Sarah was afraid of reptiles. She had been convinced by urban myths about the alligators in Florida - those domesticated creatures who, abandoned by their owners, had entered the sewage system and occasionally popped up into the lavatory bowls of citizens, biting their posteriors. Sarah always looked carefully and lowered herself with caution, just in case. Reptiles were bad news.

But, to her great dismay, her new husband was a reptile fancier. He had lizards, he had small Komodo dragons, he had tortoises, all kept in pens in the spare bedroom. The very worst was the tropical toad. Sarah was not sure if it was a Cane Toad or an American Toad, but it was big - as big as a rugby ball. It was kept in a vivarium, the size of a coffin. A glass coffin. 

This toad was called Sir Cloudesly Shovell, after a 17th century admiral whom her husband admired. It stared at Sarah through the glass. Her husband was rather vocal between the sheets, and she was convinced that his roars and grunts were heard by the toad. If it had ears, it would have pricked them up. It seemed to glower and  grow every time it heard the sounds. Soon it would be too big for the vivarium. And then what? Sarah tried to allay her fears by thinking about how toads appeared in literature, but that was not comforting. Mr Toad, for example, in Toad of Toad Hall, was boastful and egocentric, and Trevor in Harry Potter and the Philopher’s Stone was hardly a role model. And in Paradise Lost, Satan took a new form, “Squat like a toad at the ear of Eve”. In fairy stories, the heroine has to kiss a toad in order for him to change into a prince. But with her current run of luck, Sarah would kiss him and he’d turn into King Charles, instead of Keanu Reeves.

All this augured ill. Sir Cloudesly Shovell fixed her with a baleful eye every time she came into the room, and gave a loud croak. His table manners were poor: he crunched flies loudly, and the tails of the live baby mice he was fed hung out of his mouth for an unconscionable time. She could not bear to meet his rheumy eye, could not bear to think about the sticky pads on his feet, about his swollen parotid glands. Something would have to be done. Sarah thought of bashing him with a spade (he was called Shovell after all), but recoiled at the thought of the mess. Instead, she put him into a picnic basket and presented him to the local petting zoo. Perhaps a poisonous toad was not the best choice of gift for children, but the zoo seemed happy enough. It promised to provide gloves. As she drove off, Sarah could have sworn she heard a roar of rage from Sir Cloudesly. 

The kidnapped toad destroyed Sarah’s marriage. When her husband found out, he left her and took all his other reptiles with him. It’s an ill wind, she thought to herself. Soon, she found a new mate, who was much nicer. He was quieter in bed - just a few squeaks - and he had two sweet little Cavalier spaniels called Mabel and Enid. They scampered around the house all day long, yapping and shedding hair. Now that was much better. Much better all round.