The One About The Horned Toad
I was 9 years old when the series of great adventures with Dad began. He was heavily into building and shooting muzzleloaders, and the first adventure was to Brady, located near the exact center of Texas and home to the state muzzleloader championship.
I remember how I excited I was for the trip, which was in June 1972. (I also remember summer 1972 as a great one in my boyhood for some reason.) I fell asleep in the car somewhere on the east side of Austin. It was a time when young kids rode in the front seat, hardly anyone wore seat belts, cars got about eight miles to the gallon and a lot of people just tossed their trash out of their car windows.
When I awoke, we were well west of Austin, and the Hill Country landscape caught me by surprise. Lots of limestone and cactus. A fox scampered across the road right in front of the car. I remember tasty barbecue sandwiches at some rustic place.
Suddenly, Dad pulled over the car, got out, pulled off his cowboy hat and began stalking something on the shoulder. He caught whatever it was, brought it back to the car and handed it to me. It was a horned toad.
Over the course of the next few days, that horned toad was my companion. He would just cling to my shirt. I kept him in a Folger's coffee can. Not knowing what horned toads ate, I just fed him lettuce and tomatoes.
By day, Dad and I shot muzzleloaders, and by night we sat around campfires as geezers fired up guitars, fiddles and their creaky old voices. It was a world of Texas characters, the kind that humanity just doesn't make anymore.
Sadly, the horned toad died. Regardless of whether it starved or baked to death in the Folger's can, I knew it was my fault. I learned a great lesson about keeping the wild things where they belong. We held a tearful roadside funeral for him on the way back to Houston.
Anytime my boys, 8 and 9, capture some wild thing in the yard, like a lizard or a toad, and want to keep it, I remind them of the one about the horned toad. Passing along knowledge is part of this new chapter. They have reached the age of the great adventures with Dad, and my goal is to make the most of it. From sporting events to camping to just eating hot dogs and watching the Texas Rangers, I know that these are the times that they will remember most.
And if nothing else, perhaps one particular lesson I learned long ago and passed on to my boys will save some poor horned toad from an untimely death.
I remember how I excited I was for the trip, which was in June 1972. (I also remember summer 1972 as a great one in my boyhood for some reason.) I fell asleep in the car somewhere on the east side of Austin. It was a time when young kids rode in the front seat, hardly anyone wore seat belts, cars got about eight miles to the gallon and a lot of people just tossed their trash out of their car windows.
When I awoke, we were well west of Austin, and the Hill Country landscape caught me by surprise. Lots of limestone and cactus. A fox scampered across the road right in front of the car. I remember tasty barbecue sandwiches at some rustic place.
Suddenly, Dad pulled over the car, got out, pulled off his cowboy hat and began stalking something on the shoulder. He caught whatever it was, brought it back to the car and handed it to me. It was a horned toad.
Over the course of the next few days, that horned toad was my companion. He would just cling to my shirt. I kept him in a Folger's coffee can. Not knowing what horned toads ate, I just fed him lettuce and tomatoes.
By day, Dad and I shot muzzleloaders, and by night we sat around campfires as geezers fired up guitars, fiddles and their creaky old voices. It was a world of Texas characters, the kind that humanity just doesn't make anymore.
Sadly, the horned toad died. Regardless of whether it starved or baked to death in the Folger's can, I knew it was my fault. I learned a great lesson about keeping the wild things where they belong. We held a tearful roadside funeral for him on the way back to Houston.
Anytime my boys, 8 and 9, capture some wild thing in the yard, like a lizard or a toad, and want to keep it, I remind them of the one about the horned toad. Passing along knowledge is part of this new chapter. They have reached the age of the great adventures with Dad, and my goal is to make the most of it. From sporting events to camping to just eating hot dogs and watching the Texas Rangers, I know that these are the times that they will remember most.
And if nothing else, perhaps one particular lesson I learned long ago and passed on to my boys will save some poor horned toad from an untimely death.
posted by Brian at 9:10 AM
1 Comments:
Those are magical times. We had a recent event with Alexa, where we caught a baby lizard in the house. She wanted to keep it as a pet, so we put it in a big Tupperware container for her. She put some water in it, crumbled up some Saltines and then threw in a few of her Little Pet Shop toys for "Liz" to play with.
Liz got to spend the night with her, but the next morning, we convinced Alexa that Liz was probably getting hungry and would probably enjoy some bugs better than crackers.
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