Tuesday, Apr. 26, 2011
Dear Diary:

The new neighbours who moved in this weekend are all about the drama. They yell, brawl and indulge in a lot of public fornication.

Good thing they're frogs, eh?

The ice melted off the small pond by the middle of last week. There were a few bullfrog tadpoles shimmying through the water, but otherwise nary a critter was visible. The spousal unit promised that we'd put the pump in on the weekend and get the waterfall going.

Water music. I love me my water music.

Saturday morning dawned and we awoke to a cacophony of frog yelling. Seriously. One day utter silence, very little life in the pond, the next day over 25 little frogs doing their darndest to replicate.

Oh man. There went my dream of splashing water.

I've read the frogs the riot act. They've been informed that they have a week to get the canoodling done. I will scoop out all eggs and move them to the big pond where they will have to survive my gold fish and the frogs that live there. It's cruel, I know, but it's kinder than being churned through a 3200 gallon an hour pump.

While I'm publicly playing Ms. Tough Guy with the frogs, I'm really delighted to have them back. Last year we had a pair of ducks nest near the big pond for the second year in a row. They wiped us out of frogs and came close to eating all my beloved gold fish. It was an eerily silent spring without the sturm und drang of frog life.

This year we had a late spring. The ducks misjudged their arrival by about two weeks. I saw them near the big pond when it was still partially covered by ice and surrounded by snow. They stayed for a day and then left for more hospital shores.

I will admit to mixed feelings. It was a lovely sight, having the pair of ducks gliding over the big pond. It was comical to watch them dunk for food, their little duck butts up in the air. Somehow, though, spring just didn't feel like spring without the racket of frogs.

Sunday afternoon the spousal unit and I took a tea break on the porch and for about twenty minutes we watched our cats Binky and Savannah circle the small pond, trying to figure a way to get at the frogs who were yelling, swimming, wrestling with each other over territory and, well, also making little frogs.

I mentioned something to the effect that cats weren't the sharpest pencils in the box because they were absorbed in watching something as simple as some splashing frogs. Then the spousal unit pointed out that we had been watching the cats watching the frogs for a goodly hunk of time ourselves. What exactly did that say about us?



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