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The bull ant gave a chortle of triumph that only stopped when Goliath ate him.

“I'll explain it again,” said Limpy patiently. “To stay healthy, we need flying insects in our diet, right? Because they're rich in vitamins and minerals.”

“And wings,” said Goliath.

“Right,” said Limpy. “And the place to find flying insects is on the highway under the railway-crossing light. Which makes us easy targets for humans in vehicles. There's nothing a human in a vehicle likes better than driving over a cane toad, right?”

“That and picking their noses,” said Goliath. “Lucky mongrels. Wish I had a couple of little cupboards in my face.”

Limpy interrupted before Goliath forgot the plan again.

“Okay,” said Limpy. “On the count of three. One, two, …” He checked that the highway was still clear and gave a signal to the family members waiting in the grass on the other side.

“… three!”

Goliath grumbled some more, flexed his muscly arms, arched his back, and flung his round flat dry sticky uncle high into the air like a Frisbee.

It was a perfect throw.

“Well done,” gasped Limpy.

High above them, Uncle Nick seemed to hover, spinning in the cloud of insects flying around the railway-crossing light.

Limpy strained to see if any of them were getting stuck onto the sticky sap.

It looked like they were.

Then, suddenly, dazzling headlights roared round the bend in the highway. Huge wheels thundered over the railway tracks.

“A truck!” yelled Limpy.

He leaped into the ditch, dragging Goliath down after him, his hopes nosediving into the mud at the same time.

It's not fair, thought Limpy. No uncle should be hit by two trucks. Not on different nights. If this truck makes contact, Uncle Nick'll be smashed to bits. The family members on the other side could be injured by jagged pieces of flying uncle.

As the truck rumbled away into the night, Limpy peered anxiously up at the white haze over the railway crossing.

And saw, weak with relief, that Uncle Nick was still airborne. He was wobbling slightly but was still on course, spinning down toward the under-growth on the other side of the highway.

Uncles and aunts, cousins and neighbors, were scrambling out of the ditch on the other side and hopping into position to catch Uncle Nick as he landed. Some were so excited they jumped too soon and fell in a heap, which gave Uncle Nick something nice and soft to land on.

“It worked!” shouted the family members whose mouths weren't full of mud. “Good on you, Limpy and Goliath.”

Limpy's warts tingled with delight.

He beckoned the family to bring Uncle Nick back through the stormwater tunnel under the road. As they emerged, Limpy looked anxiously to see how many flying insects Uncle Nick had stuck to him.

Not a huge number, but enough for a start.

Perhaps the sticky sap wasn't sticky enough, thought Limpy. I'll add a bit more mucus next time.

He turned to congratulate Goliath on a top throw. And saw that Goliath was still lying at the bottom of the ditch, face in the mud, sobbing.

“I knew it,” Goliath was croaking, broad shoulders shuddering with misery. “I knew it was a dopey idea. I knew a truck would come. Now I've broken Uncle Nick.”

Limpy tapped Goliath on the warts and pointed at the family faces grinning down at him.

Goliath blinked, sniffled, and stared up at Uncle Nick and his coating of insects.

“Stack me!” said Goliath, eyes widening. “Flying-insect pizza.”

Limpy and the others chuckled. They'd never seen an actual pizza in real life because the pizza boxes humans threw out of cars only had bits of crust in them, but they knew what Goliath meant.

“Now I get it,” said Goliath happily. “This is a way for us to collect flying insects without going onto the highway. And if we don't go onto the highway, humans can't run us over. Because humans only drive on the highway.”

Limpy grinned. Goliath might be a bit slow, but he got there in the end.

The other cane toads applauded.

Goliath blushed modestly.

Then the