“Two came in the screened porch, Poppy!”

My four-year-old grandson had an urgent sound in his voice.

It was mid-afternoon on a lovely Spring day when I sat down on my patio to enjoy a glass of iced tea after finishing some yard work.

Confused, I replied with a simple, “Two?  

“Yes, Poppy, Two is in the screened porch.”

“Two? Two what?”

Exasperated at my lack of concern, young Luke elevated his voice and tone, “TWO IS ON THE PORCH!” 

Still confused, I responded, “Two who?” 

Luke, sounding even more frustrated, shouted “JUST TWO POPPY!!!”

I had an eery sense this conversation was about to become an Abbott and Costello version of Who’s On First?

At this point, my wife, who frequently serves as translator for conversations with this pre-schooler, offered clarity to this confused septuagenarian.  “Honey, a few days ago, Luke and I noticed a fat fuzzy bumblebee buzzing about the patio. For the past couple of days, this punctual bumblebee arrived around two o’clock each day. Hearing me make this observation, Luke decided to name it Two.”

She continued. “And now Two has flown through the open door into our screened porch. You need to rescue Two.”  

It wasn’t a request. My Queen had spoken!

Resisting the temptation to repeat myself with a “Two what?” I focused on the two faces staring back at me. Words were no longer necessary. This Poppy was expected to rescue an overweight flying insect named Two. Grabbing a fly swatter and a cup, I stepped into our screened porch on a life-saving mission, followed closely by two of Two’s protectors. Luke immediately pointed out Two’s location — about five feet above the floor, clinging to the screen — apparently waiting for his human chauffeur to arrive. I gingerly slid the swatter up close enough in hopes he would step onto its flat surface. Once he did, I immediately covered him with the cup and provided his Highness, the Bumblebee known as Two, with an escort to freedom.

To the cheers of Two relieved fans (pun intended), this Poppy, wearing a sweat-soaked t-shirt and grass-stained socks, was now a hero. I basked in my glory as nature’s savior.

The next day, I could only chuckle while we visited a nearby park when Luke saw a bumblebee fly by.  “What’s Two doing here?” I had no answer but was relieved there were no screened porches nearby.

Later that day, as we once again enjoyed refreshments sitting on our back porch, our inquisitive, always observant grandson discovered a rather plump frog sitting in the garden. Recalling a nature show he had recently watched, Luke thought he recognized this new beast. “Poppy, we have a horny toad in our garden!”

I quickly suggested to Luke it was time for dinner. 

Heaven only knows what new nickname was about to emerge.

_{Note: Picture provided by Michael Alan Bailey at unsplash.com}