Just in case any of you cared about my silly frog story, here’s a postscript:
“Phelps” remains alive and well in my backyard. He, like most of the toads, has figured out the safest area–unreachable by the dogs–and the best hunting ground–where the side door light shines all night to attract insects.
He continues to freak out when he encounters me, but I’m okay with that. And he no longer paddles in the doggie water bowl–unless it’s after midnight.
I’m also told that there’s no way an eagle would ever drop him. (Like eagles can’t make mistakes?) I’m told that he would indeed leave a plentiful, safe water source and hop a quarter-mile uphill just to incarcerate himself in my backyard where there’s scant safety, limited water, and prowling Scottish terriers. Uh, sure. I think my theory of how he came here is better.
In any case, what a survivor!