A Frog Named Boris

Sometimes, a peaceful, bucolic scene is in the eyes of only some of the beholders.

 

Verily lung ago there was a small greenish pond smock in the middleton of a verily green valley faraway from the bustle of the big city and the smug of the big city and the big city too.  Lovely cottonwood trees with their rustling leafiness surrounded the pond, and those who passed their lives here did sew with a grated contentment.

The paddyark of this pond was a chartreuse, black-speckled frog named Boris, and he took his duties very serially.  Solemnly Boris settled major and minor disputes of the various pond denizens.  He was the most respected amplephibian of all -- even regarded above the locally celebrated toads of BUD -- WI -- ZER fame.  His only problem as paddyark was his wee little pea-green nephew Reynolds Rapt (named after a very shiny piece of picnic trash his mama fell in love with shortly before Reynolds’ birth)

Sadly, Reynolds was a juvenile delicatessen.  He roared all over the heretofore peaceful pond on his hopped-up water lily leaf, leafing pandemonium, confusion and outrage, inrage etc., in his path. Except for Reynolds’ doting and dottering mama, every other amplephibian of the pond was up in frog legs over Reynolds and his cretinous behavior.   Boris had not been able to enjoy a nice mud nap for weeks because of all the pond inhabitants complainting to him all day long.  Though his sister, Reynolds’ doting and dottering mama, begged Boris to let Reynolds express his youthful spirit, Boris really wanted his naps more.  So he summoned his wee pea-green nephew Reynolds to his personal lily pad floating by the swaying cattails under the biggest and oldest cottonwood tree.

Boris winced as he heard the roar of Reynolds’ hopped-up lily pad, and the ripples announcing its arrival made Boris’ lily pad bob up and down in a most undignified manner.  Boris had no difficulty in looking verily sternum when Reynolds swagged  in.

“Hey, Unca Boris, how’s it hangin’?”

As he did whenever Reynolds Rapt asked him that, Boris irritably wondered what it was.

“Let’s not waste our breath on small-talk, Reynolds.  I’ve been hearing verily disturbing and disjointing things about you.”

Reynolds croaked with laughter.

“I’m just havin’ fun, Unca Boris!”

“FUN,” Boris repeated severely, “FUN that disturbs the peace of others.”

Reynolds became sullen.

“Ain’t my fault, Unca, if they don’ know how to have fun anymore.”

“Whether or not they know how to have fun is not the point, Reynolds.  It is that your fun is NOT fun for them.”

“Itza a free pond, ain’t it?!”

“Well, it is a free pond, Reynolds, but having that freedom does not automatically allow you to disturb everyone peace by your actions.  That lily pad of yours is making you no friends.”

“Then it ain’t a free pond,” Reynolds retorted huffily.

“Freedom is a serious business, Reynolds.  It involves responsibility -- to yourself and to those with whom you share the freedom.  Freedom is hard work, Reynolds.”

Reynolds looked obviously disappointed.

“You’ve seen the picnickers around our pond, Reynolds.  You’ve seen the ones who take their trash home with them, and you’ve seen the ones who leave it in the grass or throw it here in our pond.  They are free to do either.  The ones who choose to take the trash back with them are freeing the person who might have to come clean it up later, and they are freeing us to live in a clean pond.  The ones who leave trash on the ground or throw cans and bottles and other refuse in our pond, free nothing -- they only burden someone else with cleanup, and we must live in our beloved pond with plastic rings from six-packs and those stupid styrofoam cups."

Boris was quite pleased with his little speech, but Reynolds looked quite bored.

“Look, Reynolds Rapt, I know you are a young pea-green frog who just wants to have fun, so if I speak to the others about allowing you to have that fun on the other side of the pond and leaving this side in peace, will you try to remember what I’ve said?”

“Y’mean I can’t do my wheelies over here, Unca?”

“Exactly.”

Just as Reynolds Rapt was about to start on a whining protest, a grabel truck from the big city backed up to the pond and dumped a whole load on grabel on Boris, Reynolds Rapt and all the other denizens of the little pond.

Not exactly a pleasant end to our little friends, but you never know when another new subdivision or strip mall will wipe out still another pocket of Nature in our shrinking world.

Reviews

[Pryde Foltz]

A very poignant fable you have constructed here. Yes, freedom only truly works when you honour the freedoms of others. Of course, none of it matters if aliens suddenly drop a truck load of cement on your head. But if we continue on with your fable---life is temporary; and so party on. lol.

[annie lee]

thanks. I rewrote this for a children's story contest here on WC. it is originally from my collection "Never Too Old For Nonsense" -- I want to write a collection -- my version of chicken soup for old toots.

[Pryde Foltz]

Great idea.

[Frieda P]

Well no happy ending there, but I guess that makes the impact of your message all the more potent, I was thinking of reading this one to the kids, but I think it'd break their little hearts, maybe the older ones could handle it, very wise Unca there, gone too soon....enjoyed annie lee.