Our little backyard is like a tiny terrarium of wild life. We have a chipmunk family, 2 cardinal families, and a rather large tribe of frogs, which have decided to call the yard home, this summer.
Since we put the pond in, you can count on a bullfrog calling out for a mate, usually once a night. Evidently there is a reproductive drought for frogs; the female frogs are busy burning their bras, there has been a crackdown on frog prostitution, or somehow I just had the misfortune of ending up with the South Jersey Chapter of the Lonely Frog Hearts club.
Whatever the reason, for the past month there have been 3 male bullfrogs looking for love, with no success. One in the big pond, one in the little pond, and one, we have named Napoleon, had decided the pool is the best den of love.
The frog in the little pond sounds old, but is still giving it the ole college try, the frog in the big pond sounds like a high school nerd and has a not fully developed his love call, but now good ole Napoleon, he is a player. The dude goes into the skimmer basket in the pool, and calls the ladies from there ….. so it echoes …. Which makes him sound like God’s gift to frog women everywhere. I swear you hear Barry White playing in the back ground. The old frog and the young frog call it a night early, but not our Napoleon; he is a machine, and is still wooing the frog ladies as the sun rises.
We have not decided how to break it to him that any fertilized eggs deposited in the pool will be sucked up by the automatic vacuum the next day.
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