POOP, poop!’ Imagine the scene, as the eccentric, narcissistic Mr Toad comes careering around the corner dressed in gaudy Harris tweed, behind the wheel of his bright-red sports car. The toad portrayed in Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows is a far cry from the real Mr Bufo bufo, the common toad, although it is ironic that Mr Toad’s reckless addiction to automobiles is one of the creatures’ main perils.

Far from gaudy in real life, this mottled-brown amphibian waddles about on short, stout legs—warts and all—unlike the more athletic, sleek frog, which propels itself by hopping and the