Toad Away - Morris Gleitzman [0]
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For Melanie and Nick
G'DAY FROM THE AUTHOR
You might notice a few strange and exotic words in this book. Fear not! They won't hurt you, they're just Australian. To find out what they mean, choose one of the following options.
Put the book down, fly to Australia, ask a local, fly back, pick up the book, resume reading.
Have a squiz at the glossary on page 191.
Happy reading,
Morris Gleitzman
“Stack me,” said Limpy. “This is my lucky day.”
He hopped closer through the long grass for a better squiz.
There were three of them. Big ones. Fully grown, by the look of it.
Perfect, thought Limpy.
He had to admit they were magnificent creatures.
Their picnic rug was pretty nice too.
“They're called humans,” said a grasshopper. “You can tell from their smooth skin and fat bottoms and unwise choice of shorts. I'd watch out. They hate you dopey cane toads even more than runny poo.”
“I know,” said Limpy quietly.
He tried not to be scared.
This was the chance he'd been looking for. Three humans relaxing on a picnic. Three humans exactly where he wanted them.
“Sorry, Uncle Ian,” whispered Limpy. “I'll have to put you down. I can't tackle these humans with a dead rellie on my back.”
Limpy slid Uncle Ian off his shoulders and laid him on a soft patch of moss. He knew what he was about to do was very dangerous, but the sight of Uncle Ian's poor flat body, crisscrossed with tire tracks and baked hard in the sun, made something inside Limpy harden too.
With determination.
Limpy thought of all the other poor rellies he'd seen squashed by humans on the highway. All those poor startled eyes glaring out of flat tummies and poor tragic ears poking out of even flatter bottoms.
“Those humans over there are so busy eating,” he whispered to Uncle Ian, “they won't notice me. I can creep up and get really close without them seeing me, and then I can …”
“Stab them with their own cutlery,” said the grasshopper. “In the buttocks.”
Limpy looked at the grasshopper, shocked.
“I'm not going to stab them,” said Limpy. “I'm going to make friends with them.”
The grasshopper stared back, looking just as shocked.
“Make friends with humans?” it said. “Why would you want to do that? Especially hairy ones with tattoos and big boots.”
“If I can make friends with them, this won't happen anymore,” said Limpy, pointing to poor flat Uncle Ian. “Friends respect each other. They don't bash each other with rocks and drive over each other in vehicles.”
The grasshopper snorted. “You haven't seen humans after a few beers.”
Limpy sighed.
“Aunty Pru reckons friendship is possible between all species,” he said. “Except the ones that eat each other. Humans and cane toads don't eat each other, so we can be friends if we want to.”
“Yeah,” said the grasshopper. “And sludge worms might fly.”
Limpy decided to ignore the grasshopper.
If I'm going to pay those humans a social call, he thought, I should take them a gift. Something nice for their picnic.
He peered over at the men. He could see pies in their fists, and sausage rolls in their lunchboxes, but no sauce.
Perfect, thought Limpy. I'll whip them up a batch of Mum's slug sauce. That'll get the friendship off to a great start.
While Limpy rummaged through the stinkweed looking for slugs, he had a wonderful vision of humans and cane toads being the best of friends. Going on bushwalks together. Playing mud slides.