As a barefoot and wild tomboy growing up in the middlest of the Midwest, one of my favorite and most frequent wild animal interactions was with toads - likely Woodhouse’s Toads based on my research. We neighborhood kids would find them in all kinds of places amongst our houses, like in gaps between patio pavers, on the cool, moist soil of dense flower beds, or in the middle of a lawn, hopping out of the way of a grown-up’s mower. Some were adorably small even in our little kid palms. Others were chunky two-handers - and just as cute in my opinion. I could almost never resist picking them up to admire or show my parents, usually getting peed on, before letting them go on their way.
Trigger warning, the next bit of this story involves animal harm. Skip the following paragraph to below the photo if you’d rather not read, it won’t ruin the rest of the post.
As a tomboy, I was of course running around playing with - and like - the boys in the neighborhood; think cops and robbers, football, scraped knees and dirty hands. One summer evening, two brothers from down the street and I found a big fat toad in a neighbor’s garden. The older of the boys picked up the toad and before I could do or say anything began treating it like a ball, touchdown celebration and all, his younger brother of course following suit. I remember pleading with the boys to stop. The sight and sounds of what they were doing to that innocent animal. The tight feeling of horror in my chest. I think I finally managed to get the boys to move on to another ‘fun’ activity and was able to return the toad to the garden, where it would likely soon die…and the guilt and helplessness of being unable to prevent what happened got filed into my permanent memory and sowed more seeds for my future as a firm advocate for the humane (anyone else find that word ironic?) treatment of nonhuman life.
And if you need a palette cleanser after that sad story, you have my permission to laugh at this photo of little tomboy Meadow…
I grew up and escaped the clutches of the state where I was born and raised (another story for my lucky subscribers, perhaps), and set out to build my life on the more urban East Coast, but having grown up largely unsupervised in small-town America, I still need to be able to ‘touch grass’ on the regular. only, as an introvert I need it to be my grass, where I can explore, tinker, and geek out over what I discover in relative privacy. And boy, do I.
Arguably the most enriching thing about where I live now is my encounters with the wide variety of life on my own little 1/2 acre property. Sometimes it’s astounding and rare, like the moose that strolled across the wooded area out back of our house one afternoon, or the Bald Eagle that favored the same limb of a tree along ‘my’ stretch of river during the early Spring.
Most of the time, though, it’s the ‘commoners’ that capture my heart. Don’t worry, there will be many-a-post about these friends to come. But if it wasn’t obvious, in this article I’m focusing in on toads - specifically ‘Hole Toad’, the American Toad that lived in a chipmunk burrow in my backyard. Hail Hole Toad!
I discovered Hole Toad by accident one evening early this Summer as I was playing ball with Lenore. The front half of the toads squat, bumpy body was out of one of the (too many!) chipmunk holes back there, probably on the lookout for some tasty insects. When I approached to get a closer look, she scrambled backward, down deep into the burrow. This was new one for me; I’ve seen plenty of toads, I’ve seen plenty of chipmunk burrows, but I’ve never seen a toad living in a chipmunk burrow - was this a Thing?
You know what this means, right? Time to research:
What I learned is that this is in fact a Thing. Toads do dig their own burrows, but if available, will happily occupy an abandoned mammal burrow. Call her a squatter if you want, but I for one fully support this behavior - work smarter, not harder, Hole Toad! A toad-dug dwelling can be up to a couple of feet deep for protection against frost in the winter during brumation, but otherwise usually goes down only a few inches, just enough to be fully covered by the soil. Toads do this digging with their hind legs, and then sort of shimmy their way into the shallow impression, which helps to agitate the loosened soil and cover the body. Hole Toad essentially took a free upgrade to First Class, where she’d have more protection, more room, and even multiple entrances thanks to the chipmunk’s propensity for creating tunnel systems. I did in fact witness Hole Toad utilizing two separate holes that had to have been connected underground.
Okay, but why do toads go subterranean at all? And don’t they need to be near water for reproduction? Well, this speaks to the more temporary nature of a toad-dug burrow. Typically these…dugouts?…act more as a bed for the night (well, day, toads are nocturnal) than as a home base. Toads are opportunists when it comes to a resting location, so a dark spot among garden plants, inside a log hollow, or an abandoned chipmunk hole do just as well. Staying moist is the goal here, because toads, like all amphibians, actually breathe, in part, by absorbing oxygen through their skin. This process does not work if the skin is too dry, so moisture is essential to survival.
I think the fact that the chipmunk burrow was relatively permanent and located in the middle of a green space where insects would be frequenting made Hole Toad stick around longer than she may have otherwise. I had the pleasure of admiring her multiple times over the month of June, and couldn’t help but create a lore around the idea that she was some form of deity or royalty. I’d whisper, “Hail Hole Toad” to her and entertained myself by taking photos and editing a crown onto her little noggin.
Yes, I am nearly 40 and still this dedicated to silliness.
Hole Toad eventually moved on, perhaps to procreate along my little river, perhaps to spread the Gospel of Hole Toad. I have seen other toad visitors since, one who takes refuge in the leaf litter under the back porch, one tucked in amongst our hostas…but none have taken advantage of the chipmunk accommodations like Hole Toad. Maybe she left a note telling the others she’d be back. I’d love to see her there again.
Thanks for taking the time to be here, friends. And remember, all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads!
Very cute to see we had the same haircut. And oh, I miss the Midwest childhood summers of playing with toads.