PET MEMORIES LINGER

I’ve told a few tales about our first Scottish Terrier and our First Mutt. But growing up I had lots of pets. Some sanctioned, many not so much. In Homestead AFB, a boys paradise, there were lizards, toads, frogs, snakes (STRICTLY VERBOTEN, at least in the house) and eventually the huge Bufo Marinais, very toxic and not any fun. My mother laid down the law, no reptiles in the house, of course, always the hair-splitter, I reasoned that a toad was an amphibian and so exempt from that dire edict. Little did I (and the toad) know. I placed my favorite toad in a basket and brought it inside. Now this was pre-Scotty days. Thinking proactively, or believing myself to be in any case, I placed a paper plate over the basket to secure Mr Toad in his new house.

Now my mom until very late in her life took to wandering the halls checking on everyone and thing (a practice I lamented in my teens more than once). About 2:00 AM the entire house, and quite possibly the entire Island of Cuba as well was treated to a ear splitting, glass shattering psyche warping scream. It seems that 1) Mr Toad decided to stretch his legs. 2) It seems that my Mom and Mr Toad met in the dark hallway. 3) It seemed that Mr Toad did not survive the meeting, being difficult to live as a toad while being forced up through my dear clear-lunged mother’s five toes. 4) It came to pass that there were almost two other causalities that night, Mom from a heart attack, and darling, sweet John Paul from one of the few beltings administered. At the time I was pretty hazy as to why I was being punished which was OK, I think Dad was pretty hazy as to why he was punishing me. It took a while, a whole day in fact for mom to get over it. She suffered PTSD  over toad guts and toes for decades

John Paul Jones