As some of you know from Facebook, there was a Frog Massacre at my home on Wednesday. It's been a while since I've mowed my lawn..because of Fay and other things that are going on. Little did I know that Tropical Storm Fay would bring the mating ritual out of the frogs of Lake Toker.
As I mow the lawn..well let's just say it wasn't pretty.
Leslie sent me a blog the other day that pretty much sums up my thoughts about the things that happened that day. I changed some items to reflect on what happened to me. I hope you enjoy.
The Great Frog Massacre of 2008
edited by Michael Staden
I was the bringer of the frog Waterloo. And these are no deformed Florida frogs in need of a recall to their maker that I'm talking about. We're talking young, little hoppers with cream-colored bellies leaping high into the air, stretching their little heads forward, their mouths in a sardonic grin, their little eyes dark and moist, and their squishy legs straining backwards, trying to get away from...the lawn mower.
At one point, in a somewhat perpetually shaded area where the grass was thicker, I had a small emotional breakdown because every inch of the grass was covered with confused amphibians, leaping and hopping, trying to get out of the way of the mower. No matter which direction I went, something would have to die. The grass was alive and I was loathe to kill all the little creatures. Yet the grass needed to be mowed!
Some frogs had an exceedingly difficult time figuring out which direction to go and I found myself in the unfortunate situation of moving an inch forward, stopping, moving another inch forward, stopping -- it was tragic, I tell you. It was tragic that I was going to mow frogs no matter my solution, and tragic that I found myself yelling directions to non-sensient frogs as to how to best avoid the mower.
"Go to the right! No, the right! Over there!"
I take conversation where I can get it, I suppose, though these be strange circumstances.
What goes through a frog brain? I'm not sure that much does although, despite my best efforts and intentions, the mower blade went through a few. There are few worse things for a person mowing the lawn that to see, on the next pass through a freshly-mowed area, the carcasses of little froggies. The carnage!
And so, now that the rains have come again the frogs have decided to come out and play at the worst possible time. Not everyone is as caring nor as insane as I. The frogs will die.
Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat.
(all of them wound, the last one kills)
It applies to frogs, too.