More Bufo Boreas

Good news around the Roberts home today. Mr. Toad has returned!

It was early February when, during a winter heat wave, I wrote about my impatient wait for my good friend Bufo Boreas (as he is known by our herpetologist friends) to make his expected return to our backyard window well. As the weather has warmed and the spring progressed, Carol and I both had our doubts about whether we would see him this year.

It was February 1st when I blogged chapter 1 of B.B. Toad’s Big, Bold Trip. Mr. Toad’s appearance today has prompted me to continue with this tale. 

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I only had one taker on this question after Chapter One. Any more takers?

If you were writing for publication, what genre, style, topic, or age range would you like to write? Tell us why.

                                                              Chapter 2

The ground around B.B. Toad was growing noticeably warmer, and the air that tickled his nose had a fresh springtime scent. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes began to open after his long winter’s nap, and even more slowly came the memories of where he was and the predicament he found himself in.

He had left the safety of the tadpole pond months ago, hopping inquisitively through a starlit but dark fall night and into the strange world beyond the marsh. As the night passed, B.B.’s legs grew tired, his tummy grew empty, and he began to realize he had never known a morning without breakfast in the familiar waters of his pond. He had never known a morning when he had not been aware of his many brothers and sisters swimming in the pond around him.

He had left the pond in the gloaming twilight of the previous night. He now was sensing the coming morning light, and knew that soon he would have to find a place both to hunt and to hide. Any bug, or grub, any fly, worm or gnat would do for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime snack. B.B. had never been a picky eater. But before long, he would need to find a safe place to hide out in the heat of the day. Some thick grass would do. A rocky crevice he could dig into would be nice. Someplace he could squeeze into and wait out the heat of the day in safety, waiting for a meal to wander by.

But the grass he found himself in as the sun began to rise was rather short and provided little safety. He could sense that he was in an area with good moisture, and was confident he could find plenty to eat. B.B knew that his vision would help provide all the food he needed (Western toads, like all of their cousins, have amazing vision, even being able to see distinct colors in the darkness of night); however, his unique toad vision was also crucial for his personal safety. For B.B., like all other toads, the question when seeing any kind of movement was all about answering one of two questions: Is it prey? Is it predator?

Predator! B.B. froze in place (a defensive posture called “planting down”  according to toad experts), and the cat stalking by did the same. Having never seen a cat before, B.B. wasn’t sure what action it might take. But he knew in that moment his best bet was do not move! The grey striped beast then crouched lower into the grass, its stunted, crooked tail twitching back and forth.

Do not move! B.B. shouted to himself.

The cat’s tail twitched once more, and it leaped into the air.

Move! B.B.’s powerful legs launched him, not so high, but far, farther than he had ever jumped before.

And at the same time, a small chickadee in the shrub behind B.B. took flight away from the crooked tailed cat that pursued her. The cat watched the bird fly high and far away, and B.B., quite sure that he had jumped farther than any toad had ever jumped before, tumbled into the shadowy, shaded window well that was to become his new home.  

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