Posts Tagged ‘frog’

Several people have asked me if I was kidding and/or exaggerating about Bruiser and his froggie “problem.”

I could’ve retouched the first photo to get rid of the ‘possessed by demons’ look that’s so popular these days. I thought you should get the full-on, totally crazed brunt of the ugliness of addiction.

So we have a sad, sad confession to make.

We have an addict in the house. He simply cannot control himself. The sun starts to go down, and he starts to get the shakes. He runs to go stake out the spot where he gets his ‘junk.’ It’s started to affect the whole household. We try to physically prevent him from getting his fix, but his desperation makes him wily.

Sometimes he tries to hold back, even when his pusher tries to get him hopped (ha!) up:

But he always breaks down and has to lick the damned frog, which makes him start frothing at the mouth:

The first night it happened I freaked out, because there was a lot of foam. I mean a LOT. Like, “I think we’re rushing to the doggie hospital now” levels of foam. Instead I turned to google and quickly did a search, yelling out to the kitchen to see if he’d drink some water, which would rule out rabies (yes, of course he’s had his shots, but still) and a couple of other likely suspects.

A little more research and I determined that while he was off in the yard he must’ve picked up a hallucinogenic frog that had effects similar to LSD. Seriously. A description of someone’s ‘trip,’ having smoked some of the venom:

Objects appeared extremely distorted, colors were intensified and facial quirks were magnified, giving people a clown-like appearance. Perception of distance was extremely distorted; objects within arms reach seemed miles away. Height perceptions were also distorted, one minute I seemed like a giant compared to those around me, the next minute I seemed a dwarf in comparison. Light sources provoked an unusual reaction; they seemed surrounded by moving, prismatic colors. Walking was problematic.

The Google gods said that if he didn’t swallow it, he’d be okay, but if he did, we had big problems. After about 10 min, the froth quit flowing like river rapids, and we thought “Whew! Well, bet he won’t do that again!”

Yeah. Not so much.

He spent most of the rest day in the same spot he’d found the frog. Eventually, he figured out they’re nocturnal- now he starts his vigil about an hour before sundown- an addict is a persistent creature. He basically noses the frog around, barks at it a little, and I guess he must lick it because he does froth (you can see some on the pics above if you look at his mouth and the brick below), but not nearly so much as the first night.

We’ve tried keeping him inside, but he’s well aware of the ways of the catflaps, and he can be a focused little bugger. You can practically see him scratching his little stubby arms, shaking and whining, “but I need it, man!”

Clearly, we’re going to need to start up a Scared Straight program for toad tasters.

Sunday was quite the busy day. There were Mardi Gras Indians, romps around the city, dinner with friends, shopping for Alison.

Each of which pales beside something that took about 10 seconds to actually happen. Lunch was being delivered from a local sandwich place, so naturally the dogs went bananas when the bell rang.

This is S.O.P. If somebody ever just breaks into my house, the dogs will figure they must belong there but if the thief rings the doorbell first there’ll be hell to pay.

So dogs are freaking out. Delivery dude is leaning on the bell. I’m knocking everybody back so I can get to the kid to make it stop when…it happens.

In slo-mo : I push the dogs back and unlock the door, unleashing a final barrage of hopping and yapping. One of them loses their balance and topples backward into the bird cage.

Zulu is catapulted out of the cage, up into the air…and out the open door. He FLEW across the street, smacking into the house there, a distance of maybe 40 feet.

Understand that he doesn’t fly- his wings have been clipped since he was a chick. Without this doggie propelled shotgun blast out of his cage it wouldn’t have, nay, couldn’t have happened. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than he was.

Luckily there were no cars coming, because I bolted out after him, coaxing him out from between their fence and the house. “Peep.” he said quietly. “uh…peep.” This is not his usual tone. He was freaked. That made two of us.

He seems to be just fine, nothing hurt except his sense of world order. He stayed in the cage for a full 24 hours, refusing to budge.

And then he found a target. He decided he HATES this perfectly innocent Easter frog. He had been scared of it before, but I guess he’s decided he’s got to regain his manhood, so the frog is feeling his mighty wrath.

All the while, of course, the poor froggy continues to look chipper and thrilled to be there. Whatever, Kermit. You’re a therapeutic tool, and your life has been given up for the betterment of birdkind.