Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Be The Best You Can Toad... Or Frog?

I had watched my last netflix* and was wondering what the hell to do next when I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Not another mouse, I hoped. I've been mouse free for several days now. One of the giant beetles that have been crashing around in here? That seemed more likely, as I could now detect a repetitive thumping to the movement. It's been so hot by day that at night I keep my door open well past midnight, hoping to catch and store some cool night air for the next day, albeit with no screen door to serve as bouncer for the unwelcome masses. And the masses abound. Shiny green beetles, dressed for a rave, bumbling heavy set beetles in pinstripes crashing into things and looking for the brandy and cigar crowd, and dragonflies of the night dressed in their delicate diaphanous lace looking for a date with my desk lamp.

But when I looked into the shadows, there was the last thing I'd expected, nor would have even guessed. An adorable prince of a frog, though I doubt he was looking for kisses. More likely a way out. I scooped him up and plopped him in a cup, probably ALSO not what he was looking for. The poor thing was covered in cat fur, a fate unavoidable in my castle. Of course I wanted to keep him; visions of terrariums swam in my head, lush, green, moist sanctuaries for the osmosis clad crowd. I certainly have plenty of food flying around to serve up as delicacies for his type. But hey, wait, I'm a woman in a wheelchair who struggles just to get in and out of her front (and only) door- not exactly his type. Besides, what do I know about keeping amphibians? ( See that right there, I didn't have to try to identify him as frog or toad, though I'm pretty dang sure he, or she, was the former.)

Anyway, I had to rinse him off, so I put a little water in the cup and swirled him around with no regard for his dignity at all. After the dry spin cycle I put a cover over the cup and sat to ponder. While he hopped at the ceiling of his impromptu quarters, I had to strategize. It's only 6 feet from my door to the closest patch of garden. Just six short feet of igneous ( or is it metamorphic? I need to get back in school) scorria the size of misshapen golf balls, hardly wheelchair accessible, or flip flop accessible, for that matter. How to get him to safety?

I formulated a plan. I'd need to go with my crutches, obviously, but that meant no hands free. So how to carry him? I don't have one of those little dog carrier/ purse things, sized for frogs or otherwise. I suppose I could have substituted my purse, but for one thing, it was full, and even if I dumped it out there would be leftover debris to ruin his fresh bath. Besides, my purse hangs just under my arm and I wouldn't want to squish him OMG in my armpit. That would be one crappy way to go. So, and this sounds TERRIBLE, I put him in a plastic ziploc baggie. It was only for two minutes, max. I made sure it was way poofed up like the new packaging alternative to styrofoam peanuts, and put him in the pocket of my hawaiian shirt. I hopped out to the garden, gravel slipping, sliding, and churning on the tiny slope - everything takes on completely different proportions when you're "differently- abled"- and balanced carefully while I gently shook him out into the grass and sleeping flowers.

I made it safely back to my house and hope he made it to his. Kiss or no kiss, likewise with princes, it was a happy ending. Even if it took an hour. I did the best I could, and that's that.

Except it wasn't an ending. I KID YOU NOT, as I was typing this, I happened to see a spot of movement off to my left.
A frog.
This girl needs some bouncers. Not a screen door bouncing off my wounded leg or crashing against my wheelchair. Air conditioning would be good. Haha, nah, I much prefer the sweet fresh summer air. I suppose for now this club is open till last call in autumn.

*Don't get me started on my "insta watch netflix options". The really good stuff is almost always only on disc. The boredom may have surpassed the pain now.

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