Toads permeate our camp. We have to watch our step at night. A toad visits me as I write. I place him on the table to examine his curious shape. He sits like he knows I'm not out to hurt him. Definately looks like a toad. Big jutting black eyes. Tan colored with brown raised speckles. He lets me pet him, I let him jump around, doing what he wants, and then let him go before he jumps off the table. Which he does out of my hand landing head first into the dirt. I've seen the canyon tree frogs do the same into a slab of solid rock. Walking up water-eroded and shaped canyons, you approach seasonal ponds which are alive with mad croaking sounds (similar to the sound of goats), an suddenly, from out of no where, a kamikazi frog, leaping from six feet away from the water, flies through the air in front of you, in an attempt to evade you. He's aiming for the safety of the water. Splat. Headfirst onto a rock slab...and then sploosh, as he drops into the water below...where he swims away unabashed. I think the toad will be fine too.
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