A Fitting End for Mr. Frog

There was a rainbow of bunnies arcing far above the dewdrop-kissed gumdrop forest in a cerulean, cloud dappled sky; bunnies running across the sky in varicolored celebration of hop-scamper whisker-twitch life delight. Sandwich cats nested in their cozy burrows with elk swans and a travelling group of otter manx, while Popup the Duck began frying bologna and yams for breakfast. Up on Verity Hill, Toasters Gnome meditated in perfect stillness while green herons gently brushed the fennel pollen from his furry eyebrows with their wings.

Where was Yankee Frog? Grumpily floating on Shhhhhh Pond. Grumpy, scowling, snapping up dragonflies and munch munching them even though he wasn't hungry, and spitting them into the water. A group of young bluegill hovered below him, happily gobbling up his discarded treats and singing mocking songs about silly grumpy frogs.

Oh, Yankee Frog was scowling! Scowling so ferociously that it looked like a pantomime grimace, like a kabuki grimace. Nobody stopped to ask why he seemed so grumpy because they were too busy hastening to greet the lovely day and go about the business of enjoying life. That, and he looked so ridiculous grumpily floating there, everyone was afraid they'd burst out laughing if they attempted to speak to him.

The fact that everyone was going out of their way to avoid speaking to Yankee Frog made him even more bitter. His froggy stomach was like a balloon of hot bile and his skin tingled with excited anger. Suddenly, with a shudder, he kick kick kicked as hard as he could and hop! onto the bank of the pond and hop! right into the little creek that emptied the pond and he lay there in an eddy of cool, swirling water.

Yankee Frog realized, as he floated there swirling in the eddy, that he had never been in the creek that drains the pond and he wondered why not. It was very peaceful with the water burbling over rocks and not a soul to be seen. And quieter, too. This pleased him very much, and for the first time in days he cracked a smile. Then, his sort-of smile turned into a real smile and he closed his eyes and let himself relax in the gently whirling waters.

But he wasn't suddenly happy, oh no. He was smug. Smug in his aloneness: criticizing the others for buzzing around, socializing, visiting to and fro, laughing and gamboling about. This was the true bliss, he thought, with not a soul around and quiet whispers of breeze through reeds. Meditative. A place where a superior mind could philosophize and really make sense of his place in the universe. Perfect...perfect...burble burble...

You probably guessed already that Yankee Frog was not really alone at all. He was in the home of Charlie Trout and Charlie Trout (as everyone else knows) is a real vicious bastard. Charlie Trout gobbles up ducklings KAPOW! Charlie Trout gobbles up minnows SLASH! Charlie Trout is, basically, the lion of the stream that drains the pond. Duh, Yankee Frog, you idiot.

This story ends predictably. Charlie Trout woke up in the cold depths of the eddy and took a couple of invigorating laps around the pool. Fully awake, and very hungry, he cast his eyes to the sun-splashed surface of the creek and what do you think he saw? The silhouette of a very foolish frog, eyes closed, floating serenely on the water. Mr. Trout giggled, he was so tickled, and after a silent pass underneath dum dum Frog to make sure everything was copacetic (no hidden fish hooks, anglers with nets on the bank) wasted no time in KERSPLASH! snapping him right in two.

Charlie Trout gulped down the legs-half first and left the head-half bobbing up and down, then gently sinking to the bottom of the pool. Which gave a very surprised Yankee Frog just enough time to reconsider his life philosophy and repent his foolishness before a very satisfied and large trout finished his morning meal.

The end.

image swiped from the defunct blog buzzmunkeysmunkeycage.wordpress.com