toads

Walk Softly

| Flower Roberts

I must move carefully in the garden. There are friends underfoot everywhere.

Do you see it?

One of my most vivid memories as a young child is the murdering of a toad found in the sandbox at Mrs. Blythe’s nursery school. An older boy found the toad, tortured it and smashed it with a rock. He should have been sent straight to Jackson’s Training School or jail.

My sister and I took toad deaths very seriously. We had a graveyard in the woods where we buried the smashed flat, dried toads we found in the road. We would hold solemn funerals for the deceased. We also gave guided tours of our facilities to the neighbors, who I am sure were thoroughly amused.

So with this bit of childhood baggage, I fear the accidental death of one of my amphibious friends.

They are in every hole and hopping across every walkway.

When I burned weeds with my torch last night, I was on the lookout so as not to bar-b-que a little neighbor.

It’s hard to walk and work without worry when you have little friends underfoot.

FLOW

The Disharmonious Symphony

| Flower Roberts

Each night there is a performance by our toads and our frogs.

It’s an amphibious contest of decibels.

The loudest group gains control of the pond.

The toads belt out flats.

While the frogs scream in sharps.

We wish they would quit all their noise and get on with their spawning.

It seems they have forgotten the reason for their calling.

Frog, Loud and full of feces

They are too busy making noise to get busy in the pond.

Why can’t they quiet the raucous and form a caucus,

then quietly copulate each other?

FLOW

 

P.S. Amphibians use external fertilization so they do not copulate. I needed them to in this post for my own political purposes.

 

 

Toad in a Trance

| Flower Roberts

I suspect these high temperatures tricked my toad out of his torpor.

I am sure my snooping around weeding and cleaning also disrupted his winter rest.

He spent all day yesterday perched on this rock at the top of the wall.

I checked on him many times yesterday. He was unresponsive.

I did not touch him for fear he might plunge to his death, if disturbed.

He was still precariously perched last night when I went to bed.

This morning, I was pleased to find him in a less exposed location.

He has moved to a space between stones, not far from the hole he emerged from.

He still won’t look at me, maybe he blames me for early emergence. Typical toad attitude.

FLOW

 

Too Many Toads

| Flower Roberts

As I was walking my morning rounds on Thursday to inspect the gardens,

I spied two toads locked in an embrace on the rocks outside the pond.

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Now I am no amphibian copulation expert, but I do know the fertilization is external and therefore requires water.

Was this a rehearsal? A practice session before entering the pond?

I took photos of the entranced toad couple and went about by business as they went about theirs.

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Many hours later, I walked back by the pond. They were still there.

The top toad, who we will call Mr. Backpack looked dry and maybe a little sunburned. (or was it afterglow?)

Mrs. Squeeze( the bigger, bottom toad) had turned a bit, but was still on the same rock as hours before.

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I began to wonder if we had a defective toad population.

Did they not know that this activity should be done in liquid?

By this time I was regularly checking the toads out of irritation rather than concern. Must I do everything? Can’t anyone do anything right without my help?

Must I lead a horny toad to water?

As I was weeding that afternoon I pulled up a clump of weeds with what I thought was a bulb attached.

When I pushed the “bulb” back down onto the ground, it smooshed and wiggled…another toad.

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Even after dark, the two aforementioned toads remained on the rocks. I should have dropped them into the pond,  but as a biologist, I did not want to aid and abet defective genes entering the pool. (No pun intended.)

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Finally, about nine PM, I spotted a pair of toads in a wrestling match in the lily box. I am yelling a blow-by-blow to my grown son and the neighborhood.

“She threw him off. He tried to get back on. She kicked him in the head. She kicked him again.”

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I suddenly stopped. Really? Another toad? By the pond on the rocks.  Were these even the same toads? Mr. Backpack looked too light colored.  Was it another Squeeze on the rocks or another Backpack?  I was thinking there were too many toads in our yard.

Here a toad, there a toad, everywhere a toad or two.

As I was walking past the carport to the weed pile, I saw a familiar silouette under my car.

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No worries.

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There will be more toads.

FLOWER