Horned Toads a Flash from the Past

My elementary and high school years took place in the late 50s through 1970 in South Texas. Horned toads were a part of my life, not because I wanted them to be. My neighbor and best friend, Frances, was fascinated with what we called, horny toads. I, on the other hand, thought they were weird and didn’t want to touch them.

Frances had a shoe box full of sand in her bedroom at all times. She decorated it with a few rocks and some twigs. It was her version of a Barbie house, except the inhabitants were horned toads she collected from ant beds that dotted the unkempt area of the oil field camp houses we lived in near Greta.

We wore dresses or shorts during the summer and only dresses or skirts to school. Frances often wore shorts under her skirts, because most of the time her feet were in the air as she did handsprings and cartwheels across the yard. On sweltering hot afternoons, we were expected to take naps. However, we mostly just sat in one of our bedrooms on the beds and read books or played a game.

Often when I’d stand up from Frances’s bed, there would be a horned toad clinging to the back of my skirt. I’d scream until she’d pluck him from the fabric and held him to her face, caressing his smooth belly and waiting for me to stop shrieking. “He doesn’t bite,” she’d say. “You’re scaring him.”

“I’m scaring him?” So, I understand why some schools and a university might think having a horned toad as a mascot could be a formidable creature. However, Frances no doubt thought they weren’t intimidating at all. I could barely touch my little sister’s hamster.

I do regret that horned toads have been on the endangered species list in Texas since 1977. They are nostalgic for me because of the whole late 50s nap time when they hung on my skirts and lived in a shoe box in Frances’s bedroom. When I’m writing, often those weird little tidbits will creep into my mind and I try to find a way to bring them back. I managed to do that in the Meg Miller Series and We’re All Connected Series, a spin-off with Meg’s characters. There are currently nine books, with both series combined, and in one of the novels, the horned toads are back.

Stay with me here. My grandmother taught me to crochet when I was maybe twelve. She and I would watch soap operas together and I learned all the stitches. I still like to crochet flat things like throws. I don’t want to count stitches to make a round something or anything with a shape. That’s when it’s no longer fun, and for me, loses the appeal. However, I do admire the crochet fanatic who can create those creature hats. And, don’t you know, there are patterns for horny toad hats.

So, in one of my novels in these two series, horny toad hats play a role. Can you imagine a group of middle school students attending a Christmas street dance wearing horny toads with Santa hats because their mascot is the ferocious horned toad? Can you imagine an adolescent boy who immigrates to Texas from Mexico and then loses his mother to murder? Can you imagine a couple who had no hopes for having children and embraces the boy and do everything they can to make his life normal? Can you imagine a group of ladies in an assisted living center who love to crochet and answer the call to make the most creative headgear of all times for a festive party in the street? Can you imagine a community that responds to a tragedy and a child in need and rallies around an unconventional couple to witness the best party of the season? It all happens in one of these books.

I’m not telling which one because I want you to read all of them. All I’ll say is I’m happy to wear a crocheted horned toad hat and not the real thing on the back of my skirt. Check out both series on my website: http://www.phyllishmoore.com.