Teeny tiny toads

 June. What could be more magical than collecting fireflies in a mason jar? What about gathering teeny tiny toads in a cake pan? This time of year usually marks an epic biblical plague of miniature proportions. It is a somewhat disconcerting phenomenon. Our lawn looks like a chinook wind passing through a midwest prairie as a tornado of tiny toads ripple across the grass.  The dogs are drawn to this strange stampede running right under their noses. The Rottweiler, Juno, is at her wit's end, raring up on her rear legs like a wild mare to bring her front feet down in an ineffectual frog-flattening  stomp.  Chlo is a bit more practical, choosing to herd the teeny tiny toads across her property.  She's about as successful as an afternoon crossing guard on the last day of school.  My idea to catch twenty toads wasn't met with the unbridled enthusiasm I anticipated. Savannah was suctioned to the couch and Brad preferred to remain inside, regaling her with how I selfishly selected the McDonald's double hot fudge sundae with the most hot fudge which was a total lie since both of our ordered desserts had the same distribution of topping.  Sydney, thank goodness, was up for the challenge. We had to revise our initial harvesting strategy when Juno mistook the cake pan for a teeny tiny toad trough.  "It's like picking berries,"

I exclaimed happily, adding two tiny toads to a cup. Putting her budding archaeological skills to applicable use, Sydney quickly captured the remaining eighteen. Our photo-session was a tad exasperating as we fended off the dogs while discovering that toads don't like to sit still and say "cheese."  Auto-focus was a major failure so Sydney finally ripped the camera from my hands to snap the now-infamous "toe-d" ring shot.  Good luck getting a lightning bug to do that!

A penny or two toads for your thoughts.