I hear their seductive pleas at night now outside my window.

"Baby, you *know* I got what you need ... Let me show you how good it can be, darlin' ... Oooooooh sex me up, momma."

Ummmm, we would be talking about frogs here, eh.

Yep, it's *finally* spring in my neck of the woods, so the Kermies in our pond are out of hibernation, mental with lust, and croaking out their best pick-up lines.

We've got a kazillion kinds of frogs out there, everything from the basso profundo of the sumo-sized bullfrogs down to something that sounds remarkably like a rubber band twanging.

But we don't have spring peepers, and that just breaks my husband's heart.

Peepers are living proof that size doesn't matter. They're just itsy bitsy little guys, but when they start coming on to the babes the decibels are incredible.

The old farmhouse where Paul grew up is a quarter mile down in the valley below our cabin. Every spring, far away as we are, we can hear the deafening "Choose me ... don't choose *that* Bozo, CHOOSE ME" of the peepers down in his mom's ponds.

What's ear splitting din to most folks is a spring symphony to my spousal unit. We have tried for years to get peepers in our pond. We read everything about them we could, scoured his mom's ponds, brought up buckets of everything we thought could be a peeper egg.

Still no peepers. But now, just a stone's throw from my bedroom window, we have most every other kind of frog from hereabouts shouting out his best pick-up line. It's an isolated pond, though, so most of the lines are getting kind of old.

Help a frog. Tell me your favourite pick-up line and I promise to share it with the webbed wonders.