Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Harold regarded his four-year old with resignation. “I don’t remember there being a giant tadpole in the house,” he said, “so why is there a big frog?”
“Ribbit,” said the frog, and giggled.
Harold scratched his chin. “You can’t stay here, Mr. Frog,” he said. “Frogs are supposed to live in the garden pond. You’d better hop to it.”
Frog giggled again and made a half-hearted hop toward the stairs.
“Are you hungry?” Harold asked.
The frog nodded.
“Well then, perhaps I can make you a slug-and-woodlice risotto with a bluebottle garnish. Does that sound good?”
“Ewww.” The frog looked, if anything, greener.
“I hear there’s a giant frog upstairs,” came Jasfoup’s voice. “Send it to the kitchen. I’ve got some lemon dressing and there’ll be enough frogs-legs for us all on that.”