Tales From the Front Step

This is a short one. Exiting out the front door to go for a "breathing treatment" one evening, I stepped down and heard/felt a horrible squishy-crunchy-splat. Leaping off the step like one of Disney's lovely ballerina hippos from Fantasia (1940), I look back to see a poor tree frog with a wet spot around it. Classic cartoon images run through my mind of eyeballs and tongue springing out like New Years party horn favors. "Oh, nooooooo..." I go down for a closer look and see it's still alive, it's poor little froggy heart beating at mach 10. I blew on it and it hopped off into the creeping myrtle. I like to think he/she hopped back off to it's favorite tree to screech happily for the rest of the summer. Um. Yeah, so? I like to think it lived happily ever after once Me-zilla stomped on it. Not end up on some froggy operating table with someone yelling "CLEAR!" ZZZZTTTT! Or eaten due to decreased mobility from it's guts being popped. EWWWWWW!!! (pic of tree frog in "Harbingers of Spring" blog.)