Morning Toad

In a leaf-strewn garden bed, a toad reared up its head, then jumped into my sight, giving my face an awful fright my heart almost giving out – as I buckled to my knees just about! His leap was like a sprint, likely triggered by sheer dint of seeing me, landing with a plop like a stone in a pond might drop. Bloated in distended skin, its belly stuffed with things within – flies and insects, worms and slugs, and a mix of other creepy bugs. What then I was forced to see sent shivers rippling through me – a cricket’s leg protruding from the toad’s mouth, alive and moving or rather kicking hard, the toad without the least regard! And then with a sickish frown, I watched that only leg go down unwillingly, reluctantly, still kicking frantically. With that the toad hopped off, with not so much a gag or cough, while there I stood about to chuck my just downed breakfast up.