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The Texas Horny Toad (June 13, 1997) © 1997 by Mike Cox
It's time I got this off my chest: I may be partially responsible for the shortage of horned toads in Texas. But, hey, I was a juvenile at the time. I didn't know any better. And besides, all the kids did it. What did we do? Well, suffice it to say that horned toads scampering across the ground made great running targets for our BB guns. Other things were done to horned toads -- not necessarily by me -- that are best left unwritten in a family newspaper. Life was tough for the little creatures back then. I feel bad about it today, but in the late 1950s and early 1960s, horned toads were everywhere, practically as ubiquitous as fire ants are today. Speaking of fire ants, they and the pesticide used over the years to try to kill them, are considered the prime suspects in the virtual disappearance of the horned toad from all but far West Texas. Since fire ants are not found in that part of the state, that's more circumstantial evidence to help assuage my guilty conscience. What got me thinking about my early life of horned toad crime was Jane Manaster's interesting and readable new book on the scary looking but sort of lovable horned toad, which for the purposes of academic publishing is referred to as a horned lizard. Published by the University of Texas Press, the 81-page book, Horned Lizards, sells for $17.95. This book is part of a series UT Press is doing on natural history. Manaster wrote a book on the pecan tree for this same series a year or so ago. We kids, as did most other Texans of my acquaintance, referred to these reptiles as horny toads. They also have been called horntoads, horned frogs or simply toads. In Mexico, they are known as camaleons (chameleon) or torito de la Virgen (Virgin's little bull.) No matter what we call them -- horned lizards seem a little too formal for me -- horned toads have an interesting folklore and Manaster devotes a chapter to some of the legends involving these animals. The prime story, of course, is the tale of Old Rip, a horned toad which supposedly survived 31 years entombed in the corner stone of the old Eastland County courthouse. The courthouse was built in 1897, and when the cornerstone was laid, someone captured a horned toad and thought it would be clever to put it inside along with various other artifacts of the time. When the old courthouse was razed to make room for a modern structure, the horned toad supposedly revived shortly after being removed. Old Rip, named in honor of Rip Van Winkle, became a national celebrity. Of course, the money has to be on his lengthy hibernation and miraculous recovery merely being a publicity stunt. My grandfather, the late L.A. Wilke, worked for a Fort Worth newspaper at the time, and later assured me it was an inside job with Chamber of Commerce implications. But the story still will get you in an argument in Eastland County, where there are many loyal believers. No matter what, it's a good story. And horned toads are known to live up to 15 years, so maybe it's a half-true story! In addition to horned toad folklore, Manaster covers its habitat and geographic range, behavior, defense system, its importance as a symbol for American Indians, its connection to Mexican history, its modern history, extended range and conservation efforts. The book is enhanced by 11 color photographs, many of them by the talented wildlife photographer Wyman Meinzer, and 10 black and white illustrations. A bigger book could have been written about this little creature, but Manaster has done a good job of condensing the story into a slim volume. Not only that, after reading what fire ants and urbanization have done to the Texas horned toad population, I don't feel nearly as guilty as I used to. |
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The Benevolent Order of the Texas Horned Toad |
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