Flashlight between my legs, camera to my face…examining toad love.
Toad love is loud. Very loud. Not as loud as it will be in a month or two when I’ll wonder if the neighbors will put notes on my door for disturbing the peace.
Windows were open. The pond is only about forty feet away from Michael’s recliner where he was watching either golf, Forensic Files, History Channel, or something else I’m not interested in when there are spawn machines on the pond. I was so delighted to hear them again!
From the recliner, “Can you close the windows? I can’t hear the TV.”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
There is more potential danger. The following photos are terrible because of my efforts to photograph a hard-headed Boston Terrible being disobedient and saving an innocent toad.
I say in my deep but ineffective voice, “Leave it!” Bella always obeys, but Chloe? Never.
Again, “Chloe! Leave it!”
Come here, little stinky toad. Let’s play. Let me touch you. Just a little poke on your spongy back.
The girl can’t help it.
Front feet become a blur and the dirt flies. Need a tiller? Have a Boston Terrier. They can bury themselves in three minutes flat.
Toad was safely back in the pond and I was laughing out loud…