Time passes and I am older. Dad and Mom have sold the summer cottage, to my great disappointment. We're too old to continue to sleep 3 in a bed on our road trips. We're teenagers. Dad requests a cottage at a State park and gets a reservation. As usual, my mother refuses to come along. We stayed at this state park for at least the next 5 year's vacations, until I no longer vacationed with my sister and my dad. It's a little log cabin in a colony at the water's edge. We all have our own bedroom. I'm the designated cook. It is my pleasure. I must have fried something one night for dinner. The grease got saved in a bowl that I put on the edge of the sink.
In the morning, standing at the sink, I look at the grease. It has perfectly preserved foot prints in it. We're not alone in the cabin. Our visitor is a chipmunk.
We found him outside, busy filling his cheekpouches with seeds and berries. We watched him as He disappeared into his borrow underground. Dad explained that animals spend a lot of time maintaining their homes. Watch. he placed a pebble over the entrance to the borrow. The next morning, the pebble was rolled away. We placed a bigger pebble over the hole. The following day, it was rolled away too. The final test: a rock. The next morning, it was still there. Dad said that the rock was too heavy for the chipmunk. he is now using another entrance to his borrow. Dad removed the rock from the borrow's front entrance before We walked away.
We walked all over the colony, enjoying the sunshine and warm weather. One area was a bog. It had a walkway across it. The three of us walked on the path. Dad said He thought there were bull frogs in the bog. Do you know that bull frogs like to sing? Watch. Dad started to sing in as low a bass as he could. What do you know! The frogs joined in. It was wonderful. Of course, the surprise concert sent the two girls into fits of giggles, which made all the frogs go silent. We could not get them to sing again.
Walking away from the frog pond, We approached the entrance to the swim area. There was lots of dry grass with seed plumes on them. Looking at the grass, Dad spied a little Fowler Toad looking at us. The toad was enjoying the sunshine, too. Dad picked a stem of grass with a tassle on it. he tickled the toad. The toad backed up. I swear, he glared at dad. If the toad could talk, he would have said, "Don't do that!" Dad tickled him again. Same reaction of backing up a little.
Dad teased him with the grass again. This time, the little toad snapped at the tassle and hung on. We were so surprised, that Dad held the grass up with the toad suspended at the end of it. We had a "toadcicle". He (toad) would not let go. Peals of girlish laughter again, with peals of adult father laughter added.