The Dedicated Toad
On the stone patio of our three-quarter basement sits a toad. He comes regularly to sit near the glass door, probably in the hopes of eating a few insects drawn by the inside lights. He's quite a talented fellow and is quite the magnificent actor.
We have a Cairn Terrier, who is quite the hunter. She has hunted many a creature, including lizards, rabbits, moles, locusts, and many other things that she deems to be good targets. She has also consumed various insects and one unidentified rodent, much to the chagrin of my mother, who was attempting to stop her.
Naturally, I thought she would be interested in the toad sitting patiently not more than two feet from her, but she never seems to pay attention to him--not even a sniff. I attempted to point him out to her tonight, but she only stepped over him and knocked him over carelessly with a paw.
I believe he garnered this reaction not because she is used to his presence but rather because he is a superb actor. Like most toads, one of his defense mechanisms is pretending to be a rock. He hunkers down, draws all of his limbs in tightly, and puffs up his sides. Unlike most toads I've encountered, he is amazing at it. I wonder if he thinks in his little toad mind, "Be the rock. Be the rock. Still and patient." When she knocked him over, he didn't move, he merely rolled over just as still as he could be. I picked him up to right him, and, even in my hands, he did not move a muscle. Most toads try to escape at that point, but he is one determined fellow. I admire his dedication to his chosen method of self-preservation.
We have a Cairn Terrier, who is quite the hunter. She has hunted many a creature, including lizards, rabbits, moles, locusts, and many other things that she deems to be good targets. She has also consumed various insects and one unidentified rodent, much to the chagrin of my mother, who was attempting to stop her.
Naturally, I thought she would be interested in the toad sitting patiently not more than two feet from her, but she never seems to pay attention to him--not even a sniff. I attempted to point him out to her tonight, but she only stepped over him and knocked him over carelessly with a paw.
I believe he garnered this reaction not because she is used to his presence but rather because he is a superb actor. Like most toads, one of his defense mechanisms is pretending to be a rock. He hunkers down, draws all of his limbs in tightly, and puffs up his sides. Unlike most toads I've encountered, he is amazing at it. I wonder if he thinks in his little toad mind, "Be the rock. Be the rock. Still and patient." When she knocked him over, he didn't move, he merely rolled over just as still as he could be. I picked him up to right him, and, even in my hands, he did not move a muscle. Most toads try to escape at that point, but he is one determined fellow. I admire his dedication to his chosen method of self-preservation.