The hole that I dug in the post "Routines and Whims" hasn't been dug in recently for many reasons, and the biggest cause for this is a series of events that I will describe below:
The last time I dug the hole, I suddenly realized that the bottom of the pit was covered in worms. I'm talking twenty to thirty moist earthworms in a hole with a diameter of 12 inches. Seeing those dark, disgusting strands just chilling at the bottom was disgusting. After I had gotten two or three shovel-fulls of dirt and worms out of the hole, the scene got much worse. It was so shocking that I remember what happened next very clearly.
The earth on the bottom of the hole began rotating. It took me a couple of seconds to register this sight. It was rolling like a wave approaching the beach, with a tall crest of white foam visible. But instead of white foam, it was a white belly. Then two little black hands protruded out from the white belly and stabilized itself. I was left staring at a toad that had just emerged from hibernation. I was thoroughly grossed out, and ran into my garage. The image of the white belly was seared into my mind, and I spent a minute or two doing some weird wiggly-jiggly-shaking-out-every-appendage dance that was almost involuntary. Disgusting.
Disgusting.
I felt extreme guilt from that day on. I had brought out the toad from its underground slumber, interrupted its sleep, and now it'll die in the upcoming winter. I visited it once or twice; it just stood there stone-still, its black eyes just staring at the dirt walls that confined it. Then, most recently, I went back and checked, and it was gone! Did it dig further down into my hole? Did my cat, Tiger, or his neighbor-friend come and eat it?
Through some research I found that toads wake up after hibernation in the spring, then mate and produce eggs; I think I'll leave this hole alone, for I've disturbed this toad one too many times, and interrupting the toad in the middle of his (or her) spring rituals would just be plain uncomfortable.
The last time I dug the hole, I suddenly realized that the bottom of the pit was covered in worms. I'm talking twenty to thirty moist earthworms in a hole with a diameter of 12 inches. Seeing those dark, disgusting strands just chilling at the bottom was disgusting. After I had gotten two or three shovel-fulls of dirt and worms out of the hole, the scene got much worse. It was so shocking that I remember what happened next very clearly.
The earth on the bottom of the hole began rotating. It took me a couple of seconds to register this sight. It was rolling like a wave approaching the beach, with a tall crest of white foam visible. But instead of white foam, it was a white belly. Then two little black hands protruded out from the white belly and stabilized itself. I was left staring at a toad that had just emerged from hibernation. I was thoroughly grossed out, and ran into my garage. The image of the white belly was seared into my mind, and I spent a minute or two doing some weird wiggly-jiggly-shaking-out-every-appendage dance that was almost involuntary. Disgusting.
Disgusting.
I felt extreme guilt from that day on. I had brought out the toad from its underground slumber, interrupted its sleep, and now it'll die in the upcoming winter. I visited it once or twice; it just stood there stone-still, its black eyes just staring at the dirt walls that confined it. Then, most recently, I went back and checked, and it was gone! Did it dig further down into my hole? Did my cat, Tiger, or his neighbor-friend come and eat it?
Through some research I found that toads wake up after hibernation in the spring, then mate and produce eggs; I think I'll leave this hole alone, for I've disturbed this toad one too many times, and interrupting the toad in the middle of his (or her) spring rituals would just be plain uncomfortable.
