Bull Frog by Shudrbug

A few days ago…

“Build it and they will come,” I opined gently, as she thumbed through the well worn pictures of the back yard of our previous home.  Like her movements had been rehearsed, she turned toward the living room window and peered through the glass as if searching for a perfect spot.  A purposeful sigh escaped her lips.  I’m telling you right now, the girl is an actress.

And then on cue, she looked up at me.  “What’s so bad about frogs anyway, mommy?”  Her doe like eyes settled on mine before wistfully returning to the photos.   Oh, she was smooth and I was smelling defeat.

I put on my best this-isn’t-going-to-happen-smile before resting my hand on her head, smoothing away at her wispy hair.  I tried to explain further, but I was clearly getting nowhere.  Not yet born when we sold the last house, she never got to enjoy the little pond and waterfall like the rest of us did.   And this, I will never hear the end of.

Just steps beyond the French doors, it bubbled and gurgled at a fork in the brick path that wound its way through our tiny suburban oasis.  Wildlife quenched their thirst in plain view of our breakfast room windows.   A frog Mecca it had become over time, but she didn’t care, she wanted one and I was clearly losing ground.

I kept dropping references about the frightening nocturnal noises they’d made hoping to scare her away from the idea, but she wasn’t having any part of it.  What kind of mother am I anyway?  Why don’t I make her afraid of the Easter Bunny too while I’m at it.  God, I’m awful, but I still don’t think it’s gonna happen, not if I have my way anyway.  It went on for years and years until we moved and I can’t do it again.  My reasons?  Let me explain a little.

It started one night many, many, many years ago and it happened something like this…

* * *

I slapped away at his muscled shoulder trying to rouse him. “What the hell was that?” I screeched, my words clipping through the house like little bolts of lightning.  “Wake up, I heard something,” I went on, my voice caught in a weird pitch of hysteria.

He stirred slightly, his groan barely audible over my shrieking.  He grabbed a corner of the sheet and pulled it up to his chin.  My hero, my protector, lay blissfully in a coma, his arms and legs covering three fourths of the bed.   Now I shook him, but the unyielding lump that lay beneath the rumpled sheets refused to move, seemingly sinking deeper into his coma.  I was clearly on my own, the weasel, and now he was snoring.

I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, or what it was, but I grabbed the flashlight from beneath the kitchen sink and made my way to the French door.  I didn’t know what to expect, but one thing was certain, the noise was coming from something really big.

I stepped out the back door, my two foot long five pound flashlight in hand, and waited. It didn’t take long before it let out another bone cracking noise that seemed to be coming from somewhere around the waterfall.  On my hands and knees wearing only a nightshirt, I aimed the beam of light between the rocks.  With the slitted eyes of a cat, I waited.  And there he was.

The perpetrator, all 2 inches of him, regarded me with beady eyes.  He wagged his tongue and sat still, his testosterone pumped up neck expanding with each breath.  He let out another croak and with God as my witness…he smiled at me.  His big wide mouth mocking me, I was sure of it.  I didn’t exactly know what else to do so I asked him nicely to be quiet.

And there I was, on my hands and knees, shushing a frog in the middle of the night.  I know, I know, but what else was there?  I didn’t know of a nighttime frog relocation program, so we had to achieve harmony somehow.  Possibly a friendship would form.

He was quiet for a moment so I turned to go back inside.  Well, that was easy enough, I thought to myself, but as soon as I got inside, be damned if he didn’t do it again and I mean it was LOUD.  This wasn’t your average ribbet, or however it’s spelled.  It was lengthy, mighty, and as we would soon find out, it would go on for hours, years.  Mating call I think.  Whatever.  Get a date you maniac, I need to sleep.

Well, anyway, I went back outside with my really mean face on, crouching low enough to meet him eye to beady eye.  It didn’t work; he studied me with arrogant disinterest.  That was it.  I let out some really inappropriate exhortation, given it was the middle of the night, we had neighbors, and I was after all, talking to a frog.  With that, he seemed to look right through me.

If there really is such a thing as flaring nostrils, I had them.  I stared at him with red-rimmed eyes and yelled something else that made no sense to even me.  There he sat, water rolling off his back, watching me make an ass of myself.  I think I stood up and stomped around a bit hoping to scare him, because by now, I didn’t give a crap what I was doing.  This had to stop; we had to get some sleep.

Then all of a sudden, like Mary Poppins, three jammy clad little boys materialized at the back door.  They were whispering things to each other.  Why were they always doing that?  They still do it.  Why is that?  Anyway…

* * *

Back to a few days ago…

And now there I was, my little girl begging me to build another one, another cute, harmless waterfall just outside the back door. I smiled, somewhat agreed to do it someday, and then all of a sudden that old weird song started running through my head…”they’re coming to take me away ha ha to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I’ll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and they’re coming to take me away, ha ha…