mom if we could pick Bird up on our way.

  When Mom, Bird and I were almost to where other cars were stopped along the road, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was sure I was having a daymare. At first it looked like hundreds of small rocks on the road. But when we got closer, I could see that some of them were hopping and some of them were just twitching about a little. When Mom stopped the car and we got out, I saw the horrible, terrible, awful truth: hundreds of toads lying dead on the road. Toads lying with their bodies flattened and their eyes bulging out. Toads with their insides sque
ezed out of splits in their skin. For about half a kilometre all you could see was dead bodies and hundreds of other moving, jumping, hopping, frantic bodies.

  Bird and Mom and I stood and looked at the scene of life, halflife, death and dying. It reminded me of the victim-impact letter I wrote for the frog. For another few moments, nobody said a word – which was really unusual for Bird who always, always has something to say. As I counted up the dead bodies just in the metre in front of me, I got a skinny feeling all inside my chest and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mom came over to stand beside me and rubbed my back.

  Then Bird said, ‘If I toad you once, I toad you a thousand times – you can’t build a road right over top of a migration path.’

  I laughed without meaning to and that forced the air back into my lungs.

  ‘Well, Phin,’ said Bird, ‘let’s go save some toads.’

  We went over to where Caroline was passing out buckets and shoeboxes to about thirty people all gathered around her. I saw Beth and she gave me a wave. I also recognized some of the other people who were at the amphibian park last week.

  Caroline was telling everyone to try to grab the toads as gently as possible and to please, please watch out for traffic. Luckily, from where we were we could see cars coming from about a kilometre away.

  Bird and Mom and I got to work. Because there were just so many of them, it was easy to catch the toads, but you really needed both hands, which made it hard to hold on to a bucket at the same time. So we worked out a strategy. My mom held the bucket and Bird and I filled it up. Each time we had a bucket almost full, Mom ran it across the road and dumped the toads safely out.

  The really horrible thing was watching the toads we couldn’t save get run over. That’s because every so often, we had to let cars pass through and they would squish everything in their way. It was super, to-infinity hard to stay still and not run out and try to save the toads that were still moving. Most people mouthed sorry as they were driving through and I think they really were. But some people just pretended like nothing bad was happening and one man even rolled down his window and shouted, ‘Get a life, you bunch of nutballs!’ Bird gave him the finger as he drove away, but Mom told him he shouldn’t do that.

 

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