Bufo americanus; the American Toad

Identification:

This toad is common in the northeast. He ranges in size from less than an inch to a over three inches. He is most often a shade of brown, but is sometimes more reddish or greenish. He has wart-like bumps on his skin. The toad is most frequently observed in the evening when he attempts to cross roads or lawns. Although the name is highly suggestive, I rarely spot a toad sitting on a toadstool.


The Toad and I, the Toad and You, the Toad and Us

The American Toad is everyman. Perhaps this is uncomfortable. When pondering nature we may be more prone to identify with eagles, killer whales, and tigers. In our more pensive moments we may feel the poet Rilke speaks to our souls, almost penetrating the fog that obscures our rightful place in the cosmos as he muses:

...I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years,
and I still don’t know if I am a falcon, or a storm,
or a great song.

Note the glaring omission of the American Toad from amongst these wondrous possibilities.

Never one to duck controversy, I will argue that even the poet himself most likely bore more resemblance to Bufo americanus than to either a falcon or a storm. The toad embodies life as it is, warts and all. He is stout, easily damaged, and almost wholly lacking grace or elegance. From the time of his nonage, death and failure stalk his every move. Most specimens will not make it through the first five weeks of life as a tadpole. Things get only marginally better for those who successfully metamorphose. Though the toad can live for over a decade, most perish within two years. They are frail and prized as a delicacies by snakes. Their warty appearance has made the very name "toad" a byword for ugliness and repulsive mannerisms.

Despite these challenges, the toad persists. He hurls himself awkwardly into the unknown with artless pitiable hops. He struggles to eek out a living, dining on insects and worms. All the while he sings. In this he defies the world that treats him casually. His small life may little impact the indifferent earth. He may be gone in an instant. Yet in the spring he calls out across the still swamps and ponds, raising a strident refrain of hope and renewal.

Are we not like toads? Are our lives not brief? Do even our greatest civilizations not fall to dust and undecipherable whispers on stone? Rilke may envision himself raging over the seas like a thousand year storm, yet is not a thousand years a mere instant? I for one would be happy to call the toad my brother. My victories are like his, over mere worms and flies; trifles in the cosmos. A man must hold this knowledge in his depths, yet still toil, strive and sing as does the toad. Indeed if a man would be a storm is he yet a man? If a man know he is a toad, perhaps he is a man, and more.

The Toad; Warts and All

Having addressed the toad's larger significance, I will move on to some of his particulars. My treatment of an animal is never complete without assessment of the common wisdom, and comment on divers oddities. This leads me to the first major question; will touching a toad give you warts? Be assured, it will not. While the toad has bumps on his own skin, these are not contagious. He does have the ability to release a toxin through his parotoid glands, located in the two large bumps behind his head. However, this toxin will not cause warts or anything like instant death. To a human the toxin is merely an irritant. It is advisable that you avoid rubbing the toad rigorously into your eyes and mouth.* Some sources suggest that you wash your hands after handling toads. While this is a sensible precaution, I would also recommend not becoming too alarmed if you do come in contact with Bufo americanus. I spent many a happy hour in my childhood carousing with toads and never suffered ill effects.

The toad is a nocturnal animal. You may well see him during the day, but he is most likely hopping somewhere to escape the cruel sunlight and hunker down for a snooze. He is also not a big fan of cold weather, and burrows into the earth to hibernate for the winter.

Unlike many frogs, the toad strays from water after he is finished his tadpole days and becomes primarily a land dweller. Of course, being an amphibian he must find some source of moisture to absorb through his skin. Despite this, he does not confine himself to the banks of ponds and streams.

Handling and Care

In researching this piece I was a little surprised to find that the toad has built himself a reputation as a desirable pet. Now I certainly don't question the judgment of anyone who enjoys his company. As a child, I caught quite a few toads. However, with age my enthusiasm for interfering in the toad's daily life has waned. In general, I think he is best left alone. If you catch him you will notice he is likely to urinate on your hand. Obviously, he does so because the experience is unpleasant to him, as would be our own handling by well meaning cyclops. It is true, the toad may live longer in captivity, and his bodily needs may be effectively met. Still, he is a wild animal and his place is with his own. Certainly I do not judge, and you may do as you will. When I see a toad on my walks I still invariably stop dead in my tracks. Yet these days I quietly observe him only, carefully giving him no cause for alarm. I let him hop off nobly to his fate, and I remain behind, thankful for his inspiring example.






*obviously, popping a whole toad into your mouth and swallowing, or otherwise consuming a toad is most inadvisable, and would be beyond the pale in wanton disregard for both the toad's health and your own.

Further Reading

 

The Wind in the Willows