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Sommerfeld: Feeling maternal, not murderous with backyard toad

13.06.11

It was still a little early to be cutting the grass. Not by the clock, but by the moisture that still clung to it, especially in the shady recesses of the yard. Not wanting to tangle with the full glare of a later sun, I fired up the lawn mower anyway, knowing it would take a little longer than usual.

I’m careful in the deep corners of the yard. Creatures thrive here, from bunnies to crickets to moths. But with the roar of my lawn mower, it is the toads I am most worried about. I have a lot of toads.

Unlike my sons, I push the heavy machine cautiously, and I try not to think what their more careless laps might produce. My toads tend to stay to the periphery of the yard; I creep down the outer edges for a couple of rounds, allowing them to leap to safety beyond the reach of my blades. I wonder why they wait until the last second; I wonder if they can hear; I wonder if they’re totally addled, and mostly I wonder why I don’t see more toad parts lying around.

My front yard is a short, sweep romp to cut. Compared to the back, it’s a few minutes with little to watch for, save for blown branches. Which is why I nearly ran over the toad.

Source: Toronto Star