The old toad who lived in a shoe

Some mornings are more like nursery rhymes than others.

When I was in forth grade, my class watched a film about scorpions in which the climax included two shots pieced together: one of a scorpion climbing into a slipper, the second of a woman putting a foot into said slipper and screaming. I haven’t worn slippers since.

In fact, directly after that film I developed a habit of checking my shoes for danger – spiders, etc – before sticking my feet in. That habit continues to this day, and now my seventeen years of shoe-checking are justified.

I leave my dress shoes in my office and walk to and from work in my comfy shoes. A few colleagues were outside my office when I arrived this morning, and we exchanged pleasantries while I surreptitiously changed shoes behind my desk. I checked my right shoe, all clear, made the switch; I then stuck my hand in my left shoe and… wait a second, there’s something in there.

Something BIG.

Something with eyes.

I screamed; a small crowd gathered.

To explain my predicament I stepped outside (with one shoe on) and shook my left shoe. Nothing happened; the crowd stared. “Just wait,” I explained and gave it another shake. Still nothing; people watched cautiously and curiously. I then carefully pulled the insole out of the shoe, the creature staring at me with a racing heart, and gave the shoe another gentle shake. Back legs dangled, the crowd went wild.

I felt bad giving Mr. Toad a wild ride, but then again, as I recall it’s in their nature.

It took some coaxing before I finally got the toad out of my shoe. “You’ve confused your children’s stories,” I told him, “it’s an old woman who lives in a shoe. You hastily drive stolen motorcars and get in accidents. What would Mole and Badger think if they saw you here?”

The toad was convinced and went on his merry way, while I kept the office dog at bay.

For those of you who are wondering, I did not kiss the toad and it did not turn into a conservation practitioner (apparently only frogs do that). Nor did I dress him in a Harris Tweed suit and give him a cigar, as tempted as I was.

My colleagues believe this is a good omen for conservation in the region. “He knew you are doing conservation work,” a colleague said, “you must welcome biodiversity even in your shoes.”

Then I was given a moniker I did not expect: “Rob Mfuga Vyura” (Rob the keeper of frogs). Let the record show I let the toad go.