Frogs in the hot tub


Fall temperatures got me and Jim thinking it was time to fire up the hot tub. Too hot to hot tub during summer so we shut it down a couple months ago. Assessing drain and fill time I took a quick inspection - popped open the lid, expecting the green furze of algae. The water was clear except for a substantial amount of little droppings looking stuff littering the depths. Another look around and I spotted toads lurking on the lip of the tub, little bitty toads, maybe two inches in full extension. Ah hah, Sherlock, that’s toad turds at the bottom of the tub. Teeny toads with huge bowel movements, proportionally speaking. Toads, the amphibian equivalent of mice, flattening and squeezing themselves into incredibly tight spaces. Then having to void. I detected a toad politeness order in their world. When they do their business, they hop off the lip and swim around the pool dropping toad turds, eyes averted, into the calm depths of the calm tub waters while the non-swimmers swivel their eyes discretely away. This insight came to me in an instant. Wow, I’m like the Jane Goodal, of toads.

Enter my hero Jim with his fish net, a weenie little fish net designed for a teeny little fish bowl. Bear in mind I’m used to nets of mammoth size with long extensions to swoop debris from side to side of a 35,000 gallon swimming pool so I’ve fallen prey into the bigger is better school of thought. But this little net does the job. Jim perfects his toad -catching technique, damn he’s good, he twists and turns the net until the toads hop into the net, one after another one. When the net is full, he walks over to the big pond and flips the little toads into the water. Over and over. I bet there were 50 toads on Friday. Once cleared we drain the hot tub.

The toads are persistent however. The plan for Saturday morning is to refill the tub. We open the lid and many, many, many toads are sitting on the lip. Jim gets out his little net and captures them all, then sets them free in the pond – where I’ve just noticed a water snake sliding through the water. I flash instantly into my new Jane Goodal, Earth Toad Goddess thought process and realize that a mere one percent reduction of temperature renders these tiny amphibians hapless prey to viscous snakes. My scientific self fights within. Darwin wins. I figure, oh what the hell, life goes on.

I theorize increased heat and chlorine will deter any surviving self-respecting toad having the great good sense to stay in the big pond and take a chance with the snake. Except for the occasional one hopping across the deck, practically over my feet which would be a stretch for a two-inch toad as my feet extend REALLY, REALLY high in the air. Stephanie Goodal doesn’t want to touch creepy little, (worse yet, big), amphibians. I rescued one incredibly dumb toad that swam madly against relentless electric whirlpools, poor little bleached out bugger (whose ultimate end I predict is in snake food chain).

Really, really late Sunday night Jim and I ventured into the tub. I made it a point to soak in the center depths. So I could relax my neck of course. It had absolutely nothing to do with the radius a two-inch creepy toad could jump onto my bare back, and stick. They have those creepy suction cup gizmos – like octopus – bad enough on my tongue (which is within my food chain), not on my back. Jim braved it all, relaxed (supposedly) into the jets but jumped like the dickens when I spotted a rogue toad on the lip. Well, I told him I spotted a rogue toad…

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