Anyone who has worked in a school knows that it’s not for the fainthearted. They also know that one of the few places you can get any respite, is the staff toilet. Unless there are frogs. Being confronted by one (or two or three) of them in the toilet bowl is an experience that is most generously described as ‘less than ideal’. I worked in a regional Queensland school for a number of years. Green tree frogs were right at home in the staff toilets there.
This semester, I have been working in a small school – population: 28 students, 4 teaching staff, 3 guinea fowl and a green tree frog. Last week I had to don the surgical gloves and extract the slimy, wriggly critter (yes, that’s him in the photo) from the staff loo. If there had been another cubicle I would have gone there, but alas, small schools do not enjoy the luxury of multiple loos.
Those of you who have read past incarnations of my blog might recall another encounter I had with a green tree frog. One that breached the perimeter and invaded my house. Since I’ve got frogs on the brain, I thought I’d re-post my account of my last experience.
I awoke just after two o’clock one morning, certain I’d heard a noise in my bedroom. Being a natural scaredy-cat, I froze … praying that I hadn’t really heard anything. But then, I heard it again. It didn’t sound human – no footsteps or breathing – so I was convinced that the possum that often scrambles/skips/pogo-sticks across my roof, had somehow made its way inside. Steeling myself, I turned on the bedside lamp – convinced I would find two beady eyes staring at me. Nothing. I scanned the room, still nothing.
Having established that I was in no immediate danger of being mauled by a rabid marsupial, I turned off the light and tried in vain to go back to sleep. After twenty minutes I decided a cup of tea was in order and got up to put the kettle on. A steaming brew in hand, and sitting on the sofa in the loungeroom, I heard the noise again. Now, I identify the culprit. A massive green frog is making its way down the hallway from my bedroom.
To say it was ‘hopping’ is a massive misrepresentation. In storybooks, frogs hop. This one didn’t ‘hop’ so much as ‘launch and splat’ its way across my wooden floorboards. It occurred to me that I hadn’t had much experience with the locomotion of frogs, since most of the ones I’d encountered were happy just to ‘chill’ inside toilet bowls.
But now, I realised, I had a new challenge. I had to get the creature out of my house. Leaving it inside was not an option for several reasons, but foremost amongst them was that I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor at that time and given it had already been in my bedroom, I wished to avoid the scenario where the ‘launch and splat’ routine ended on my face.
It made its way into the study as I armed myself with a fly-swatter. Determined not to squeal, I tried to persuade it to exit the study. It did, but it ended up in the kitchen rather than the loungeroom. Not great, because it had hopped around a bench and was now cornered where I couldn’t see it. At this point, I break out my phone and turn on the camera … holding it out over the bench to determine the amphibian’s exact location. In the end I didn’t need the camera. I was alerted to its location when it ambushed me.
I squealed. Couldn’t help it. And, just in case you’ve never experienced the country at night, it’s pretty quiet at quarter to three in the morning. Aside from people squealing.
So, the frog makes a break for it and heads for the loungeroom in its shambolic fashion, taking a fortuitous rest stop near the back door, which leads out onto the deck. Carefully, so as not to spook the stupid thing, I deal with the lock, release the catch and open the door. Then, brandishing my fly-swatter to terrifying effect, I politely suggest it leave the premises.
It did. And as it made its way across the deck, out into the night, I gave it a fitting send off.
‘And stay out, you bastard!’
What the neighbours thought of the squealing and me yelling ‘And stay out, you bastard’ at three in morning is anyone’s guess. You can bet they heard it though.
PS Some feedback from my original post suggested that my attitude to frogs was a little harsh. But to those people, I would share this piece of information with you. When I complained about having to relocate the frog from the toilet, the teacher aide (who’d thoroughly enjoyed the show I might add) told me to be grateful it was a frog. Of course I had to ask what else I might have had to contend with, and she said – snakes. Snakes eat frogs, and if the frogs are in the toilet, then that’s where the snakes come to find them.
So, if I find another frog in my house … I might just have to burn house down – to get rid of any snakes!