Where Frogs Should Not Be

As a mini me growing up in the Midwest, the gentle croaking of frogs was one of my favorite sounds of summer. They were the perfect lullaby to the lazy days of a childhood spent outside getting muddy and rinsing off in the lake. I still love the sound of frogs croaking and can even name a few froggie calls from the comfort of my deck chair on the lanai. To my brain, the froggies live outside, and I live inside. Evidently, I have been somewhat misguided in that notion.

There have generally been herpetological critters hanging about my house on purpose: Florida anoles, frogs, and leopard geckos have all been included the care and maintenance of pets, sometimes at the same time. Spiffy, and what does that have to do with the blog, you might wonder. Well, this:

There’s a frog living in the pipes under our house, which comes to visit every once in a while via the toilet in the master bathroom. I am absolutely comfortable with the love bugs, palmetto bugs, fire ants, and alligator sightings of Florida, but I am extraordinarily not okay with something that peeps its head up out of my toilet to say hello.

The first time the froggy came to visit, I was in the kitchen when a bewildered husband came to me and invited me to check in the bathroom. I have not been a fan of potty show-and-tell since the children were toddlers, so I was a little less than pleased to accompany him to the bathroom. Once there, he quietly gestured for me to look at the toilet. No need for me to step in for a closer look, a big frog was peering over the edge of the commode. It was green, it was froggy, it croaked.

I very maturely squealed and hastened to my amphibian-loving daughter to get the thing out of the toilet. I wish I could say I stepped right on up, scooped it out and carried it to the retention pond by the house, but it wasn’t me. Nope, not it. I was holding onto my daughter’s t-shirt like she was the guardian protector of Amphia-land and I was a trespasser who wanted to go home. But wait: I was home. She and my husband made plans to invite the frog to leave on its own. The plan failed. It stared at us, and I swear it was defying us to do something about its presence in the house.

We were at something of a standstill until the frog did what frogs do: it hopped. It hopped out of the toilet and I hopped onto the bathroom counter, and my husband and daughter hopped to action. Lots of hopping, most of it not from the frog. I waited on the counter until husband and daughter caught the frog, escorted it outside and placed it near the retention pond so it could go hop and tell its friends about the idiots at our house.

Husband and daughter returned, laughed at me for still being on the counter, and then began to discuss how it could have ended up in the toilet in the first place. Whatever the reason, I began checking before using the bathroom. Good thing too, because it came back to visit today. Did it miss us? Does it get lost some kind of way? Is it a prince in disguise and all I have to do is kiss it? Absolutely not to the last; I know where it’s been.

It’s still there because while I am wearing my big girl pants today, I’m not wearing my frog-catching pith helmet. I did as any mature nature-loving person would do: I closed the door to the bathroom and it will stay that way until someone comes to remove the frog from my house.

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