Frogs in Spring

This was the year that I injured my back. I remember it was early March as I dreaded spending my birthday flat out on the floor. I tend to get various muscular injuries but then I do have a compulsion to over exercise. So here I was flat on the floor and sleeping in the living room wrapped in a king size quilt.

Meanwhile out in the back garden. When we moved back here after my marriage disintegrated like a nuclear bomb blast, my youngest daughter helped me cut down some ten odd trees and dig a small pond. We had to keep the rather silly and slightly damaged half a birdbath that my mother had bought and allowed to disintegrate slightly so that only the cherub remained with his hands permanently raised. This was because youngest regarded it as a treasure from times past and to this day it inhabits the no mans land beyond the washing drying area, next to the pond.

I bought a pond liner from B & Q and this was installed in the newly dug pond together with some pondweed and numerous gallons of water. I did not put in fish, as I knew that the cats would have a field day. From nowhere appeared water boatmen, which I am very fond of. The summer progressed and suddenly we had native residents of an amphibious nature. My mother hated frogs as one precipitated the premature birth of my elder brother who did not survive, but I am very fond of them. Dragonflies appeared as well and the cats hung crazily over the surface unsure what to try for. (Eventually they went to fish elsewhere, which is a story I may not tell.) Winter came and everything died down, which is where we return to my back injury.

I cannot now remember how I did it but I am prone to injure myself. I actually managed to put my back out whilst swimming quietly and that is no mean feat. So however, and whatever there I was on bed rest or rather floor rest.

It was a cold night and I could barely move from the prone position. The cats had been in and out of their private cat flap much of the night. Most people think that they are silent and graceful creatures, which indicates that they do not live with them, as I know they are noisy and born to cause havoc. I suppose they might have thought that I was lonely, or possibly they considered I needed something to play with because one of them kindly deposited a frog next to my head. I could have ignored it but unfortunately it was croaking rather loudly. (Being Spring the probability of it looking for a mate did enter my head briefly.)

Slowly I turned towards the croaking sound and then I hauled myself onto my knees and grasping the frog in one hand inched upright, using the sofa as a support. I then proceeded towards the back door in a shuffling motion. The cats finding this an interesting action on my part decided to follow. I had no recourse other than take the frog to the safety of the pond. To allow it freedom prior to this would have precipitated action from my companions of a kind not in keeping with its welfare. Slowly and stepping deliberately in a manner unlikely to jar my back and cause further pain I made my way out beyond the concrete and into the grass lands. I then had to sink onto my knees to get the frog close enough to the water’s edge. Stretching forth I released the frog, over balanced, and promptly fell on my face in the grass. It was dark. It was cold. I was stuck. I swear that cherub was smirking. It took nearly an hour to get myself upright and then with gritted teeth and thoughts of a major cat massacre I shuffled back indoors.