The First Frog 5/22/07

This afternoon Her Delightful Self and I went for a stroll. We were ambushed by a fierce but overweight rat terrier, who then decided that Herself was worthy of his friendship, trailed by his panicking human. Fears of his panicking human were waylaid by Herself's "I love almost all dogs" deportment, made obvious by a freely wagging tail and further evidenced by the relaxation in the rat's stance. It appeared that Herself is the first fellow dog that the rat terrier decided not to attack. We humans stood around while the two dogs assured each other that they could indeed be friends.

We took our leave and headed for a creek [pronounced "crik" in these parts] off of a jogging trail. Herself loves the creek. Herself loves all walks with her two human companions truth be told. She has at times indicated her interest in visiting the creek when passing the path leading to it. From that, I gather that she does prefer water to city streets and quiet paths with trees to traffic hurling itself away, away, away from here.

We have been visiting said creek almost daily within the last week, waiting for the appearance of Greenies, Minkies, Bullfrogs, and Northern Leopards. Little muddy holes along the banks indicate their presence and possible winter domiciles but to date there were no shrieking frogs or tadpoles. Herself has learned how to sniff out the scent of frogs on the grass along both sides of the creek.

Here I must confess that at home, I have a room set aside strictly for the keeping and feeding of frogs-- called "the Frog Room" by husband who tends to shy away from anything remotely slimy-- and in which are tanks set up for up to fifteen frogs at any one time. The current residents are Cutie Pie (European toad, female); The Hobbit (smaller species of African bullfrog, male, current in his third month of sleep); two Leopards which I suspect came in with a pet store's shipment of feeder fish (gender to be determined); and a bunch of fire-bellied toads all named "Fatty" (mixture of males and females). Herself has always been respectfully curious about the residents of the Frog Room, never displaying any aggression toward them whatsoever.

The sky was a crisp blue and the temperature was cool and comfortable, sixties, perfect strolling weather. Herself and I checked out the upper pond, various little pools where sometimes tadpoles are housed, and then the first tiny waterfall cascading over rocks and algae into a deeper pool of water. We elected to sit for a bit then and we were soon rewarded by a frog that I recognized. Two summers ago, I rescued a juvenile brown Greenie from the over-enthusiastic grasp of a monstrous child who had no adult guardians in sight. Apparently, he had never been given the standard lecture entitled, "Leave frogs and toads be. If you don't, you are subject to warts or possibly having your hands fall off just like if you uh play with your..." that is the expressed duty of almost all parents to deliver to their pre-adolescent sons. Frog in question had a remarkable brightly colored green head. I pried him away from the boy and took the little frog home for a fortnight in a rescue tank. I then released the frog back to his native environs. He did indeed look back at me before disappearing into the creek that was his home.

Herself was enjoying a long session of, "Scratch me here and pet me there." I was engaged in watching little bugs on the bottom of the pool which reminded me of the diving beetles in Maine but weren't. These bugs, although probably related to diving beetles somehow if shape was to be the judge, walked underwater with ease on rocks and swam mid-level while propelling their little bodies left and right as they made a beeline for the next rock. They stayed submerged and mid-level to water bottom, not surfacing at all. I heard the tell-tale plop from the left bank and watched the Greenie swim underwater and then hide partially wedged under a rock near the foot of the waterfall. I waited.

The second waterfall, more of a ripple really, was continuing to move the water along several feet away from where the pool became shallow. The little bugs continued their movements. A young man was teaching an older woman how to throw a frisbee on the grass above us. The Greenie remained where he was without stirring for a good ten minutes. We sat. I detected a lightening quick movement. It was the Greenie who decided to bravely make a break for it. He dashed to the muck along the right side of the pool and partially emerged. His body remained covered by the brown muck. His head was on the muddy ground just below some of the aforementioned hidey-holes.

His head had lightened through the last winter. There was still a dim splash of green but most of the startling green had migrated to around chin level where the tell-tale yellowish-green of maleness took over. He was still very much a handsome fellow. I was glad to see that he was plump and muscular. I imagined him dining on the little bugs along the bottom, although I suspected he liked to catch insects that made their hapless way along the water's edge. A random cut blade of grass lay on his head. His eyes stood out and prevented him from being mistaken for a misshapen rock.

Herself indicated that she was indeed ready to move on and so I got up. We meandered away, both of us perhaps dreaming of summer days to come where pleasant afternoons will be spent once again along the creek waiting on the company of frogs.

spike q, crossposted to http://sapphoq.livejournal.com and to http://360.yahoo.com/sapphoq