October 9th, 2010
|10:20 am - A Stressful Evening|
Last night, sore-throated and exhausted after a week of bleah, I decided to go to bed early with a soothing, undemanding book (in this case, Georgette Heyer's Black Sheep). The Blonde Dog deigned to lie on her bed and whuffle in a slightly annoyed fashion (even though I was in the same room). It was peace, lovely peace...
Until I heard the oddest thump thump thump from the near bathroom. Scritch scratch. Thump. Thump.
The Blonde One startled up, ears cocked, annoyed whuffle transformed in mighty-mighty rumble. "You need to check that out," she indicated to me.
Gaaah, was my reaction. But I got up.
Scritch scratch. Thump thump thump. Yes, it was coming from the bathroom.
The Blonde Dog hovered, then herded me toward the sound. I couldn't avoid the insistent canine nose or slight graze of teeth. Okay. Okay. Checking it out.
I flipped on the bathroom light. A frog big as my fist leapt up against the tile in an aggressive fashion.
Yes, I screamed a little. I did not EXPECT to see a frog big as my fist, to be honest.
The Blonde One yipped, said in essence "Oh this is SO not what I signed up for," and bolted to the study, where she shivered in a princess-y way. (Drama queen.)
Gaaah, was my subsequent reaction, and I shut the bathroom door on the aggressively leaping frog. And then I pondered. While I have no difficulties disposing of insects, I am NOT a person who enjoys out-of-place amphibians. Should I call my friend E? Was there a local service who dealt with frogs in the bathroom? No, and No.
I opened the door again. The frog leapt at me aggressively. With visions of the frog escaping into, oh, my bedroom, I slammed the door shut again. The Blonde One yipped from the study.
I then retired to bed (thump. thump. thump) and read a chapter of Black Sheep, wherein witty banter was exchanged in a Bath completely free of frogs. This composed my nerves enough that I then collected two bowls, collected the frog, and rushed (with only a little bit of hysterical eeeping) to the backyard where I set the bowl down and bade the frog to go free.
I still don't know how the thing got there. But I have now learnt that for the Blonde One, frog does not = lizard. She apparently can distinguish amphibian from reptile. This is a useful thing to know.
Perhaps Heyer novels should be prescribed to combat high blood pressure! [nods]
Thank you, and a lovely Saturday with Heyer, without frogs!