Pay-Back Time!

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or a nest. Hadn’t Madam heard this was ‘Old Croc’s Place?’ No one dared set a foot on his pad; on this stretch of prime real estate, he was the resident supreme; his word and his preferences stood firm up and down the river.</p><p id="df49">He returned one morning from an outing to find her settled in, smugly grinning from ear to ear. “I am the treasurer of the ‘Me Too’ movement”, she gleefully snapped as she glided past, swaying her slim body and sliding into the water with barely a ripple. A performance designed to impress, he knew, as his spirits dropped; now he had to tolerate a ‘Madam-Mod-Croc”.</p><p id="b77a">It was bad enough having to share his place with Lumpy Toad who was here when he moved in. Toad spent most of his life buried in the sand and didn’t have a clue what was going on in the world. He heard about Coronavirus from none other than Old Croc himself. Simplistic, despicable toad: occasionally Old Croc disdainfully shared the day’s news with him, but only to flaunt his knowledge with any creatures within earshot along the river.</p><h2 id="eb01">Madam Knew Nothing Of The Real World.</h2><p id="58d4">Despite his disapproval, Madam stayed after laying her eggs in an especially prepared nest carefully concealed with sand; she eagerly guarded it, waiting for the young to hatch; only then would she leave them to fend for themselves, “and hopefully push off,” he thought to himself.</p><p id="3621">The wily old crocodile knew that Lady Mischief had no idea about the ‘real world,’ she was ignorant and untaught. Well, she was about to find out that life could be nasty. He had a plan that would persuade her to go and never return. He waited patiently, savouring the thought: his mouth watered with the prospect of multiple tender hors d’oeuvres.</p><h2 id="06df">The Juicy Conclusion.</h2><p id="c584">Ah-ha! A sound, faint at first, growing stronger, came from the nest. Madam hurried to claw back the sand. Soon the newly hatched youngsters were running enthusiastically for the water while she glowed with pride.</p><p id="4bae">Old Croc was waiting; he eagerly snapped up mouthfuls at a tim

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e of tiny, juicy, squealing monsters. <i>Lady Mischief watched in horror as he winked an eye and uttered: “It’s pay-back time!”</i></p><div id="254a" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-conspirator-croc-3e6b9ee2e183"> <div> <div> <h2>The Conspirator Croc</h2> <div><h3>A Satire, With An African Theme, On A Pandemic Newsflash A Few Weeks Ago.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*9CW5aJdo40jjz5Bm)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="580f"><i>You may like to read my first story of Old Croc, featured above. My stories may not appeal to those who haven’t experienced Africa’s rivers, their white, pristine sandbanks and blue waters, and the wildlife found along the banks of our rivers. The Zambezi, in a remote area where I spent my childhood, is the inspiration for my stories of the old croc. Lynette.</i></p><p id="c00d"><i>Lynette Clements. 2020. Copyright reserved.</i></p><h2 id="cc49">More about crocodiles:</h2><div id="ace1" class="link-block"> <a href="https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/06/080623125006.htm"> <div> <div> <h2>1) From The Egg, Baby Crocodiles Call To Each Other And To Mom</h2> <div><h3>The pre-hatching calls of baby Nile crocodiles actually mean something to their siblings and to their mothers. The…</h3></div> <div><p>www.sciencedaily.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*dQEvwOSoNKX5_kd9)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="7b0c">2) YouTube John Downer Productions Brave Little Bird Defends Crocodile Eggs <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScApS3NeF-I">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScApS3NeF-</a> Accessed 24/11/2020</p></article></body>

On A River Sandbank, Revenge Had Its Day.

The Old Croc lazily stretched out on the hot sand, opening one eye as Lady Mischief passed by on her way to cool off in the river, leaving her batch of eggs concealed in their sandy nest alongside the reeds; soon, she would return, unless the alarm was sounded by watching birds that a thief was raiding the nest.

That's exactly what happened, not once, but many times during the following days and weeks. The brave dikkop birds sounded the alarm and Madam would immediately return to defend her nest. Old Croc’s idyllic days of peace and quiet were disrupted by dikkops fighting off offenders and the ‘lady’ rushing up and down the sandbank.

The Old Croc’s Plight.

What a pity, he thought to himself as he pondered his plight. Lady Mischief, well-known for her prowess in the water (and out of it, he thought, with her tirade of words on the rights of women), was determined to stay. She had chosen his sandbank as the ideal spot for a nest. Hadn’t Madam heard this was ‘Old Croc’s Place?’ No one dared set a foot on his pad; on this stretch of prime real estate, he was the resident supreme; his word and his preferences stood firm up and down the river.

He returned one morning from an outing to find her settled in, smugly grinning from ear to ear. “I am the treasurer of the ‘Me Too’ movement”, she gleefully snapped as she glided past, swaying her slim body and sliding into the water with barely a ripple. A performance designed to impress, he knew, as his spirits dropped; now he had to tolerate a ‘Madam-Mod-Croc”.

It was bad enough having to share his place with Lumpy Toad who was here when he moved in. Toad spent most of his life buried in the sand and didn’t have a clue what was going on in the world. He heard about Coronavirus from none other than Old Croc himself. Simplistic, despicable toad: occasionally Old Croc disdainfully shared the day’s news with him, but only to flaunt his knowledge with any creatures within earshot along the river.

Madam Knew Nothing Of The Real World.

Despite his disapproval, Madam stayed after laying her eggs in an especially prepared nest carefully concealed with sand; she eagerly guarded it, waiting for the young to hatch; only then would she leave them to fend for themselves, “and hopefully push off,” he thought to himself.

The wily old crocodile knew that Lady Mischief had no idea about the ‘real world,’ she was ignorant and untaught. Well, she was about to find out that life could be nasty. He had a plan that would persuade her to go and never return. He waited patiently, savouring the thought: his mouth watered with the prospect of multiple tender hors d’oeuvres.

The Juicy Conclusion.

Ah-ha! A sound, faint at first, growing stronger, came from the nest. Madam hurried to claw back the sand. Soon the newly hatched youngsters were running enthusiastically for the water while she glowed with pride.

Old Croc was waiting; he eagerly snapped up mouthfuls at a time of tiny, juicy, squealing monsters. Lady Mischief watched in horror as he winked an eye and uttered: “It’s pay-back time!”

You may like to read my first story of Old Croc, featured above. My stories may not appeal to those who haven’t experienced Africa’s rivers, their white, pristine sandbanks and blue waters, and the wildlife found along the banks of our rivers. The Zambezi, in a remote area where I spent my childhood, is the inspiration for my stories of the old croc. Lynette.