I’d been swimming with my frog-friend, Victor, at our pond after a picnic. We’d played a game of leapfrog then were relaxing on our towels; he turned to me, whispering an endearment. I noticed he didn’t have the usual frog in his throat and there was an odd look in his eyes, an unspoken question. 

Then suddenly he went limp and his bulging eyes rolled backwards, sadly, insightfully staring at something spiritual or sacred or… hmmm… what’s the word… give me time, it’ll come… hmm… stupendous? sinful? stupid? 

I was struck by the tragedy of losing him, for he did indeed look like he'd expired. I realised he was the one for me – I'd come to acknowledge that inner beauty was his true worth. I also realised I’d discovered a few things about myself on my long journey to true love, via all those previous boyfriends: that looks weren’t important to me; that I valued time spent together in trust, companionship, and respect… not just a fanciful, fleeting, fumbling, frivolously fun fling with flash frippery. (Bestiality is illegal, anyway. Please don’t tell anyone about my flirtatious fling with Randy the Rabbit.) 

My frog-friend had the best qualities of all of those past experiences I’d had with previous boyfriends. Including my time with Victor, they might have appeared to just be 50 flippant flings with dating disasters, but while cataloguing the consequences of my companion-critter catastrophes I learnt how to recognise kindness, tenderness, loyalty, and a natural sense of fun.

If only I had been able to find kindness in a happily-ever-after love amongst my own kind. But so often, Mankind just isn’t.

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The Frog Sat On The Epilogue: How I escaped the bog of despond.

Victor, my beloved frog, didn’t die immediately; he waited while I went through all my mental philosophising. He was such a thoughtful and patient friend to me. (I added those attributes to the list of why I loved him.) Just as he shuddered and breathed his last gasp, with turbulent tears tracking my troubled cheeks, I French-kissed him passionately for the first time, in what I thought was a farewell smooch.

But then, something amazing happened… 

My frog-friend’s body began to throb strangely and grow larger. His greenish mottled skin, brailled with warts, changed texture and colour to a healthy tan. His hind legs twitched and stretched, elongating to well-muscled thighs and calves. His front legs became arms – biceps and shapely forearms, terminating in elegant, long-fingered hands. 

When he stood up and stepped from the puddle, his stylish new clothes clung wetly, emphasising his form. It was MY turn for bulging eyes! There he stood, erect, as a man. Phwoar!

I stared in captivated surprise. His eyes were now a tender, limpid blue, reflecting the sky and our pond, which had miraculously become a lake. I briefly pondered upon this. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a spacious, gaily-painted houseboat moored at a nearby dock. The reflections of its colourful paintwork danced on the sparkling water as it rocked gently, enticing me to a life of adventure and love. 

I could write a poem about that. Hmm… how would I begin? With the sky, or the water, or the boat, or the colours, or my feelings? Maybe the scent of flowers wafting on the balmy breeze? I had noticed the beautiful bouquets of bountiful blooms bedecking the boat’s broadly bulging bulwarks. It would have to be a sonnet or an ode, a 6-word ‘poem’ just wouldn’t cut it. “I love Victor and his boat” or “At last I am very happy” – see? not nearly poetic enough.

This is one of my failings: I am so easily distracted. Dear Victor is tolerant of my foibles and supportive of my creative pursuits. I added those extra qualities to my lengthening list of why I loved him.

I was smiling delightedly already, but that became a grin when I saw the houseboat’s name: The Court Ship. It looked like I was going to be enjoying the best of boat worlds.

Now I turned my full attention to Victor. Thick, dark hair grew from his head in an appealingly boyish disarray. I longed to run my fingers through it; to touch his handsome face and to press my cheek against his. As a reminder of his background, one cute tiny wart remained, more like a beauty spot on his cheek.

My own body was throbbing with awakened energy coursing through my veins. But I held myself back, conscious of that warning: “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” Had the death of my cherished frog-friend driven me to false imaginings? Was I hallucinating from those delicious mushroom morsels Victor had fed me during our picnic by the pond an hour ago? 

Once more, I pondered. I thoughtfully rested my chin on my hand. A thought crossed my mind: I started to think I might be over-thinking my thinking. You think?

When he sensed my doubt, Victor sprang to my side and leant down close to me. (I added empathy to my list of his attributes.) His warm, deep voice spoke the reassuring words I longed to hear from the lips of my beloved, then those lips were pressed passionately against my equally eager ones. At last I knew I was loved. We drew apart, breathing hard, our bodies tingling with urgent expectation. I was hungry for more. (Not mushrooms this time, thank you.) 

He stood beside me as I sat on my towel. My eyes followed his hand as it reached towards his tightly-fitting pants; then he pulled something out and held it in his hand, tempting me with it, waving it about beside my mouth. I could see he was getting ready to give it to me! (It was getting very long – my list of Victor’s attributes. I had just added generosity.) 

Down he went. He knelt beside me on one knee and offered me… a big fly!

Oh, well, I thought. That’s good enough for now. He can’t be expected to change his diet so quickly.

Already I am dreaming of wedding bells and undying love, and candlelit dinners and bouncy lovemaking, and breakfast in bed, and… and… and babies! 

I do hope his tadpoles are strong swimmers.

A fairytale ending! Victor’s transformation filled the missing part of my quest for a fulfilling relationship – true compatibility combined with sex appeal! 

P.S.  The houseboat is our very own Ark. It’s big enough for me to have lots of pets. The birds can come and go, and we make enough shoreline stops for the bigger animals to get some dirt under their paws or hooves or claws to feel dry land again. No ex-boyfriends, though. Victor draws the line at that. And the dam beaver will have to go – he’s demolished his wooden bunk already.

To sweet Victor – my Frog Prince personal Ark Angel. 

The End

Footnote:

We both lived happily ever after, until we didn’t. But we did for a long time. A very long time, in fact. Just not forever. That would be silly. Let’s be realistic.

*  *  *