- Talking frog
“Grideep, grideep, grideep,” croaked a tiny frog peeking through sunlit grasses. A glop of mud sucked up Carl’s shoe. “Oh, whoa! Wus up, Dawg?” Carl recalled a boyhood memory—looking at a tree frog, he’d wished the ‘fog’ could talk.
“I’m not a dog. I’m a frog. My name is Grideep. I can’t find my mother. Can you help me find her? Grideep,” he croaked, soulful eyes filling with a tearful story.
Carl blinked hard. He wiped his shoe on a carpet of grass and crouched down to see.
“No I’m not sick. I’m lost. I can’t find my mother.”
“Ka-ching,” Carl said.
“What is ka-ching?”
“It means I’m rich.”
“Why are you rich?”
“Because I just discovered a talking frog.”
“Oh. Well you didn’t discover me, because I’m already here. But maybe you can help me find my mother. She’s not lost—but I am.”
“Sure, I’ll help you.” I’m freakin’ out—this frog is talking. “Okay, I’ll try, but I need to eat.”
Grideep wrinkled his forehead, his eyes turned to soup.
“No, no worries, I don’t eats frogs. I’ll help you find her.” Carl grinned. “What’s your mom’s name?”
“Oh, that’s a great name.”
“If you help me find her, I’m sure you can eat with us. We know a perfect place for insects, and yummy flies.”
Carl gulped loud enough for the frog to hear.
“That’s good,” said Grideep. “You made that sound good. You don’t have a little frog in your throat do you?” he asked, tears welling up.
“Nooo.” Carl’s heart melted. “Grideep, how did you lose your way home?”
“Well, I played hopscotch with my friends and I hopped behind some bushes to hide from my friend, Cumquat. Then I got lost.” …