This morning we discovered a little toad perched beside the fountain, apparently enjoying his Sunday morning right along with the rest of us. Hadley was delighted, the dogs eventually noticed him but didn’t seem particularly concerned, and he appeared perfectly content with the accommodations. Eventually Brian relocated him to a nice shady patch of grass where he could continue his morning without the complications of dogs, feet, fountains, fences, or whatever else might happen around here.
We assumed that was the end of the story. Apparently, the toad did not. A while later, Brian was working beside the patio, digging out the area along the pavers, when there he was again. The same little toad had somehow made his way back from the perfectly lovely place Brian had selected for him and returned to the patio. Not near the patio. Not somewhere vaguely in the vicinity. Right back into the middle of everything.
Brian put on gloves, carefully picked him up, and once again moved him somewhere we considered considerably more appropriate for a toad. Higher ground, shade, grass, outside the fence, and safely away from the dogs. We were feeling rather responsible about the whole arrangement.
The toad, however, appears to have a different understanding of where he belongs. Because before long, there he was again. Back inside the patio area, tucked beside the retaining wall and eventually sitting close enough to Piper that the photograph looks less like wildlife wandering through and more like someone who has simply joined the gathering. Harper, for her part, seemed remarkably unconcerned about our newest patio guest. At this point I am beginning to think we are the ones misunderstanding the situation.
Maybe he wasn’t accidentally sitting beside the fountain this morning. Maybe Brian didn’t rescue him from somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Maybe the little guy has been trying all day to explain something that the humans have been remarkably slow to understand. Apparently he lives here now.
There is something about watching a creature that small repeatedly make its way back that makes me wonder how often we assume we know where something belongs simply because it makes the most sense to us. We found shade, grass, safety, and what looked like everything a toad should reasonably want. He kept choosing the patio.
Of course, we will continue moving him when necessary because dogs, construction, and tiny determined toads are not always the safest combination. His latest relocation was to another higher, shaded grassy area outside the fence, where we are once again hoping he will decide that we have finally selected an acceptable piece of real estate. Although after today, I am making no assumptions.
There are apparently visitors who stop by the puddle. There are visitors who stay for a while. And then there are those who get politely escorted home twice and keep coming back until you finally begin to wonder whether you have been escorting them away from home all along.
He is Back
1:07 PM
At this point I am beginning to think we are the ones misunderstanding the situation.
Maybe he wasn’t accidentally sitting beside the fountain this morning. Maybe Brian didn’t rescue him from somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Maybe the little guy has been trying all day to explain something that the humans have been remarkably slow to understand.
Apparently he lives here now.
There is something about watching a creature that small repeatedly make his way back that makes me wonder how often we assume we know where something belongs simply because it makes the most sense to us. We found shade, grass, safety, and what looked like everything a toad should reasonably want. He kept choosing the patio.
So we tried once more. Higher ground, shaded grass, outside the fence, safely away from the dogs. Surely this time we had selected an acceptable piece of toad real estate.
Nope.
He came back again.
This time he climbed onto the patio and found himself a sheltered little place among the things beside the retaining wall. He settled in there looking remarkably comfortable, as though he had finally exhausted all reasonable methods of explaining his preference to the humans.
Shady grass isn’t the goal today.
The patio is.
So his preference has officially been noted. We will keep an eye on him, the dogs will continue to be supervised around him, and unless he puts himself somewhere dangerous, perhaps we can stop trying quite so hard to convince him that he would rather be somewhere else.
Sometimes paying attention means noticing the creatures that arrive. Sometimes it means helping when help is actually needed. And apparently, sometimes it means recognizing when the little toad you have carefully relocated three times keeps coming back because he has been perfectly capable of telling you where he wants to be all along.
Welcome to the patio, little guy.
Apparently you live here now.
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