Spring in New England is a musical time. At dawn, thousands of birds announce themselves in splendid, chaotic symphonies. At dusk, spring peepers create a sometimes-deafening chorus in local wetlands. But of all the springtime songs, the American toad (Anaxyrus americanus, formerly Bufo americanus) performs my favorite.
May is the perfect time to listen for the toads’ euphonious trilling, as throngs of male toads gather in shallow water to scream their bumpy little heads off in the name of love. Unlike some frog species which require special vernal pools for reproduction, toads are not picky – they’ll use ponds, slow streams, marshes, lake edges, and even irrigation ditches. They love my neighbor’s decorative garden pond, and, once, I found a lone toad trilling from a small, picturesque puddle on the summit of Mount Monadnock.
If their ruckus is successful, female toads – significantly larger than their male counterparts – will soon arrive at the party. Males have specialized toe pads to help them grip onto the females’ backs in a position called amplexus. After females release their eggs into the water, the males fertilize them externally, and amplexus helps ensure that they’re closest to – and thus most likely to fertilize – the eggs of their chosen mate.
Each female releases thousands of eggs in two long rows of spiraling, jelly-like tubes, though the vast majority of these eggs will not reach adulthood. Tadpoles hatch after a couple of weeks, and within two months or so, begin to metamorphose into adults. Newly metamorphosed toads (called toadlets) are very small (0.25-0.5 inches long) and look like ridiculously adorable miniature versions of the mature adults. Keep an eye out for them emerging from wetlands en masse in mid to late summer.
Toads are not often beloved – they’re covered in bumps, come in an array of drab colors, and sport perpetual, grumpy-looking scowls. They’re reputed to cause warts, ruin gardens, and poison pets.
But these concerns are unfounded. A toad’s bumps are not warts, and can not cause warts in humans. Along with their coloration – let’s go with “splendid earth tones of clay, gold, coffee, and olive” rather than “drab” – their textured skin helps them camouflage among rocks and leaves, thus avoiding predation. Rather than ruining gardens, toads can be extremely beneficial for pest control, devouring slugs, worms, and snails that might otherwise damage plants. They also add a dynamic, decorative flair to your garden beds – far more interesting to watch than a regular old garden gnome.
As for poisoning pets, there’s a tiny bit of truth there – American toads do secrete a toxin, called bufotoxin, mostly from the large parotid glands behind their eyes. This is great news for the toads, as it tastes horrible and helps them avoid being eaten by many predators, including our dogs and cats. (Though a taste of toad can potentially make a curious pet feel sick for a while, our local toads are not terribly potent and are unlikely to cause lasting or fatal reactions. Always check in with your vet if you’re not sure. One foul-tasting toad licking is usually enough to deter future attempts.)
While I strongly recommend you don’t partake in a meal of toad, some animals do find them delicious, and a healthy population of toads can be an important part of the local food chain. At least two of New Hampshire’s snake species – the Eastern hognose (Heterodon platirhinos) and the common gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis) – are resistant to bufotoxin and able to chow down on toads. The hognose – a species of regional concern in New England – is so specialized in this regard that its diet is almost entirely toads. Raccoons have also developed a bufotoxin workaround – they eat toads by the belly, avoiding the poison glands on their backs. Snapping turtles love to dine on toads, too.
In addition to their impressive defenses against predators, toads are robust and resilient beings. Many amphibians are highly specialized in their habitat, diet, and reproductive needs, and are often extremely sensitive to environmental changes and pollutants. Habitat loss due to human development, road mortality, and amphibian diseases like ranavirus and chytrid fungus are potential concerns, but toads have adapted very well so far, and their populations remain stable. As long as they can find some sort of water to reproduce in, they’ll live in forests, fields, wetlands, agricultural areas, neighborhoods, you name it.
If you are lucky enough to find yourself immersed in an American toad cacophony this spring, find a comfortable spot to take it in and admire these unique, hardy beasts.
Emma Kluge is an educator and naturalist who loves to explore North America’s wildernesses.
