This evening, at sunset, I went outside and sat on the back porch, admiring the beauty of the sky and spending some quality time with my dog. The dog decided to get down off the porch and fetch his ball, which was laying beside the steps, when suddenly he began growling at something. I said “Get ’em, boy!” and the dog picked up something and carried it to the middle of the yard, where he promptly dropped it and started making “Yuck, that tastes bad!” noises and faces. I looked at what he’d dropped, and lo and behold, it was our toad. We have a common Midwest garden toad living in a small den under a downspout in our backyard, and I don’t care if he’s there because one toad in the yard means fewer mosquitos overall. But the dog, apparently, doesn’t like the toad, because he kept barking at it, dancing around, and then the dog would drop into that funny-looking dog position where his butt’s in the air, but his head is down between his front paws, and his ears are up and he looks attentive (or maybe excited). Anyway, he’d get in his butt-in-the-air crouch and bark madly at the toad, who’d take a couple hops, causing the dog to dance around then drop again. I guess maybe you had to be there, but it was quite amusing, especially when Doofus Dog would try to pick up the toad and get a mouthful of whatever nasty tasting stuff toads secrete. After a while, though, I began to worry that the dog’s rough play would injure my bug-eating amphibian friend, so I went to the garage, got a gardening glove, went back outside and picked up Toad and put him in by his den. (I guess you could say I “toad” him away. HA!) Anyway, so now Toad is safe and Moose Mutt’s had a few treats and a drink to wash away Toad Taste. By that time the sky was nearly dark and I was getting cold, so I went in. I’d had enough adventure for a while. And now it’s time to go to bed so I can haul my sorry keister out of bed in the morning and send the girls off to school. Yawn! Good night!