Toad in the Hole: A Nesting Tale

I've had my eye on this place since Spring. From my spot beneath an unfurling hosta leaf, I have watched as the Momma Bluebird collected grasses, pine needles, and fur from the black lab shedding her winter coat to build a soft nest to lay her eggs.

I burrowed down into the muddy earth during the chilly spring nights and counted the days until I heard the first peeps from the newly hatched baby bluebirds. How sweet, helpless, and, dare I say, a little ugly, they were those first few days.

I bid my time. I snacked on ants, slippery slugs, and beetles that crossed my path. I waited for weeks until the house became too full and the babies were brave enough to fly off onto the branches of a nearby birch tree.

Then, finally, one evening before sunset, I took a risk not knowing if there was a runted, straggler bluebird left inside and used my sticky little toad legs to climb up and peek in. Thankfully, the house was empty.

So, here I sit, waiting for a fly or other delicious winged delicacy to land on my new home unknowingly. What a surprise they will receive to see a toad in a bird house! Oh, I'll probably venture back down to the muddy shoreline along the Black River Basin, but for today, I like my elevated room with a view.

Affectionately,
The Toad in the Hole