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

Rana catesbeiana; The American Bullfrog

Identification: This is the most massive frog around. It can get to be about 8 inches long and weigh over a pound. The females are larger than males. The coloration can vary from all green, to green with brown, to blotchy, to mostly brownish with some green etc. The bullfrog primarily frequents ponds. He's not too picky, and almost any little patch of water will do. Even if it's a nasty drainage ditch, you're likely to find a few of his ilk sitting about. At night you can listen for his deep and very loud call. To me it sounds sort of like "rerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp".

The Bullfrog; a Frog I Once Ate

I've long enjoyed the idyllic pursuits of fishing and crabbing. I suppose at heart I'm a sort of quaint waterfolk. Left to my own devices I might end up spending days at a time holding a cane pole, wearing rubber boots, and perhaps smoking a corncob pipe beside a lazy stream. Very rarely have I engaged in the active pursuit of hunting animals that spend part of their day on land. Only twice have i sought semiaquatic quarry. Once I attempted to hunt a Peking duck, but ended up befriending him and forming a lasting relationship. My second hunting excursion was more successfull, and this was for none other than the bullfrog.

During the heady days of my early twenties, I received a suggestion from the woman who would later become my wife that we catch bullfrogs and eat their legs. Needless to say, I was eager to impress this co-ed. We were not yet dating, and I considered this an ideal opportunity to establish myself as a competent provider.

We quickly secured some frogging spears from a neighbor and headed to a nearby pond. It was after dark, and the pond featured an abundance of bullfrogs. It soon became clear that spearing frogs is incredibly easy. Within minutes we had gathered a substantial ranid for each member of our party. Now it was time to cook them.

I'm a fairly adventurous eater. True, I've never had that Ethiopian dish where a quail is cooked inside a rabbit inside a chicken inside a goat inside a pig inside a camel, or however the order goes. Nevertheless, I'll try almost anything once. Frog legs turned out to be a great disappointment; perhaps not as great as that experienced by the Millerites in 1844, but still a notable failure to meet expectations. Don't listen when people say it tastes like chicken. That's only half true. It tastes like chicken and crab mixed together. And not in a fun chicken chesapeake novelty way. No, this is more like a male crab one day dallied with a hen, who dutifully sat on her eggs until hatching a half crab half chicken abomination. This unnatural heir retains some elements of his invertebrate father, and some of his avian mother, yet tastes nowhere near as good as either. It's probably even worse than alligator tail, which tastes like a repulsive blend of chicken and fish, no matter how much you cover it with crispy breading.

Bullfrogs; a Frog that Violates Expectations

While my culinary adventures may seem trivial or even tedious to some, they provide a nice segue into my next theme. Just as one expects a traditional french dish such as frog legs to be delicious, only to find it tastes like unfortunate crab-chicken hybrid, one who studies the bullfrog will often be astounded by how he defies conventional wisdom.

First of all, the bullfrog has teeth. I always thought of amphibians as gummy mouthed sorts with little need for teeth. Then again, maybe I'm the only one who finds this unexpected. The more I contemplate a soft jawed salamander who's bite feels like a gentle massage, the sillier my early assumptions seem. So maybe you expected teeth. But the bullfrog has them on the roof of his mouth. That's unusual isn't it?

Secondly, the bullfrogs diet is much more diverse than I would have thought. Perhaps I am a bit bigotted towards frogs, as I never thought to question the lilypad sitting, using the tongue to catch flies stereotype. The bullfrog may rest on the odd lily pad, but he's an aggressive sort who ambushes almost anything. He'll eat fish, other frogs, even mice if they get too close.

Finally, the bullfrog surprises me by taking his sweet time turning from a tadpole into a mature frog. When I was little, I lived in England, and went to the english eqivalent of kindergarten, called "infants one." In my infants one class, my teacher took us for a nature walk, caught some tadpoles, and kept them in a jar. It wasn't too many weeks before these were sprouting legs, and getting on with the whole frog stage of life. It seems again, that frogs vary greatly. While a Bullfrog in warmer climes can make the transition in a few months, others might take up to two years.

A bullfrog on a lily pad: no doubt enjoying himself, but failing to challenge society's restrictive stereotypes