Spring photos.
I think of him as "my" toad. Anyone who grew up in my hometown of Temiscaming, Québec would recognize my nostalgic memories of a childhood filled with wildlife, including lots of amphibians.
I was more familiar with frogs than toads, since one of my favorite spring activities was collecting frogs' eggs from the pond on the dusty old Ville Marie road. Like many other kids, I stored the eggs in a milk bottle filled with pond water, and watch the black dots in the gelatinous eggs develop into polliwogs and, finally, frogs. We released the frogs into the garden when they started to jump around too much to contain in a makeshift terrarium.
I remember seeing toads in wet, leafy areas, minding their own business and quietly eating insects, worms and whatever else seemed appetizing, but I'm not sure I'd even picked one up until a couple of weeks ago.
My husband Bob grew up in the city and had never had a close encounter with a toad until he found one lounging in his Weber grill a few weeks ago. Bob called me to "deal with it" so I picked him up carefully, rinsed him off in the birdbath and laid him it carefully in the grass. A few days later we grilled again and Mr. Toad was back under the grill cover, resting on the propane tank. Same routine to get him out of harm's way.On Sunday Mr. T. was nowhere to be found and I feared that one of his predators (raccoon, skunk, owl, snake ...) had eaten him. However, this afternoon, he was back on the propane tank and I deposited him on the edge of the birdbath. He soon disappeared into the grass.
The grill is covered and cool now, and I can picture Mr. Toad safely asleep under the cover after enjoying a tasty bug dinner.
