By Michael Shook
A few weeks ago, my wife returned from taking the Scotties on their morning walk, and informed me she had seen a squashed frog on the road. The younger Scottie, Walter, had lunged for it, no doubt to eat. She at first thought it to be a rat, albeit a misshapen one – but of course, it would be misshapen after being run over. On closer examination, she realized it was a frog, and a rather larger frog than the usual green-brown tree frogs we most commonly see.
I felt a pang of sadness when she told me. This was not just sadness that yet another creature had met its end under the tire of an automobile (joining untold millions of others), but its size caused me to wonder if it was a frog I had had an encounter with a year or so ago.
I was coming home on a spring night, turned into the driveway, and there, at the crest of the first rise, very low to the ground, two bright eyes shone at me, reflecting the headlights of the truck. I stopped quickly, and got out to investigate.
I saw immediately that it was a frog, a fairly big frog for these parts. I approached, and stood by it. Definitely not a bullfrog, but 3 or 4 inches long, with spots prominently arranged upon its back. We looked at each other.
“Get out of the road, small creature,” I said, and gave it a nudge with my foot. Nothing. It sat. Of course, the wretched thing was “caught in the headlights,” and so froze and stayed froze. In retrospect, I should have turned the lights off, but I figured the frog would move along, given more incentive.
So, I nudged it again. Damn if it didn’t shriek, loudly, and piercingly high. I stepped back, surprised. What the hell kind of frog was this? A few moments went by. It sat, looking in my direction – I think it was too short to actually look at me, but it definitely had my feet in its sights. I took a long look at it, to see if it might do something. Nothing. I carefully nudged it again.
Gaaah! Another high-pitched scream!
I feel compelled to mention here that I am not a person easily frightened by animals. I once, while climbing in the Olympics, awakened at about 10:00 pm to see a black bear not 15 feet away, clawing vigorously on a tree trunk (it was a beautiful night, so we were sleeping sans tent). I watched for a moment, then went back to sleep. I’ve had numerous other interactions with beasts, domestic and wild, some quite large (like the bear, certain elk, the odd bald eagle, etc. – even a friend’s overly friendly Holstein cow – if you don’t think that’s a danger, you’ve never been cornered by an amorous creature that weighs in at 1,500 pounds).
But this … this amphibian no larger than the palm of my hand … shrieking at me! It was uncanny, it was weird, it was frankly unnerving. I was flummoxed, a mix of emotions, not least because I also felt guilty for causing it such distress.
I continued to gaze at it, and was about to go back to the truck, to shut off the motor (and lights!), and wait for it to move, when it spun around and hopped off into the brush. I waited to make sure it was well on its way before I drove down to the house.
At home, a quick search online gave me a match – the Northern Leopard Frog. A species listed as “threatened,” once occupying most of the continental United States and lower Canada, its numbers and range now greatly reduced. I was pleased to know that we had one on the property, and hoped we would have more.
I could not tell from the remains of the frog on the road that Cynthia had seen if it was a Leopard, much less the frog I had encountered. I had named him (or her) Chet – Chet being the name I give to any creatures that are on or near our place, be they frog, fowl, or other. I decided to believe it was not, and to further believe that Chet/Chetlina is froggily alive, breeding down in the wetland, and growling out its song alongside the tree frogs.
