I have been a guard around Salem Creek for almost eight years. It’s a quiet neighborhood with mostly retirees, dog walkers, and the odd teen getting into trouble. Not too crazy. I thought the call about a “disturbance” near Lot 17 would be about a neighbor fight over trash cans or a dog barking.
When I pull up, I see a middle-aged man holding… a toad on the curb. He looks a little jittery, like he might have had too much coffee. A big one with spots. He quickly waves me down.
He says, “Officer, I need you to touch it,” as if it were life or death.
At first, I laughed because I thought he might have lost a bet or be making a funny movie. Nope, though. He was not kidding. He would not give up. He said it had something to do with “proof” and that no one would believe him unless a police officer touched it too. A part of me thought that someone would come out with a camera as I looked around. Nothing.
The moment I told him I couldn’t touch frogs during my shift, he changed his whole attitude. He quickly stopped talking. He said something under his breath like, “It won’t work unless it’s an official.”
Before I could ask what he meant, a guy in his late 20s with his hoodie pulled down came out from behind the trees across the street. They looked at each other. The first guy looked at me like he was about to tell me something important.
That’s when I saw it: the guy in the hoodie had something tucked under his arm. I thought it looked like a file box. Also thick.
He dropped his voice and stepped closer to me. “Look, Officer Eshbach, I didn’t mean to bring you into this, but if you don’t touch it… “I can’t give you what’s in those papers.”
I was about to ask what the hell was going on when my radio went off to say that a lost dog had been seen down the block. As usual. Sender told me I’d be back right away, but I wanted to finish this first. I could tell from the man’s eyes that he was scared for more than just a weird animal fetish or a joke. He really looked scared. And the younger man in the hoodie across the street looked at every move I made like he was watching me.
I took a step toward the man with the toad and spoke slowly. “Sir, let’s begin with something easy.” “What’s your name?”
A soft voice said, “Reynaldo.” “Fowler, Rafael.” He looked down at the toad and rubbed the toad’s head with a shaking thumb. “Please… I understand this is strange. No, I’m not kidding.
I didn’t want to touch a wild toad with my naked hands, so I reached for my patrol belt and took off a pair of dark gloves. I thought, “Hey, I’ve done stranger things at work before,” like stop garden fights and chase goats through a yard sale. It might as well be added to the list to touch a toad.
That’s what I did. I used my covered fingers to pat the toad once on its bumpy back. It let out a low croak, and Reynaldo’s eyes lit up with happiness, as if I had just given him the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory. I raised an eyebrow and waited for an answer. But Reynaldo only gave the guy in the hoodie a nod.
The younger man, who was just standing there, got up and walked over. He looked at Reynaldo the whole time he gave me the folder. He said in a low voice, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Then he turned around and walked away down the path.
The box was heavier than I thought it would be because it was full of papers. At first glance, there were pictures of wetlands, typed letters about a local building project, and what looked like official licenses. One word on a paper stood out: “Salem Creek Preservation Plan.” I couldn’t make sense of it all at the time.
Reynaldo asked me what I was looking at. He let out a breath, pointed at the toad, and told me a story that was part science and part gossip.
Reynaldo said the toad, which he named a Gray-Spotted Brook Hopper, was a rare species that had no business being in Salem Creek. He said it only showed up because a nearby development company had been draining water from a protected swamp area a few miles away without anyone knowing. The toads had moved into the neighborhood because they had lost their usual home. Because of the pumping and rerouting of water, the whole environment there was in danger. He told her that no one would believe him, so he needed a “official witness” to talk to the thing. He said, “That’s what the papers are about.” “Written records of wrongdoing and the results.”
I looked down at the toad. The big eyes blinked, telling me that I was in uniform and listening to a guy talk about a scandal in the environment. I would have come here to look into a problem, not to figure out a plot. But at that very moment, I felt like I had some duty. If Reynaldo was telling the truth, then the toad, the folder, and his desperate attempts to get me to help might have been all he could do to save that swamp. Maybe he did need my help to make sure that the claims were taken seriously.
“All right, what’s next?” I asked. “You have papers that show illegal pumping, environmental damage, and all that.” Why is it so secret? “Who was that guy?”
Reynaldo little bit his lip. His name is and he is part of a group that has been keeping an eye on the construction company. They’re scared of what will happen. I learned about their business by accident. I’m not allowed to have these papers with me. Just a word… I used to do work for them on the side. I shouldn’t have seen what I did. They told me not to talk. But we can’t ignore this.
