Operation Frog Rescue

I was going to post this yesterday, but then life (and a dead deer) got in the way. So today, here's a feel-good, happy-ending animal story for those of you who were saddened and maybe horrified by Bambi's death. (And if you were, don't ever move to the country, because you wouldn't last long.)

Yesterday, I took the first step in what is surely the road to sainthood. I rescued a frog from our cistern.

I don't actually know if it was a frog or a toad, because I don't know those kind of things. I'm the one who always called the spruce tree by the house the pine tree, driving A. and the MiL crazy because HELLO, DUMBASS, CAN'T YOU TELL A PINE FROM A SPRUCE? No. Anything that has needles is a pine tree to me. Similarly, anything that is slimy and hops around is a frog, even if it's really a toad.

BUT ANYWAY.

The water level in the cistern was getting low, so I ran the lake pump for awhile in the morning, and then went to take the hose out of the cistern opening in the afternoon when the pump had stopped running. I lifted the cover to see what the water level was, and I saw the frog. This stopped me for a minute as I weighed my options. I could leave it in there, but then it would die. I could ask A. to take care of it, but he would have to do it the next morning before work, and it would probably die before that. Or I could get it out myself.

I went with the last option. Because I am a saint.

Okay, really, my reasons for rescuing the frog were not entirely altruistic, as the thought of a dead, bloated frog decomposing in our water source was unappealing, to say the least. But I also just didn't want the thing to die, so I pondered how I was going to reach down five feet into the underground cistern (about where the water level was) and scoop it up.

My first thought was a bucket on a rope. So I got the bucket, looped the handle with a long rope, and dropped it down there. After it had filled with water, I tried to maneuver the bucket under the frog, thence to lift the frog up with the bucket. In case you've ever wondered, water-filled buckets on ropes are not very maneuverable. I got it near the frog, but then it swam away. Away to where I couldn't easily reach with the bucket.

Okay, now I needed something to prod the frog back to the side where I could reach it. I surveyed the various long-handled garden tools in the shed, finally going with the hoe. When I reached in with the hoe, I figured I might as well try to kind of scoop the frog up with the flat head of the hoe.

I first managed to squish the frog against the wall of the cistern. Oops. Sorry, froggy. No harm done, though. Then I actually did get it on the hoe, but it jumped off before I could raise it out of the cistern. There then followed a hilarious couple of minutes where I would chase the frog around with the hoe, it meanwhile swimming around frantically to escape the hoe, scoop the frog on the hoe and try to raise it really fast before the frog fell off. A couple of times I got it almost to the top before the frog would go flying off and take a five-foot swan dive back into the water. Meanwhile, I'm talking to the frog--"C'mere froggy. Come ON, froggy. I'M TRYING TO SAVE YOU, DAMMIT."

Eventually I managed to get it out fast enough and level enough that the thing was still on there when I got to the top. And then it sat there quietly (perhaps stunned from its unexpected high-dive experience) while I carried it over to put in the fenced-in garden so the dogs wouldn't immediately eat it.

Yup, it's only a matter of time before my canonization is finalized. I think Saint Kristin has a nice ring to it, don't you?