When neighbors come to call

We’ve seen almost no frogs and very few toads this year. I’m not sure if it’s because they aren’t around or we’re not looking at the right times in the right places. A few days ago there was a tiny toad hopping along in front of the garage, trying to not get washed away in the flow from a downpour. This morning, a much larger toad was hopping across the front porch as the dogs and I returned from a walk. Once the dogs and I were inside the house, I watched through a side window for a minute or two. The toad kept hopping against, as in “into,” the side of the live trap we have set for chipmunks. It was like the toad couldn’t recognize the open lattice as an obstruction.

one of our hoppy toads, American Toad (Anaxyrus americanus)

Photo by J. Harrington

One night during the past few weeks, another local critter didn’t let a larger, more sturdy, open lattice deter him or her. We have a “gate” at the top of the deck stairs to keep the dogs from bolting down the stairs. I noticed yesterday that the “gate” had been bent inward at the middle. The last time the gate looked like that we had had a visit from a neighborhood bruin. I’ve been pretty regular, although not perfect, at bringing the bird feeders in every evening so I suspect someone came to check out if there was anything good to eat on the deck. The visitor left the grill alone and this time didn’t leave a calling card, although it is early in the season for berries to be ripe.

Most of the time we manage to get by with a “live and let live” philosophy around here. Exceptions get made for deer flies, mosquitoes and a ground hog that wanted to tunnel next to the foundation. Even inside the house we try to transport the occasional spider or cricket back outside using the cup and cardboard capture routine. Maybe we could try that with Republicans and turn them loose someplace like the Jim Bridger wilderness.

Toad dreams

By Marge Piercy

That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it.--Henry Thoreau

The dream of toads: we rarely 

credit what we consider lesser 

life with emotions big as ours, 

but we are easily distracted, 

abstracted. People sit nibbling 

before television's flicker watching 

ghosts chase balls and each other 

while the skunk is out risking grisly 

death to cross the highway to mate; 

while the fox scales the wire fence 

where it knows the shotgun lurks 

to taste the sweet blood of a hen. 

Birds are greedy little bombs 

bursting to give voice to appetite. 

I had a cat who died of love. 

Dogs trail their masters across con- 

tinents. We are far too busy 

to be starkly simple in passion. 

We will never dream the intense 

wet spring lust of the toads. 

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