Nibbler

Yesterday’s corner time: 2 Minutes.

It turns out that Becca has a penchant for toes. She’s a toe nibbler. No one can relax when she’s in the vicinity but, on the plus side, we’re saving a fortune on pedicures.

Becca seems drawn to toes like a fish to its bait and once she has you locked in her sights, she’s virtually impossible to shake off. Yesterday, I had to climb a tree to flee her.

Even then, she circled the base of the trunk for a good few minutes before becoming distracted by Dad, who having just arrived in from work had unwittingly kicked off his shoes and socks, exposing his succulent flesh.

I waited for his inevitable yelp of pain before deciding it was probably safe to break cover.

I had only taken a few steps before being almost bowled over by Dad, hopping out into the garden clutching his left foot, closely followed by Becca, arms outstretched and teeth gnashing.

I turned and raced back to my tree only to find that Dad had already ensconced himself on my branch. What would I do now? Becca was almost upon me. I was trapped with no visible means of escape.

I backed up against the trunk, closed my eyes and waited. Waited for the nibbling to commence. Next thing I knew, I felt a hand grab my shirt collar and was being hauled upwards. When I reopened my eyes, I was beside Dad on the branch. I’d been saved.

Becca circled below but as dusk fell, she grew tired and eventually fell asleep on the grass, her snores signalling that it was now safe for us to come down.

For the time being, Mum has relaxed her “no shoes on inside the house” policy.

Matthew.