As Bud and I took our evening deer cruise last night, a frog hopped across the road in front of us. I stopped, and Bud got out and caught the chilly little guy.
Bud handed the frog to me through the driver-side window, but the pass didn't go smoothly. The frog jumped down onto the floor and disappeared.
When I got out to look for him, he was snuggled up in a tight area above the hood release. I reached for him, and he moved further into the dash.
So we finished the deer run -- with me fearing the whole time that our new friend would jump out of hiding and onto my feet, at which point I would scream and drive off the road.
But we managed to stay off the sidewalks on the way home. I checked the floor and dash again after we had been back for a while. Nothing. Bud looked everything over once more early this morning. Nothing.
We resigned ourselves to the fact that we had sentenced our poor little frog to a sun-baked death and ourselves to weeks of dead-amphibian smell.
When I piled my stuff into the Jeep this morning to head for work, I reached across the console to put my purse in the passenger seat. I checked the floor for frogs, found the right key on my key ring and started to climb in.
Then I glanced down at the console, where our spotty green friend sat calmly (and literally coolly, as I found out when I picked him up) in the change tray!
He was chilled again, so catching him wasn't a challenge. Holding on to him 'til I got to the new house to release him was a little more interesting.
We're hoping he'll hang around his new home in the garage retaining wall for a while. But we've tried to institute an unsuccessful frog relocation program in the past, so we're not optimistic.
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