How To Fling Your Froggie

They're back.

I knew it was going to happen sooner than later.

In fact, I am actually relieved. I hate the feelings of anticipation and anxiety, about something I'm not 100% sure will even happen. It's like the saying, "Worry is a wasted emotion." I have been psyching myself up for a few weeks now, but they have not come.

Finally. The froggies are back in the pool. Let the games begin.

So, like every summer so far here at Crazy Road, I, the fearless creature-catcher, am embarking on a 2 month, ongoing, nerve-wracking, heart-pounding, sweaty-handed battle with the Froggie Army.

And I do mean ARMY.

Because there are not just a few slimy slippies darting around...there.are.twenty...five...maybe thirty. And just when I think I have flung the last of 'em high and far over the fence, another shoots out from under a float. And my heart thunders once again. For there is really no rest for a frog-fearer like myself.

My husband asked the other day...why I don't actually SWIM in the pool. I SIT by it...I walk around it...I occasionally stick my feet in...but he's right. I rarely, if ever, swim.

I no longer view the pool as a summer oasis of refreshing fun, but rather a WAR ZONE. A battle-field, if you will.

This morning, although later than in past years, I armed myself with my trusty pool net, and waged what might just be, the trickiest, toughest fight yet.

It was rather cool this morning, I brought my coffee out, Casey excitedly trotting beside me...he knew they were there. He could smell 'em. At least, I think he could...I heard them before I saw them...splishy..little...blurbles...little effers.

I put my coffee down.

I took a deep, shaky breath.

I picked up the net. I did the Sign of the Cross and took my position at the side of the deep-end.

There's one. Two. Five at first count.

I quickly flip the inner-tube. Six!Seven! A-HA! I knew it!

I walk gingerly over to the other side.

Eight!

Little bastards.

Two more in the skimmer.(My most difficult area to maneuver...I have to force them out against the current so that I can chase them down with the net. I leave that for last).

I form my plan of action. For I have learned not to go forth without a plan. And I am pretty sure they are expecting me.

You know that scene in "The Little Mermaid," when the cartoon froggies are swirling around together, singing?

That is what I believe they are doing, dancing around the bottom of my pool together, ribitting a mocking song about me...

I hate them.

They are certainly not fond of me.

I can hear the faint tune of Phil Collins in the back of my head..."I can hear it coming in the edge of night..." That is my battle hymn.

Scoop.

Miss.

Scoop.

Miss.

I re-group.

They've gained strength over the spring. They are ready.

So.Am.I.

Scoop!

Got him!

I level the net and shot-put him careening over the fence.

Casey barks and gallops across to chase him...he is thrilled!

I watch the little shooter squap away. Casey won't hurt him. He just wants to play a little bit. hee.hee.

This continues for another 1/2 hour. These little suckers are quick!

But I hit my stride and one by one, about 15 ribbiters took the flight of a lifetime.

By the way~this is not done easily by me. I have been terrified of frogs and/or toads(is there really a difference?) my whole life. If you have not read "Frog Days of Summer, please refer. My heart literally pounds harder than ever during these battles, and I sweat and curse and scream at them...I banish my kids to the house, but they appear in the window...noses pressed against the glass...they have no idea what their crazy Viking of a Mama is doing. If you have seen the movie, "How to Train A Dragon," I am like Stoic, the Viking leader, and someday, my children will continue the fight. I want them to learn. For it won't be long before they will wield the very same pool net that I clutch in my hands. Every.Stinkin'.Day.

I wipe the sweat from my brow.

I swill the last of my java.

I head for the dreaded skimmer.

I lift the lid (so nerve-wracking).

Now there are THREE?!?

Jesus. Did they have a froggie baby while I was clearing out the rest?

I have discovered that using one of the kids sand shovels is a quicker way to push them out of the swirling skimmah. It's still not easy. They know their fate. And Frogs Fight To The Finish.

The trick part is shovelling them out while holding onto the pool net.

I can't put it down, for that would waste precious seconds. Skimmer frogs are dis-oriented when they are forced from the confines of the swirl...sort of like when we were kids and hopped off the merry-go-round on the playground.

You have to move quickly and take advantage of them in their state of dizziness.

Two go easily.

Scoop. FLING!
Scoop. FLING!

That leaves ONE.

LALALAAA!
(The drum-part of the song is playing in my head now).

I let him shoot around for a second while I make one more trip around. I see no more.

I grip the shovel.

I look into the froggie eyes.

I am breathless.

"OUT!" I scream like a ban-shee.

He shoots out.
He tries to floogie down to the bottom.
I adjust the length of the pole.
I swoop him from behind.
IN THE NET!!!!!!!!

Aaaaaaaannnnnddd.....over.the.fence.

Casey is a happy-frog-chasin' dog.

The kids are cheering!

I smile and shake my head. Another good fight. I don't like ya, froggies. But I do respect you.

Sianara Froggers.

See you little crap-weasels tomorrow.

ribbit.

Thanks For Reading.

funny.crazy.love.