BLADEN JOURNAL (Elizabethtown, N Carolina) 08 July 05 Newest pet may be the ideal (Jefferson Weaver)
We have yet another critter at home, but I think he may yet become my favorite.
He isn't loud. He doesn't shed or moult. He doesn't mark his territory. He doesn't crawl on the bed in the middle of the night, or beg scraps from the table. Near as I can tell, he doesn't fight with others of his kind, or torment the other pets of different species. He requires no medical care.
I don't even have to feed him.
Shoot, I only see him two or three times per day, and he actually works for a living.
We call him Mr. Toad.
I am strictly assuming, of course, that he is a he. As dignified as Mr. Toad is, all puffed up and standing on the back steps, I would never insult him by invading his privacy and performing an examination. I'm not sure how to tell the difference with amphibians, anyway.
Besides, since I find it hard to believe anything so ugly could be female, although I am no more an expert on the attraction between toads than I am on their physiognomy.
All my life, I've enjoyed toads. In answer to the inevitable question, no I have not eaten one, and have no intention of doing so. They don't have enough meat on their bones to make it worthwhile.
Like generations of children before me, I heard the warnings that toads cause warts. That old tale, while repeatedly disproved by scientists (and children who never developed masses of warts), was created, I'm pretty sure, by Moms who found toads somewhat, well, icky.
But Mr. Toad, or Tommy, as Miss Rhonda calls him (I prefer the formal address, and I think he agrees) has shown none of the icky habit so prominent amongst most of his kin. Of course, we only pick him up long enough to move him out of the path of the Thundering Herd, so he doesn't have time enough to become agitated and express his displeasure.
The Herd, incidentally, have all learned the hard way that while toads are an attractive animated chew toy, they don't have the same taste as, say, a nice green frog or a vole. As a matter of fact, if my dogs could talk, they would probably agree with mothers everywhere that toads taste icky, and so should be avoided.
So Mr. Toad hangs out on the back stoop, enjoying the evening air and occasionally snatching the fugitive bugs that bite, sting, buzz, and flutter their way through July. Colly Bay, our back yard, has more bugs per capita than any place on the continent (at least I think so), and without the cross-ventilation of an open back door, our house is an oven.
We generally keep the back porch light on for the dogs, so naturally, bugs are drawn there like, well, toads to a fly convention.
As such, Mr. Toad has grown fat guarding the rear from intruding mosquitoes, flies, and the occasional unidentifiable-but-it-probably-bites-Generic Bug.
The big house where I grew up had a huge magnolia tree in the side yard. Since magnolias produce huge hard leaves that, after falling, prevent evaporation (as well as make a wonderful crunching sound the whole year around), bugs were plentiful under our magnolia.
As such, toads were plentiful, too. Almost any afternoon, the casual stroller or the mischievous young'un could find a toad or three carefully and quietly making its way through the leaves.
I have always considered toads to be a bit more dignified than common frogs, although the latter are tasty. Frogs tend to be high-strung (probably because of their tastiness) and jump away at the least disturbance.
A toad, on the other hand, will stare you in the eye, his throat calmly going in and out as he breathes.
Frogs are prettier, of course-the black stripes of the leopard, the sheer primeval bulk of a huge old bullfrog that occasionally eats fish as well as insects-but a toad's beauty is more ephemeral. Toads are simple, efficient, somewhat drab creatures, but they eat their weight in bugs on a regular basis, and just want to be left alone.
Naturally, as a child, I had to find ways to keep toads as pets. Neither terraria, aquaria, nor just plain Mason jars ever seemed to work as well for my toads as they did the turtles and other creatures that found their way into my bookbag, my overalls bib or my blue-jeans pockets.
I did discover early on, though, that if you left a toad alone, he would likely stay in the area where you saw him first. Thus a six-year-old could consider a toad to be a pet, without the problems associated with pets, such as feeding, cleaning, and with toads, those dreaded warts.
I spoke to Mr. Toad this morning as I do every day, when the sun breaks the trees and the chickens begin their nervousness and the dogs, stretch, yawn and run.
Whilst greeting him, I remembered I had to fix the baseboard on the chicken pen; the dogs also need bathing. One of the tom-cats had been marking his territory again, making me wonder if cats aren't better suited for hats and coats than housepets.
In a few minutes, I knew I'd have to feed the chickens, hen fight through the glorious hysteria that we call breakfast around our house, with bouncing cats and baying dogs you'd think haven't eaten in years.
All the while, Mr. Toad just sat and breathed at me, much as he'd done when I told him good night.
As the sun climbed and the heat grew, I was sure he'd find a quiet, cool, damp place wherein to spend the day relaxing.
I wouldn't have to feed him, housetrain him, or walk him on a leash. He'd never make me feel guilty for not taking him for a ride on a hot day, and he'd never beg from the table. Nor would he climb into bed in the middle of the night.
As much as I love my critters, and I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world, I have to admit: a toad is a marvelous pet, warts and all.
Newest pet may be the ideal