Monday, March 26, 2012
Nature Girl versus the Frog
I acquired the name "Nature Girl" when I started working on my last college degree (Landscape Horticulture). I used to put together amusing anecdotes about my adventures in Nature. Here's one of those stories, called:
Nature Girl Meets the Frog
As we all know, Nature Girl's CARP (Capture And Release Program) is always used in cases of small mammals, insects (except hairy spiders which are killed with a broom, and stinging insects which are killed by the Spousal Unit), and those critters slow enough not to escape NG's net.
The CARP was strained to the limits yesterday, though.
After a tough day at school and work (I'd like some cheese with that whine, please), I came home and, as was my wont, went out the Box 'o Mail and got the disposables therein. I plopped the <pile of junk> on the counter and thought, "Mmm, did that pile of junk just sort of move? Did that pile of junk sort of ... HOP?" Holy shit. A frog.
Not the tiny, little, cutsey frogs that you see on the World Wildlife Federation calendars. Not the poster-frogs for "Save the Rainforest". Nosireebob. This was a Fist Frog (as in, "as big as my fist").
As we all know, frogs can cause their bones to disappear at will, which is what the FF did. He/she/it squeeeeezzzzeed itself under my toaster oven (and found a treasure trove of crumbs there, probably thinking it had gone to frog heaven). Luckily my clueless cats hadn't even noticed my agitation ("oh, look, she's dashing around the kitchen again ... oh, hum, must be another toast fire or something"). I got out a pickle bottle, thinking I could shoo the amphibian into the bottle. However, the lip of the bottle looked like a tight squeeze (and it smelled faintly of kosher dills, and I wasn't sure if the FF *liked* kosher dills, or was even Jewish for that matter).
So, I got out the SU's beer mug (don't tell him) and figured I could herd the frog into it (I figured the frog liked beer -- I saw it on TV, right? .... in those Bud commercials). I SLOWLY moved the toaster over, and got out a wooden spoon, prepared to herd the beast toward his temporary home ... and he PLOPPED right up on my wall and stared at me with his beady eyes.
Panic time. A frog is climbing my walls. Scenes of Easter time, with Charleton Heston and Yul Brenner, flashed through my brain. Obviously this frog didn't like beer (or maybe he didn't like wooden spoons. I wasn't sure). Maybe he had friends (I took a panicked moment to inspect the rest of the mail -- no more amphibians. !Whew!)
By now the cats were getting curious ("she's moving kitchen appliances around ... hmmm, maybe there's food there. I will position myself directly under her feet so that if something falls I will get it ...") I knew that frog death was only a hop, skip, and jump away (not to mention frog parts, and frog blood, which YouKnowWho would have to clean up since the Spousal Unit was at work).
I took a deep breath, and still brandishing the wooden spoon (I wasn't going to TOUCH it, I draw the line at some things), I got out a Bruegger's Bagel used paper bag (still smelling vaguely of onion bagel), and positioned it near the creature.
The bagels must have done it. He happily jumped into the paper bag when prodded with the spoon (he was probably just getting tired of being jabbed in the butt with a spoon; I know *I* would be!) After tripping over 2 cats, I got him out into the yard, and tried to up-end him out of the bag .... nope, he LIKED that bag.
When I went back to check on him a few minutes later, he was still in the bag (looking slightly chubbier, probably having nibbled on some crumbs). I made a little tear in the bag, and he peered up at the sky ("oh, look. There's sky. Am I outside now? What happened to frog heaven? Oh, well, there's a good looking plant ....").
Hop, plop, and he's out in the garden.....
Here is a word o' wisdom from Nature Girl: always fluff that mail before bringing it into the house. You never know who might be Coming Along for the Ride.