PureLandMountain.com: Hercules

THE AMPHIBIAN STABLES

The little green frog who owns the top of our garden faucet post hangs around there all day (and night, I suppose), since it affords scenic views, is nicely situated in the dappled shade of the chestnut tree and is rent-free, plus its promontory situation gives sir frog a good view of approaching lunch, so he has it pretty good, as lives go.

At first, he also occupied the top of the blue hose itself, which, being attached to the faucet, when not in use is draped over the faucet body behind the handle, but when Froggo used that area he would find himself on any given morning being grabbed suddenly by a giant hand and complications would ensue, so he stopped hanging out on the hose, and moved now and then only as far as the cool faucet part; but then some mornings, out of nowhere this big blue snakelike object would descend toward him regardless of the fact that he was even then waiting for breakfast, and instead had to leap for dear life about a mile down to the ground, then it would take him literally hours to get up to his aerie again.

So over time and through mutually shared experience, the good green sir and I have reached a necessarily tacit agreement. I can now come close with either hand or hose and he feels no need to leap for his life, because I make no sudden moves. For his part, among other things he does not even use the hose as his privy. We've got our agreement now, we work well together, it's a nice little morning-and-evening arrangement we have. He can chill, I can chill. etc. Now he stays on top of the post, a large area for one so small. You could probably fit 20 of him there. He uses it as his home, office and dining area, but, not being especially discerning in such matters he now uses it also as his privy, though as it turns out he can only do so for about a week, when even with careful placement he finds that that he has been crapped out of house and home.

Thus it was that one morning, after the weeks of rain had stopped and weeks of no rain were getting well under way, I came out to get the hose for watering and noticed that there was no frog atop the post, which now resembled a derelict frog latrine. Frogs have little skill in regard to such niceties (they have no guests, nor do they particularly care what other frogs think of them or their toilet arrangements etc.), and despite his careful spacing, it had been only a matter of time before the little green fellow had been forced to vacate the premises. Long-term planning is not that big a part of frog life, either.

So when I came out and turned on the hose that morning, I took the opportunity afforded by the absence of his greenness to blast the top of the post clean, in a small-scale version of that earlier stable-cleansing Hercules had been tasked with, only unlike the Herculean situation there was no reward of immortality involved; I just did it for the frog. When evening came around I went to get the hose and there was Froggo, perched in his old place, regally surveying his domain, the height of amphibian comfort. And though frogs have no facial gestures that we know of, when I bent close to look I could swear I saw a smirk of green gratitude playing about those lips.