Since both of my nieces commented on my "Toads" entry, I feel the need to share just a bit more about the amphibians at the farm. I'll call this - "Toads, The Prequel: Pilgrimage to the Patio".
Every spring, our patio would be inundated with tiny baby toads. They hopped all the way from the shore of the pond. For a little thing the size of a nickel, that's one long excursion. I could barely handle a fish while wearing gloves, but baby toads were no problem. Their size somehow made them cute and therefore touchable.
So these little guys were on a happy quest to hop away from the pond and settle in some undetermined destination. Then, during the spring of 1974, an aura of carnage once again descended upon the patio (see my "Chickens" entry).
The culprits this time were my older brothers, John and Denny. They convinced Laurie, my niece who was only 2 or 3 at the time, to step on the baby toads. Like everything else Laurie did, she did it with conviction. There were squashed mini toads everywhere on that patio. Denny and John - Laurie's father - thought it was wildly funny. I was 12 or 13 at the time, thought it was disgusting and left the scene. But then every time I walked out onto the patio for the next few days, I had to be careful to dodge the dried up, flattened, little victims. Ewwww.
The annual invasion of the baby toads persisted, despite all stomping efforts. I don't remember my other niece and nephew being subjected to baby toad squashing like Laurie was.
Poor Laurie. A few years later, John and Denny also convinced her that her bangs wouldn't lay flat because a cow, did in fact, come up and lick her forehead, leaving her hairline forever marred. ("Sure it happened! Why do you think they call it a cowlick??") Sorry, Laurie. I was just happy to finally not be the center of their attention.