Teenage Mutant Toads

A vicious intruder lurked outside my basement door in the garage as I opened it Saturday afternoon.  His beady eyes stared unflinchingly into mine as I yelped in surprise and jumped back. 

“Get out of the road, Toad!” I barked as I peeked around the corner of the basement door.  Jump, one of the three ugly, behemoth toads who has taken up residence in my garage this summer, didn’t move so much as a micromillimeter from the welcome mat on the garage floor. (He was not welcome.)  As adrenaline began pumping through my system, I glanced quickly around  to make sure Hop and Skip had not taken up attack positions nearby.  I did not see them, and Jump refused to budge.

I needed to get to my parked car, but there was little room to maneuver.  I could take only one step forward and then I might be able to squeeze by him on either side.  I tried to scare Jump by bravely taking a step closer before moving back again.  He didn’t even blink his warty eyes. I stomped my foot on the floor.  I had no idea which way he would hop so I kept my distance.  Again, there was no movement.  I stomped even harder.  He didn’t care.    It was an official stand-off.

I knew if he hopped on my foot, I would be Jump’s dinner.  Despite my involuntary screaming, if the toad moved, he would continue his assault, proceeding up my leg and torso, before plunging his toady teeth and flickering fang into my jugular vein, causing instantaneous death for me.

I contemplated heading out the front door to circle the house and open the garage door to access my car to avoid the confrontation, but I also knew Hop and Skip liked to chill in front of the garage doors while waiting for crickets to invade their lair.  I decided to sprint past Jump as one attacker would certainly be better than two.

I, therefore, bolted out the basement door into the garage, shouting, “Stay away!”  Jump never jumped.  He stayed his ground.  I zipped past him faster than a bee can sting, and raced to open the garage doors for my get-away.  I intended to get out of Dodge…I mean, the garage…as fast as I could.

Why Hop, Skip, and Jump live in my garage escapes me.  I would think they’d like the pond up over the hill much better.  Armed with a rake, I’ve bravely tried to rake the toads outside, but they just turn around the corner of the rake, and hop back inside the garage.  I admit I inadvertently backed over a fourth toad with the car earlier in the summer, so I would think they’d consider the garage dangerous. 

Why can’t Blackie, my Black Snake who also lives in the garage, eat them?  Blackie and I have a deal – I don’t see you, and you can eat all the field mice and icky things you want.  I would think, then, Blackie could eat the toads, too, but he hasn’t.  Are they too big for him to eat?  Are they poisonous?  Does Blackie like lean, mice meat better?  Or….*gulp*….is Blackie dead?  Did the giant toads kill him in a garage take-over?

Some folks may think I’m certifiably quackers, but let me say in my defense, most of us are afraid of something.  Fears are not always logical.  Some people are afraid of the dark, snakes, heights, clowns, or storms.  I’m afraid of things that hop, like grasshoppers, rabbits, raptors, and giant, ugly toads.  If they would hold still, I’d be fine, but that unpredictable hopping freaks me out, and I invariably scream.

Do toads croak when cold weather arrives?  If Hop, Skip, and Jump migrated south for the winter and never made it back to my southeastern Ohio garage, I’d be singing, “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu,… to you, and you, and you…,” and that would leave me with just the car-eating groundhogs around here.  Go South, Toads!