At home that afternoon after school, I stood in the yard with Streak. The lawn mower was exactly where I’d left it days ago. If I waited even one more hour the grass would be impossible to cut, maybe even with a tractor. We’d have to fence it off and bring in the cows.

Also, I felt bad that Mom had to keep telling me to do it. Ledward was right. She did count on me to help around the house.

“I’ve run out of time, Streak. I gotta do it. Want to help me look for bufos?”

Streak tilted her head.

I puffed up my cheeks and blew the air out slowly.

Streak sniffed the grass and jumped when a toad leaped out and headed toward the river. Streak barked and followed it. The toad disappeared into the swamp grass.

I toed out three of them and watched Streak bark them to the river.

It took ten minutes just to get the lawn mower started. It coughed to life, the noise roaring through our peaceful neighborhood like a jet flying super-low. Streak ducked her head and shrank around to the back of the house.

Pushing the mower into that thick grass was like riding a ten-speed bike on the beach.

The biggest toad I’d seen in my life leaped out of the grass in front of me and charged downhill. Scared me spitless!

There were still bufos in the grass.

I shut the engine off.

It was so quiet, just like when we got off Baja Bill’s boat.

“All right, toads. Wake up. All of you.”

I started searching with my feet.

“Ack!”

I squatted down to dig out the squishy thing under my bare foot. It was way down where the grass was wet. I pried it out and picked it up. It was soft and rubbery, with a beating heart. I stared into its face. “Were you ever in an alien movie?”

It blinked.

“I know someone who thinks you guys are cute.”

I stood.

“Bye-bye,” I said, and reached my arm back to throw Mr. Bufo into the river.

I stopped and looked at him again.

And you know what? He smiled at me. No joke. The look on his face was like, Howzit? Or Wassup?

Jeese.

“So maybe Tito had it wrong, huh?” I said.

I carried him to the water and let him swim out of my hand.

Seventeen.

That’s how many I carried to the river.

Seventeen smiling bufos who didn’t get shredded, whose guts did not end up on my feet.

And then I cut the grass.