Because I’m not one to just let a subject die, I thought I’d update you all on the Plague O’ Frogs that has settled upon our house.
Much to my horror.
The morning after I reported the great frog takeover (you remember, millions of little tiny frogs covering my garage and door) I settled down on my front room couch. To gaze thoughtfully out the window, while drinking a giant mug of coffee. Contemplating the day ahead.
It was then that I noticed the grass was moving.
Or I’d had 3 too many cups of coffee.
I looked closer. The grass and accompanying bushes were all alive with tiny frogs. Emme had joined me, and when she discovered the takeover, she clapped her hands with glee.
PETS, MOM! HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS OF PETS!
If you’ll recall, Emme is the daughter who mourned the loss of a frog named “Sticky Legs.” He was murdered a good year and a half ago. To this day, she professes how much she still misses him. May he rest in peace.
Fiddledaddy, the more adventurous of this parenting team, told her to go put on play clothes, and get a cup to catch frogs. To her hearts content.
I looked at him, “Are you INSANE?”
Ignoring me, he set about enabling his young daughter in her effort to catch a frog. Or four hundred.
Well. I washed my hands of the whole sordid mess. And sat stubbornly on my couch. Behind the safety of a closed window. Clutching yet another cup of coffee.
Until Fiddledaddy motioned for me to get the camera. “But, that would mean that I need to exit the door!” I yelled through the glass.
No one listened to me. As per usual.
Dutifully, I captured photographic evidence. Which I will now share with you.
Somehow, Fiddledaddy talked me into allowing 3 small frogs caged inside a baby food jar which would sit in the middle of the kitchen table for a few hours. For show and tell.
Which did wonders for my diet. I wanted nothing to do with food the entire time the frogs were in my house.
I may be on to a new weight loss secret.
Well. My frog problem may be on its way to being solved. The next morning, when I stumbled to my customary position on the front couch, this is what I saw.
I’ve never been so happy to see a snake before in my life. And people, he looked hungry. And like he had it in for the frog population.
Emme, however, fell down on the floor in a heap. “MY PETS! MY PETS!”
And so I wrapped my arms about her to give comfort.
Not really. I said something sensitive like, “Too bad. So sad.” And I laughed maniacally. “And we’ll call him FANG,” I snickered.
I then hid my satisfied smirk behind the giant mug of coffee.
Until Fiddledaddy reminded me that all those millions of little tiny frogs are going to grow into large bulbous toads.
At which time, you’ll be reading about my untimely demise in the morning newspaper. Unless, of course, I can find a hungry boa constrictor. To keep as an outdoor pet.
Which will only lead to more frog blog fodder. And so it goes. Just a warning.