"What?" he asked, annoyed.

"The... thing."

"A frog? You're scared of a frog?"

"I'm not scared... I'm... confused."

Today there was a big red frog sitting on our porch, staring up at our front door. I've never thought of myself as a city girl, really, but my first thought was: "Hey, who left this big ceramic frog on the porch?" And then I asked aloud: "How'd this frog get here?"

Apparently it was a real frog, though I never saw him move, and apparently he hopped to our front porch from the river down the street. I'm guessing. I mean, he could have flown in on a tiny helicopter, but the real question there is how'd he get a pilot's license? Where is his tiny crash helmet?

If he's still there tonight when we get home, I'm feeding him the dead bugs I found in the corner of our downstairs bedroom. Unless, of course, he dropped in from another planet and would prefer instead to eat my brains. In that case, I'm spraying him with the hose.