It was raining on my predawn dog-walk this morning, and the toads were out in force. Â Squatting like netsuke or hopping across the shiny pavement of the walkway, they came in sizes from the tip of my pinky to a child’s fist. Â Keeping Tosh from snapping at them preoccupied me almost as much as keeping myself from stepping on them. Â I sang a soft little song to Tosh, trying unsuccessfully to distract him,
Old MacIntosh had a farm
Woofwoof woofwoof woof
And on this farm he had some toads
Woofwoof woofwoof woof
Here a croak there a croak, everywhere a croak, croak
Tosh is used to us singing silly songs to him, and his long pointy nose methodically scanned the pavement, ready to pounce on a hopping creature. Â Only watchfulness and a firm hand on the leash kept him from hunting the little fellows.
We managed to complete our walk with no toad fatalities, I am happy to report.
I remember one time driving up to your house in the Suburban after a very heavy rain. There were toads all over the roads, and I remember joking with Kevin about the whole thing.
.-= Marie´s last blog ..Behind my Back =-.