Bullfrog blues

Oh, the travails of being a bourgeois ‘burbanoid. I used to chase hot news around Washington; now I chase little frogs around the pool.

We’ve always had a few of these critters, but this year, maybe due to some change in the climate or their habits, we’re getting more of them and much later in the summer than usual. And they’re not alone: just the other day I lifted the lid off the skimmer, which pulls in leaves, grass etc. from the surface, and out popped a snake. After my heart started beating again, we netted, released, and Googled it. We’re pretty sure it was a ribbon snake, especially since they like to snack on frogs and tads.

Confession time (don’t tell my wife): after taking the pic above with my phone, the artiste in me decided I should get a better shot.  And of course, as I tried to pose the lil’ bugger in the plastic container where I’d detained him, he boinged! right out and under my car. I couldn’t back out without flattening him, so I lay on my stomach on the garage floor and poked at him with a rake until he hopped out from under. After which I moved the car, chased him some more, and finally got him back in the container for a trip to a nearby creek.

Episodes like this remind me of a favorite song by the legendary Reverend Billy C. Wirtz, called “(Hey, You Little Bastards) Get Off My Lawn!” And who could forget the great Martin Mull and his routine about the legendary suburban blues singer, Blind Lemon Pledge?