A few bursts of heat followed by a week's worth of rain followed by another burst of heat equals a prodigal summer around here. Over the past couple of weeks it's been wild kingdom in our backyard: a hawk chases a fox chasing a squirrel into the woods. A woodchuck trundles around the lawn. A deer picked its way across the edge of the woods two nights in a row.
And closest of all, the loudest tiny frog that ever lived is currently in residence in our pool. Our pool that is being cleaned for the summer. It was growing distinctly pond-like, with a pond smell and a pond swarm of bugs on top, but this little frog takes the cake. He sits on the pool steps and hollers for a ladyfrog every five minutes from 8 pm til I fall asleep.
Given my recent bout of excess empathy for everything in the world, I have been feeling pretty strongly that the frog needs to leave the pool before it becomes toxic with chemicals. The FYD was scooping leaves and prepping the filter and I ran out at dusk to say STOP BEFORE YOU SHOCK RESCUE THE FROG!!! And we spent a few minutes of comedy trying to chase a frog with a pool scooper thing and then I got too many mosquito bites and went inside, frogless.
An hour later, the FYD came inside and reported that he had indeed finally caught the amphibian and released him at the edge of our woods, not too far from a drainage stream that would make a fine new home. I went to sleep relieved.
And today went by as usual: Breakfast. Work. Hot. Thunderstorm. Commute. Bath and dinner for Little A. The FYD went out and Little A. went to bed.
I set about frantic nesting-style cleaning and cooking and more cleaning and the sun is going down and suddenly:
(The frog is not shying away from being a cliche. It really sounds like "ribbit.")
I pause. Listen.
Close to the house. And again and again. Frog hollers.
The damn frog. Came back to the damn pool. Across a treacherous (I imagine, for a smallish animal) stretch of open lawn, through a wall of tall grass. Back to its home in our pool.
Sigh. One can only hope the bugger has an ounce of self-preservation.
Rockin the suburban wilderness -