We found a frog in the garden today. When I say 'found', I don't mean we found its carcass under Sammy's paws. I also don't mean we just happily encountered it hopping along in the grass the way I used to encounter my last frog.
No, I mean nearly broke my back digging out 5 years of leaf-mold from the back corner of the garden and somewhere near the bottom I narrowly missed hacking him* into two with the edge of the shovel. I actually thought I'd had his leg off and picked him up in dread, but there he was; completely whole, a massive fat frog spilling over the edges of my hand.
I felt like I was about ten years old as I rushed him over to the spud shouting 'look what I found in the garden, look look look!! The spud was not as thrilled as I'd have hoped; in fact he didn't even come out of the house, he just stood at the doorway and smiled uncertainly. 'Isn't he lovely' I raved 'Yep' said he said 'It's a big frog' he added, unecessarily, then he went back to playing games on my iphone.
I put the frog back where I found him and half-buried an old planter for him based on my previous frog experience, where I left a small planter with some water under a bush and 90% of the time would find the frog happily sitting in it.
I'm feeling a bit guilty now though, having disturbed what was undoubtedly the perfect frog-hole: an open pile of rotting leaves and twigs full of insects and worms, snug from cold and prowling cats... however I've finally opened up the last awful corner of the garden and now I'm in the market for some ferns so clearly not feeling THAT guilty. I did however leave an area undisturbed and will look into what might be reuqired to maintain the garden as a good home for him.
Between the tone-your-butt Reeboks, the 3 hours of leaf-mould attack and the nightmare of trying to get a three-year-old into bed when his internal clock is telling him it's an hour too early, I am a complete croc at the moment, however am delighted that daylight has been restored to it's rightful place at the end of the day... hooray!
Roll on long summer evenings. I'm hoping to hear a few croaks this year.
* yes, this frog could be female. I don't care. For the purposes of this blog, it has froggy balls.
7 comments:
I found the problem wasn't getting the kids in bed, but getting myself there. Really can't be doing with these clock changes.
I'm so glad this was a green garden frog! I would hate to think your French frog was living under a pile of rotting leaves and twigs as punishment for some disdemeanour!
Dude do those shoes work????
(forgive me if you've blogged about them, I've been out for a while :P )
Glowstars - yes, I've come out against Daylight Savings Time. I would formally start a petition if a: I had the time and b: there was any chance it would succeed.
Sphinx! No no no, this was a proper green garden frog... mind you putting my French husband into the compost when I'm displeased with him is an interesting thought on which to linger...
Gringa - I have to say, I think the shoes do work... I've yet to blog properly about it but I'm wearing them all the time and my butt is feeling the pain...
Do the tone-your-butt Reeboks really work?
Sammy still hunts?
Iota - they certainly feel like they work!
Helen - in his dreams... he's too slow and decrepit to really hunt but I imagine a frog would be easy enough!
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