LIKE THE CANE TOAD
by
B.M. Whitton


It took almost two hours for the cane toad to die—actuallydie. Actually, it took the crow almost two hours to kill the cane toad, under the shade of the banyan tree. And I watched it happen;, all of it. The crow turned it around fromby one of its back legs, and then pecked at the white belly. The toad tried to escape, turned itself back up, and jumped a couple of times, but the crow just did it again, dragging the toad to the same position fromby the back legs, turning, pecking. Again, and again, until the white belly was just one big hole, oozing blood and guts.
I’ve never had a morbid curiosity, but I stayed there, resting on the veranda’sveranda floor, and stared, mesmerised. When the toad stopped moving, the crow stopped pecking, and flew away, just like that, disregarding its prey, ignoring death, and scorning murder. And I watched and felt no remorse or disgust. I hate cane toads, everybody in Queensland does; they’re foreign and ugly.