Do Toads Count?

Subtitle: I think I missed an important opportunity!

On Monday morning I woke up as groggy as usual. I stumbled out of bed, threw on my highly attractive flannel sleep pants, dragged a sweatshirt over my head, stuck my feet into some socks that maybe matched, jammed my toes into my rubber shoes so I didn't get my feet soaked, and partially opened one eye.

The dogs danced their pee pee dance while I attempted, futilely, to get their collars and leashes attached to the correct ends. I stumbled off the front porch, tripped across the driveway, and let Molly drag me dazedly through the wet grass along the east side of my condo. We passed the daylight window to the basement and I peeked down, since several neighbors have told me they found small, dessicated wild animals mixed in with the stones.

WIthout giving it a second thought (since it was too early for a first thought), I then lifted up the heavy wrought iron grilling for the window well while still holding onto 6' leather leads for two dogs. The dogs looked at me askance and askew while I sleepily climbed down the three metal rungs to the bottom of the well, where carefully I picked up a very much alive mid-sized brown toad. I put him (aren't they all male?) gently into an unused poopy bag, then carried him up the rungs and set him on the dry grass under the bay window. I carefully put the grill back in place, cleaned up the obligatory two piles of dog dirt, closed my eyes again,  went back in the house, and fed the dogs like a well behaved automaton.

Once my eyes were half open again, I went online and emailed a friend and told her the story.

She told me I should have kissed the toad first, that maybe I had found my prince.

Since I set him free, he will come back if he is really mine, right?