Last night we had a spectacular experience. There was music, drama, fireworks and lots and lots of swearing. It is not often that the travelling Circus comes to town and parks itself in your yard and sends in ALL the clowns, but last night was magic.
The frogs flash mobbed us. Except they clearly have a short attention span and did not quite get through all the instructions. They nailed, “a bunch of you assemble suddenly in a public place/our back yard, and perform an unusual and seemingly pointless act . . ” They failed to finish the sentence that continues ” . . . pointless act . . . for a brief time, before quick dispersing.”
They also failed to grasp the concept known as practice or that they should sing the same song. Neither did they have a firm hold on harmony of being in key. Someone left all the keys on the bus that drove them there. There were no keys. No-one was in, on, or near any key whatsoever.
They did have volume however. LOTS of volume. It was competition volume. A fight to the death volume battle. Silence lost.
Many flash mobs have incorporated instruments and dancing. There were no instruments. Probably because no instrument known to man could possibly cover the notes that they were using, let alone the competing keys. In fairness, they may have been dancing. It was hard to tell. One, it was dark. Two, they may have been doing a modified version of River Dancing. One where they followed tradition and did not move their arms, but a dance with a creative new take on it where they did not move their feet either. They just sat there.
And Crrrrroakkked and croakedddddd and CCCRRROOOAAAKKKEEEDDD.
It was disturbing when we could not hear each other talk, distressing when we could not hear the television and damn scary when we could not hear ourselves screaming for help.
You know those movies where the cult is holed up in the compound and the FBI, the CIA, the DEA, PGA, the NFL, PETA AND the Tupperware Lady all move in and they try to force them out by blaring this mind numbing sound all night long???
Ya . . . it was worse than that.
Normally when one of the frogs get carried away we go out with the flashlight and find the little dude, often not bigger than your baby fingernail, and we pick him up and carry him gently over to the trees by the douchesicle neighbours house and carefully set him down. (the frog, not the neighbour . . .) Don’t roll your eyes at me, one of the other neighbours catches the frogs, puts them in a container and takes them with her on her way to work where she releases him out by someone else’s pond. It helps keep frog dating interesting and can also be an effective way to punch up your normal passive aggressive response to someone you hate. Drop off the noisiest frogs outside their bedroom window. It beats writing cryptic messages on Facebook, especially when they have already blocked you.
Sometimes the big green tree frogs get into the down pipes and echo around for awhile before it is going to rain. In every other instance the frogs only carry on for an hour or two and then shut up. You can understand there really is no need to go on and on because you can only scream for someone to come find you and have sex for so long until you are either hoarse or you get laid. But last night … neither hoarseness nor getting laid made anyone shut-up. Or maybe someone put Viagra in the pond punch and it was a really great night that went on and on and on. Hard to tell the difference in frog bellowing between “Matilda, over here baby” and “WOOOOHOOO.”
THEY WOULD NOT SHUT UP!!
We were out hunting. And then one flashlight burned out, and another and by the time we found the little bastard we were beyond Greenpeace and National Geographic and “ahhh aren’t they cute.” When we finally found him, turned out to be a freaking BIG green tree frog that that escaped the downpipes and was wandering willy nilly around the yard. Like hello Mother Nature, isn’t there supposed to be some kind of understood order to the chaos of nature? We “helped” to relocate his ass down into the back paddock.
I could hear him screaming instructions on how to reach his revised location to “Matilda.” It was a far away somewhat muffled croaking that was still very distinguishable. There was no mistaking that attitude amongst the cacophony of frogs doing their best imitation of horny toads.
And we just managed to slow our breathing and start to dream about a better world when our twilight sleep was disturbed with one giant “BUUUURRRRUP.” Playboy Frog was back. Closer back. Kissing the screen door into our bedroom back.
And he was pissed. He didn’t care about sex. He knew we had no frogs in there with us, he just wanted to swear at us in frog croak while it echoed in the patio … All …. Night …. Long.
Frogs carry a grudge. They are vindictive. They can move with lightning speed . . . obviously. They can sniff you out. They see you when you’re sleeping AND they are trained to kill. I can’t prove that of course but it was all there in his attitude, the slit of his eyes, the suggestive movements he made with his lips when he croaked. It may not have happened last night but he is there, lurking in the bushes, waiting for the day when we finally have to come outside, alone … and then … He is going to tap dance frog attitude all over our sorry faces. I know. My hubby knows it. We are frog toast.
I am writing this so you all know if anything happens to us, if we suddenly disappear, I don’t care how innocent and incapable they look … the frogs did it. Look for us to have been dumped at some other pond, one with frogs that our frogs have issues with. They can do passive aggressive every bit as well as we can.