FOR THE LOVE OF A FROG (a.k.a. Goliah Sinks Benath the Waves) Pts. 1-2

I think I have an almost obsessive sensitivity to the plight of all animals; a tendency which seems to be more pronounced with age.

Several days ago, I walked out to my front yard flower garden; with the intention of changing the water in a ceramic pool which rests in its center. I was the recipient of the 2.5 by 2.5 foot circular pool as the result of the death of my neighbor, and the decision by her children to leave some of her possessions to ‘whomsoever will.’

The pool (for lack of a better term) is a beautiful thing. The bottom is covered with a mosaic of colorful stained glass. And there is foot high representation of an angel which fits onto the back of it, and is designed to stream water from a small port in its front. While I still mount the figurine onto the pool for appearance sake, I have long since quit running water through the little statue; due to problems with the power cord.

But to return to my train of thought.

I replicated the exact same actions I always took when I changed the water. (To be sure, I would leave the pool empty of H2O, except for the thirst of the feral cats in my neighborhood).

I sprayed the bottom to clean any mold which might have developed. Having done so, I filled it up again, mounted the figurine on the back of the pool, along with two over-sized, inanimate frogs, one on each edge of the reservoir, and then I “went about my business.”

Pt. 2

However, today when I was cleaning up my flower garden after our recent freeze, I glanced down, and found myself looking at a real frog; hanging limply by one leg from the underside of the figurine.

While the slimy green creature wasn’t the largest I had ever seen, at about five inches in length it was the biggest I’d ever witnessed in my little “neck of the woods.” I mean, we have a couple small ones which hang out on the top of my porch light at night, and feast on the flying insects which are attracted to it, but nothing of this magnitude.

There could be no mistake. The hapless creature had been clinging to the inside wall of the pool, in an attempt to slurp a little water, when I dropped the figurine into its place. And having done so, ‘Goliath’ was suddenly “caught between a rock and a hard place.”

I could just imagine the whole ghastly thing. The poor little creature had struggled to loose himself, but for all his struggles he might as well have been caught in a bear trap. No doubt, he floundered on the surface of the water, as long as he could, but ultimately his strength failed him, and his surrendered himself to his watery grave. Perhaps he emerged from his liquid tomb a couple of times, but, ultimately, offered himself to his inevitable fate.

Then again, perhaps the slimy green amphibian, to which Mark Twain alluded in one of his stories, was immobilized in such a way that he was unable to rise above the water, and he immediately drowned.

I admit it. I liked this scenario a great deal better, though I hated the poor thing’s short life had been shortened more due to my carelessness.

Afterward

I suppose there is little or no way in which to bring such an unusual reminiscence to a close, but I think I would be better off if I weren’t quite so sensitive to the welfare of God’s humblest creatures.

I think the possibility of this happening is almost nil.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 76. Copyright pending

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