Me and Toad

I was digging around in the garden the other day and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. I turned my head to see a great big’ol toad. He was perfect, all big and lumpy and slow. I petted his back, so he would pee, and then I picked him up.

I have always loved toads. When I was little, my parents had these big window wells that any small child from 5 to 10 years of age could fit in, hide and also find a plethora of toads and salamanders (damn I loved those guys too, but that is for another time). During the summers, my brother and I would root out all the animals that lived in the window wells and play with them.

Per my mother, I had such an affinity for these green creatures that I would choose one special toad and play with only that one all day. I would mainly swing on the swing set with it, me showing my new friend how high we could swing and he squished between my hand and the rusty chain links. Then I would pet him, make him have races with the other toads, let our cat chase after him, snuggle with him, try to feed him and then at the end of the day my mother would come out and pry that day’s dead toad out of my hand while I cried and pleaded to play with it for just one more minute.

Good to see ya again toad!

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