The Tale Of Tod The Toad Who Wanted A Burger

This is Deputy Digby Pancake.  Make no mistake. I love pancakes.  I love lots of pancakes.  I love when pancakes have baby pancakes.  That’s when they’re in my stomach.  I love my pancake belly.  But I do understand that there are others who love other food just as much.  I am totally ok with that, because that just means I get more pancakes to myself.  I also don’t argue about why pancakes are the best thing in the world.  Because I am too busy taking care of my baby pancakes.  In my belly.

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I meet all kinds at camp.  And everyone is just a little different when it comes to what they like to cook on the grill.  If you have never had a pancake on the grill, you are really missing out, but don’t do that so that I have more pancakes.  Some like to cook steaks and burgers and maybe some like to cook vegetables like our persons do.  But I would have never expected a toad named Tod to wonder into our campsite and request a burger.  When obviously, my culinary degree is based on the flat, sweet bread of Digbyland.  That’s my belly.

So there Tod the Toad was on a Friday afternoon.  We had to move campsites, literally one campsite over.  Obviously, persons aren’t big on making sense, and so we have gotten used to the picking up everything, and moving everything, and setting up camp just a few feet away.  But as we were picking up one of our rugs, we saw him.  A toad named Tod who had either been out too late with his boys, or maybe he was just under the weather.  But he was under the rug, actually.  So Boy Person tried to coax him to move into the woods just a little bit faster, and we saw it.  One of his legs wasn’t working right.  Tod the Toad was hurt.

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Now, I am not one to panic, I am one to wonder how late this is going to make my breakfast though.  Sheriff Brickle surmised that this toad was not one of the harmful, Florida toads that we have to look out for.  No, he was just a Tod the Toad doing Tod the Toad things on a Friday under a rug.  Trying to rest. Or he just had a lot of time on his hands.

And so we were disturbing him.  The persons tried to think of what to do.  Should they call a vet or a rescue?  Should they keep Tod and make him a traveling toad?  Or should they see if he could rest?  So they got a little box, sat him on the ground with a little water, and let him sleep it off while we moved campsites.

But Tod, the whole time was hungry.  He had smelled all of the cooking out at camp.  And he really wanted to go grab a bite to eat, but all he could do was hobble.  Hobble some more.  Fall on his belly.  And then hobble again.  I had a brilliant idea.

It’s not often I get brilliant ideas because I have too many things to do every day like sleep and worry about my babies in my belly.  But this was a no brainer.  Tod the Toad was hungry.  He hobbled.  I wanted to keep my pancakes.  And I remembered.  I remembered.  A few weeks ago, my favorite restaurant changed its name.

And this.  This was where Tod the Toad needed to grab a bite to eat.  This was his restaurant now….he could hobble right over to it.  IHob.

I was pretty upset when my restaurant changed its name.  But maybe, I was seeing after all, was that someone named Tod needed it more. I was hoping really hard that we didn’t have to have a traveling toad, to be honest with you.  I don’t like being hopped on in the middle of the night.  I don’t like being in competition that when I pee on something that a toad peed on it first.  But above all though, I just wanted his hobble to turn into a hop.  And as we set up our last chair at camp, the persons turned around, and all that remained in Tod the Toad’s box were memories.  Memories of a hungry toad named Tod who got to sleep it off and go where he wanted to all along.  To grab a burger.  And not my pancakes.  I was happy.  I was happy for Tod the Toad and the babies in my belly, and everyone.

It never surprises me when the persons try to help an animal that may be hurt.  But what always surprises me is that it always has to affect my mealtimes.  Yet, Tod the Toad?  I have something to say to you.  Even if you can’t hop as well as you used to, or you always have a little hobble, that doesn’t matter at IHob. Your burger will taste just as good.  Life is what we make of it, even if it doesn’t turn out perfect.  Life is about embracing our imperfections and realizing that maybe those imperfections will make us hobble down a path that was better after all.  We will miss you Tod the Toad.  Thank you for allowing us to try and help you.  You were just the best toad a toad could be.  But your belly needs a few more burgers to catch up to my pancake one.

-Deputy Digby Pancake

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Sea Cows Have No Butter

This is Deputy Digby Pancake.  If there was ever a time that I was confused, well, it would be that time.  Yet, since I can’t tell time, I will tell you that it is always pancake o’clock.  And if you are in that Florida place, and you are looking for butter for your pancakes at pancake o’clock, well, you are out of luck.  If you ask a sea cow.

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I will tell you.  There are many times where butter may be optional.  There may be many times when butter is an afterthought, you know, like when you have cornbread. Or a biscuit.  Or toast.  Toast and jam.  Not toast and butter.  That is not what the song says.

But pancakes.  Pancakes must have syrup.  And pancakes must have butter.  And I know where butter comes from.  I know that cows make milk, and milk makes butter.  So when we headed to a place in Florida yesterday that had a bunch of sea cows, I knew to bring my pancakes along in Girl Person’s backpack. I was ready!

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I knew that butter would be everywhere.  In fact, I rightly imagined that even the water would be made of butter and syrup together, all melted from the Florida heat.

IMG_0658.JPGBut I rightly imagined wrongly. Dern. Sea cows.

Now, I know cows.  I am well traveled, and I have heard cows moo in Texas.  I have heard cows moo in Oklahoma.  I have heard cows moo in Kansas, Iowa and Nebraska. I have heard cows moo in California.  Should I go on?

A cow is a cow.  But apparently in that Florida place, sea cows don’t moo even though they move so slow that they would have plenty of time for that.  They don’t run across green fields of grass, but they eat seaweed.  And instead of butter?  They have no. Butter.  No. Butter.  Y’all.

Girl Person says that if they prefer to put no butter on their pancakes, that is their decision.  Well, I am not one to tell someone how to eat their pancakes, but I am.

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However, as I stood near a giant sea cow that had somehow made its way out of the sea onto a Florida roadside attraction, I thought about it a minute.  It was pancake o’clock, after all.

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Here I was, all worried that the sea cows had no butter.  But since butter is a must on pancakes, that just meant that no one around here could partake in a stack..because there was no butter…which left more for me.  I could get. All. The. Pancakes.  And then, the sea cows could do what they do best.  Churn their fake butter for cornbread.  Cause no one needs to put that on pancakes.

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Girl Person says that sea cows may have no butter, but that they are beautiful.  She says that they may not have time to make real butter because they have to steer clear of speeding boats and persons that don’t care about sea cows. She says that all manatees usually have scars where boats have hit them, and if persons don’t slow down, there won’t be any left.  And that my friends is a shame.  Even if they don’t make butter.

So as we left the sea cows to come back to the Big Blue Treat Wagon, I may have brought my pancakes back home without butter.  But I also brought back some new friends in my heart.  You see, we all are like the sea cows a little bit.  We have a lot of things that can harm us during the day.  But if we slow down and go with the current, we will see more.  We will be more…of ourselves. Others will always expect something out of us that we are not, like I expected the sea cows to have butter.  But we are who we are…each one of us.  Go a little slower to churn up the real you.  But you’ll have to bring your own butter. There ain’t none around here.

-Deputy Digby Pancake (with butter)

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