Chonktoad

It sits, vast and patient, half-submerged at a productive stretch of bank, and it lets the world come to it, taking prey with a tongue-strike faster than its bulk suggests possible and a gulp that ends the argument. It can go a long while between such meals, living off its considerable reserves, and it defends a prime feeding-spot from rivals with deep, booming calls and, if pressed, a surprisingly quick lunge. In the cold months it burrows into the soft bank and sleeps out the winter, emerging with the spring rains hungry, deliberate, and entirely unchanged.