Being the Sorrowful but Ultimately Inspiring and Morally Instructive Tale of an Ypsilanti Toad

Dusty Diary humbly and decorously leaves it to better writers to record for the ages the important achievements of the town's historical pantheon of prominent white bores.

Instead, I'd like to tell you a three - Kleenex story full of pathos, about a tiny historical toad, and how he left a hole in the hearts of the Ypsilantians who loved him.

He was an aged toad.

"There is genuine sorrow in a pretty home on Normal hill and all because of the disappearance and probable death of a pet toad," noted the July 9, 1907 Ypsilanti Daily Press--on its front page.

"The story told is substantially as follows: 'Five years ago as we sat on our porch one summer evening a toad hopped out from around the corner to the concrete walk. We watched it "walk" down to the street sidewalk and within half an hour or so back it came.'

'The next night as we were again sitting on the porch, one said, "I wonder whether our toad will be out tonight?"'

'It was but a few minutes when out it hopped and started down the walk. Within the hour it came back.'

Note the extremely rare archival photo of said toad at right -- arguably the only toad in Ypsilanti to have been captured on film for posterity!

'Then it came to be a common occurrence, but as the days passed our interest in the toad deepened, and rarely did the toad disappoint us as we sat and watched for its evening ramble.'

'The second summer it returned, and during the third year a little toad made its appearance, and the two took their evening stroll down our walk together.' [blows nose--ed.]

'This is the fifth year the elder toad has visited us. You can't imagine how pained we were when the puppy pounced upon the elder toad, flinging it upon its back. We fear that it was fatally injured. We have not seen it since.'

'It was two nights later before the little toad made its appearance. It ventured timidly out. Now it takes its walks alone.' [sobs--ed.] 'If its heart is half as sore as ours how sorrowful it must feel!'"

Dusty Diary refuses to believe that that tough old Ypsi toad gave up. Like the famous Singing Frog, he undoubtedly lived on, likely unto the present day. No doubt he is still taking his evening constitutional--now in Midtown, now in Normal Park, now in Highland Cemetery...gazing upon his fellow Ypsilantians with a wise old emerald eye.