“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Surely there couldn’t be one of those lizards behind every bush. She thought about the backyard and the old wall beyond the garage. Perhaps that was a better option. She had to do something. It appeared they would be without a toilet at least until tonight.

Outside it was quite warm. Paula peered into the thick grass over the makeshift wire fence Tom had put up behind the garage to help confine Tarzan. When the dog was smaller she worried he’d get lost in the overgrown part of the backyard they didn’t use. She was able to loosen one of the iron droppers, squeeze past it and step over a low part of the crumbling wall. Beyond it was a space at the back of the garage and the area was sheltered by bushes on the other side, which were bounded by a rickety tin fence marking the edge of the house yard. There were a pile of stones and a tangle of old drums and wire overgrown with vegetation but there was a bare patch under a larger tree where only a few weeds grew. It was the ideal place for a temporary toilet.

Still, the idea of squatting and something wriggling up from behind her didn’t fill her with confidence. What I need is something to sit on, she thought.

She looked around the backyard. Nothing much had been done to it since they’d moved in. There was a cracked cement path from the back door across a straggly lawn to the clothesline. A few roses and shrubs struggled to survive along the side fence, which Tom had patched up after Tarzan’s accident. The rusty corrugated-iron back fence was overhung by assorted bushes and trees, and wobbled along to meet the corner with the old stone wall, where she stood.

Where had she seen something that might be useful? She looked to the back of the house, the sleep-out. There were still some bits and pieces of old furniture stacked in there. When she had first arrived she had taken out any useful items and used them in the house. The rest was junk and some had been carted away but there were still a few things left. They’d used them to help make a pen for Lucky the lamb when they first found him. Paula had a vague idea there was an old folding chair among the rubbish.

An hour later she paused to wipe the perspiration from her brow and survey her handiwork. The space was now clear of weeds so nothing could hide there and, in the middle of it, the old folding chair sat perched over the hole she had dug. There was no seat in the chair and she would have to balance using the arm rests but she would rather do that than expose her rear end to whatever lurked in the grass.