Evening Walk

I just came back from the Lake. The evening is soggy wet. I saw a tiny little toad hop out of my way... probably an inch long at the most. I made him sit on my palm with the back of my hand against the ground, holding very still so he'd stay, and he did for a few seconds... he probably sopped up my warmth, then hopped on. I thought about it... he has a long long way to go before becoming a sizable toad... Probably many die before getting anywhere near becoming an adult toad from too many ways to count. I imagine from its mother's eggs, hundreds of siblings were born, enough so there would be some survival to adulthood. It made me appreciate a larger toad I was to see later coming back from my walk. He must have been lucky, as they don't have much protection. There used to be a big toad that would sit under the light under the balcony on buggy summer nights. The dogs would get excited seeing it, but I'd be strict with them, as, not only didn't I want anything to happen to the toad (anything that kills annoying insects is my friend!), but the dogs could get sick just picking up a toad... carrying it around in it's mouth, as they have glands that secrete something that makes them sick.

On an earlier walk with Tom, I heard a tree toad chirping... probably a "three toed tree toad." Try saying that fast. Better yet, get a young child to say it. They love tongue twisters. Tom thought it was a bird, but there is a difference in their call... a kind of rasp or tiny high pitched croak... very much like a cricket. Once I saw one... only once. You either have to be lucky or diligent to find one. The adult tree toad's body is only about an inch long... I know this from observations. The one I saw was beige, and delicately marked with darker beige as if to accent the frog-like shape of its body. We couldn't locate today's toad, as it was somewhere above us in the wet tree branches. They are now peeping at night like the Spring peepers. I hadn't realized it until Tom brought my attention to it, as I have tinnitus, and for me it's like crickets in the background all year long. I don't know if the tree toads get together before doing whatever they do to survive the winter... maybe they even have another generation before summer's over. I know they aren't crickets, as you cannot single out a chirp to gauge how warm or cool it is. My father could do that with crickets. Maybe I wiped out all the crickets around here years ago when I had my first batch of Aracauna chickens. I would loosen the rocks around the round rock garden lifting one carefully but quickly, and Chipper, a female broody hen would snap up all crickets before they could scrabble or hop away. I was pulling weeds when I first tried this, and if out near the garden, she would come running and I knew why. She would look at me like and cluck as if saying, "Well, come on! Let's look for crickets!"

It was just Bear and Polly with me on this evening's walk, and Bear is either busy digging a hole here and there, and anywhere; or he's walking along the path carrying a very long branch. I couldn't play with him easily as a pup. He was born hyper-active, I swear, and to play ball or just about anything would excite him too much. As it is, he reminds me of the song about Tigger the Tiger from Winnie the Poo. He was just a bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy fun, fun, fun, fun... pup, and as the end of the tune goes, "But the most wonderful thing about Tigger is He's the ONLY ONE." And I thank God he's the ONLY ONE of my long string of dogs that has been as hyper. He overwhelms me with his energy and zest. It's a good thing to be so eager to do things, I guess, but he should be called Yo-Yo, as he still jumps up and down like one at the door each and every time I approach an exit to the house. He wants to be outside ALL THE TIME, but NEVER wants to be alone... And he's fixated on ME, not Tom, whose dog he really is, so even if Tom is going for a walk, he won't go unless I'm asleep or not at home... And then, just maybe.

I think because I couldn't "play with" Bear, he has invented games for himself. His digging isn't without purpose, as I believe he hears mice, moles, or voles traveling their underground routes through the roots and under the matted floor of the woods. But his digging is compulsive, and that bothers me, so I find myself yelling at him even if there's no reason. I don't like him to dig on my path, so I shouldn't yell at him unless he's doing that. I think I'm sensitive about compulsiveness, as, recently I've found many areas whereas I am compulsive. I'm using the feeling of "having to do something right now" as a cue, to be aware I'm being compulsive, and don't really have to be... for instance, it doesn't matter if I find the answer to a Free Cell solitaire game now or later; or complete a crossword puzzle at one sitting. [I'll bet Tom wouldn't mind me being as compulsive about housekeeping, ha, ha.] What I don't mind Bear's doing--which reminds me of some computer game--is to pick up an eight foot long branch and walk the path. He is getting very adept at dodging the close set trees and bushes, and he knows how to jockey it around the trees or to walk off the path where there's room to get through. He was a marvel tonight. I should take a video of him and put it on YouTube. Maybe I'll be able to do that someday... someday when I get compulsive about it.