The Croaker

Our actions, as well as our inactions, have consequences. Like it or not this loosely paraphrased law of physics is a fact of life.  And sometimes death. 

For a while now I've been hearing an occasional light thumping around my front door. The first time I investigated, I decided it was the wind whipping the garden flags on either side of the entryway. Additionally, I recently added a spring-time hanging flag on the door. Any one of the flags, or their holders, could be the  noisemaking culprit.

Sunday evening, after an energy zapping, scorcher of a day, I watered the plants on the back patio. Tired and overheating,  I considered waiting until morning to water the plants at the front entry.  Even as I deliberated  I knew I ran the risk of death. Some of my favorite and most fragile plants are sheltered from the Texas sun in the relative safety of the entryway.  Deciding the benefit outweighed the risk, I waited.

Had I watered the plants that night--or had I powered through my zapped state and  investigated that nights thumper--death might have been been delayed.

Unfortunately, I may have unwittingly heard the desperate last noises of the front yard toad before he croaked.

I now realize the thumping I have previously mistaken for wind may have actually been Mr. Toad attempting to hop back out of the watering can I have positioned to catch rainwater run-off. In the past, if  the frog entered the watering can, he has, after a few attempts, exited said can. At least, I never found him inside the watering can after hearing the thumping noises, so I'm assuming this is a possible scenario. 

Sunday night, Mr. Toad did not make it out of the watering can alive. I'm unsure if it was because the water level was wrong (e.g. too great/half way may be too far from the bottom for a leap to safety; or too low/halfway might be too far from the top to pull himself up and out).  Or maybe he misjudged the jump to safety and hit his head on the handle spanning the top opening; thereby, knockihg himself senseless and back into the water.   Or maybe he simply exhausted himself after repeated failed atempts to jump out of his wayery grave.

Whatever the reason, when I picked up the watering can Monday morning,  I found Mr. Toad floating lifeless inside.

Had I watered the plants, I could have released him to the relative safety of our Moggy-patrolled area. He would have at least had a fighting--or more likely,  a hidding chance--at life. 

However, Mr. Toads entry into the watering can placed him in harms way, and my failure to water my plants, or check out the thumping noise, collided with him to form a perfect storm in which he perished.

On a selfish note, I never did get around to kissing him to see if he was my Prince Charming...or just another toad. Now I'll just have to wonder....

I have stepping stones in my bird baths to increase the safety factor for smaller birds visiting my garden water sources. Now I am placing stick ramps in deeper buckets for the amphibians. Even if a trapped critter cannot figure out how to climb the stick ramp to safety, they will have something on which to rest or cling to life until they are rescued.

The deep-water ramps are a  gardening safety lesson learned too late to save my possible Prince Charming. Perhaps it will save future lives. I hope so. No more Garden Death Trauma for this girl, thank you very much.

I hope this garden water safety lesson has not been learned in vain. I hope it prevents future avoidable garden deaths. 

RIP Mr. Toad.