That might have sounded crazy if I hadn’t just seen two grown men talk about something private over a toad. But something about it felt right. I gave Reynaldo a ride to the train station so we could have a more adult conversation. He quickly pushed the toad into a small plastic bin that he had set out on the ground. The bin was lined with leaves and grass. He told me the whole story as we drove:
The new wave of building in Salem Creek wasn’t just homes. On the other side of the creek, there were plans to build a “waterfront commercial district.” Local news stories said it would help the business and make jobs available, which are common talking points. But behind the scenes, it looked like the development company didn’t follow environmental rules and diverted water from a protected swamp to their new site. Wildlife experts tried to speak out, but their views were drowned out by big money and shady politics.
When we got to the station, I took Reynaldo inside to make an official statement. Sergeant Dillard is a detective I trust, so I gave him the folder. He looked at me funny at first, but after reading a few pages, he became serious. It wasn’t just a guess; the papers had real state and county seals on them, as well as letters about water testing and warnings from environmental groups in the area. If even half of it was real, we were looking at big violations.
After a day, things really went wrong. People learned that an investigation was getting stronger. On the development side, people called the station to try to paint Reynaldo as some kind of angry ex-employee. They said the papers were either stolen or fake. At the same time, we heard that almost half of the water in the protected swamp had already been lost. People living near the neighborhood started reporting seeing more strange animals. Even snakes, turtles, and herons, not just toads.
Somebody on the city council called me and was very upset that the press had learned about the story. Also, every time I drove through Salem Creek, I saw the guy in the hoodie watching me from around curves. He seemed to be making sure I stayed on the path.
We met up again in a parking lot next to the station that wasn’t full. He had the cup for the toad on his lap. He told me in a shaking voice, “I’m worried.” “I didn’t mean for this to go so badly.” Just… I couldn’t stand to see them destroy another environment. “That’s not right.”
I understood how much he had risked when I looked at him. He didn’t have a lot of money or fancy lawyers to help him. Only a real worry for the environment. Some of me respected how brave he was. You have to be brave to speak out when no one else will.
The following week was very busy. They were looked over by a government officer. Environmental officials swooped in to check out the claims. When real proof showed up, like water readings, tampered pipelines, and strange machines in restricted areas, the city had no choice but to stop the growth. The “mystery whistleblower” who told on the crime was featured on the local news. People used the word “hero” a lot. But Reynaldo didn’t want anyone to notice him. He took care of that toad and made sure it had a safe place to stay until the marsh got better.
The big question is: Why did I have to touch the toad? It turned out that Reynaldo thought no one would believe him unless a police officer could say that these creatures were seen in places they don’t normally live. I made a formal statement saying that I had, in fact, met a Gray-Sspotted Brook Hopper, which I wrote down in my daily logs. Even though it wasn’t the most common proof, it helped give his story more weight.
In the end, tighter rules were put in place to protect the marsh area. The building business was told they would have to pay fines and their project was put off indefinitely until they followed all environmental rules. That might have cost them some jobs, but it saved a natural area that needed to be saved. It all began when a nervous man asked me to touch a toad.
That strange call taught me a lot. Random toads in a quiet neighborhood are sometimes the little things that show us much bigger truths. It’s simple to ignore people who sound or look a little off. You might find that they’re just trying to bring attention to something important if you give them a chance. I was told by Reynaldo that doing the right thing doesn’t always come in a nice package. It can be messy, strange, or even embarrassing at times. It can still bring about real change, though.
The best part? People in the Salem Creek area started to care about their surroundings after the story made the local news. A small conservation group was formed by neighbors to clean up the creek and plant native plants. Over the weekend, high school students built homes for frogs and other animals. It may not have solved all of the world’s environmental problems, but it was a start right here in our own neighborhood.
It’s all right with Reynaldo. We kept in touch, and he told me that the toad had finally found a place to live in the marsh that had been protected. He goes there every once in a while, wears rubber boots, brings a camera, and takes pictures of the marsh as it grows back. There is less noise now, and you can hear the toads, crickets, and frogs singing together. He said it’s one way for nature to say “Thank you.”
Yeah, I didn’t think a toad would get me into this much trouble. Now that I think about it, I’m glad it did. I might not be so quick to dismiss a call about something strange in Salem Creek the next time I get it. You never know how a small, unplanned event can change the course of a bigger story or even help the community.
If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s that you shouldn’t let fear or the fear of looking stupid keep you from doing what’s right. Pay close attention when someone asks for help, even if the request seems strange, and trust your gut. Because that slimy little tip can be the key to something very important.
Please share this story with your friends or give it a like if it touched you. You never know who might need a little lesson that every day things can have big effects. Even a toad can make a change, right?
