When I arrived home this evening, I was quite surprised to see Mr. Toady sitting in my parking place. He's never done that before, and I was thinking he must have some big brass toadyballs to commandeer such a dangerous spot in which to enjoy his bug buffet. As I mentioned previously, we have a good rapport, so I'm always on the lookout for his safety and I parked well away from him.
I greeted him as I always do, he gave me a solemn look of "hmph" in reply, and I began carrying my parcels into the garage. On the second trip, I glanced to my right, and did a double-take. Mr. Toady had apparently sprinted the width of the driveway while my back was turned, and now sat serenely on the other side of the parking area. I shrugged and walked around the front of the car.
And there sat Mr. Toady.
But if Mr. Toady is over here . . .
then over there must be . . . could it be? A Mrs. Toady!
Now knowing that there is a Toady family, I of course had to see which one I had photographed in the drainpipe. I grabbed my camera and shot blindly in the dark, unconcerned about the flash since I had learned from a friend that amphibian retinas aren't damaged by bright lights; consequently, they are used in flash-type test scenarios quite a bit.
I photographed Mr. Toady first because he was closer. He was particularly active, and frankly, got a little peeved with me and the camera flash. I don't know if you've ever seen a miffed toad, but he was kind of funny. His front feet were on tiptoe and his elbows (do toads have elbows?) were pushed outwards from his body – like a little Mr. Toady Universe – thrusting him into a nearly vertical position. He shoved his head back into his neck, like a turtle. I guess this was his way of making himself appear bigger. He was probably chuckling to himself at his effectiveness as I drifted across the driveway to see Mrs. Toady.
She was a lovely specimen. A little more plump than her husband, and most accommodating of my photographic efforts. She sat patiently as I tried to capture her image in the dark.
By the time I finished with Mrs. Toady, Mr. Toady had decided he was within his rights to explore the confines of our garage, and I returned to find him perched on the concrete directly beneath the open garage door. With visions of frogs in blenders and miniature guillotines, I attempted to herd Mr. Toady out of the path of the door and back into the driveway. My gentle pleas for him to move were wasted . . . he wasn't having it.
I touched his back right leg and he jumped six inches away from the garage. I touched him again, and he jumped another six. Then he turned halfway towards me and just glared. I was confused, because just a few weeks ago I had touched him to make him get out of the way, and he didn't budge. In fact, he rather seemed to enjoy being petted, so this aggressive behavior didn't make sense. And then I realized I had most likely petted Mrs. Toady before, not Mr. Toady.
Hopeful that I had taken at least one usable shot of both the Mr. and the Mrs., I double checked Mr. Toady's location and closed the garage door so they could finish their bug buffet in peace.
No, it's not the Apocalypse. And, no, I still won't kiss him . . . after all, he's a married fellow. Oh, and lest I forget, it was Mr. in the drainpipe. I could tell by the markings on his chest.
