Okay, it’s not really a fable but with a title like that, it totally should be.
The kids and I started out on our daily tour of the pool before going for a dip.
I spotted a very small frog/toad struggling to escape the salt water from the shallow end steps and ran for the longest pole I could find to rescue him. When I say ran, it was really more of a lean towards my feet which is where the skimmer happened to be laying.
While Greg has designated himself “Frog Butcherer” while on the lawn mower, I feel it’s my duty to save at least as many as he accidentally drives over.
Frogs have never done me any harm. I am not afraid of frogs. I just don’t want to swim among them. I have always enjoyed Kermit’s rendition of Rainbow Connection.
As I was scooping the frog, Chloe (our three year old) lifted the filter lid and I asked, ”Do you see any leaves Chloe?” “Nope, just a mouse.”
Oh dear, so young to have to learn about life and death but there it was, a dead mouse floating in the filter, probably all swollen from too much water and too short a life.
Except the mouse wasn’t dead, it was balancing on a very tiny plastic piece at the top of the filter like it was auditioning for a miniature version of water cirque du soleil. It was grey, it was fury, it was damp and it was shivering.
The tiny frog was still inside the skimmer net when the kids started freaking out and yelling at me to scoop up the mouse.
How could I scoop up a mouse with all this excrement in my pants? I was scared but had to remain calm in front of the kids.
I grabbed a garden stake thinking I could nudge the little mouse onto the end of it and place him gently in the garden. I realized this was far too risky. He might run the length of it and end up in my hair.
Next up was the girl’s plastic beach bucket. Too big to fit into the filter and with a mouse so small, what if he/she got scared and hopped around it, again, landing in my hair?
This is beginning to sound like a fable.
I asked Ellie to go to the garage and fetch a shovel. A big, industrial sized one with a long handle and narrow end, along with my gardening gloves and hair net when Chloe started screaming, “There’s a HUGE bug in the pool!” It was more than my heart and single serving of morning tea could handle.
Ellie (age seven) grabbed the tiny red bucket, scooped up the mouse and set him in the garden.
Huh, just like that.
Well I could have done that. Except two seconds later, he pounced and started hopping away from us—fast.
The kids weren’t quick enough to read his tiny mouse lips mouth the words, “I’m coming for your hair.”
