As you may or may not know, we have an African clawed frog named Croaky. This creature was one of Bubba's whims. I went along with it, thinking the frog would only live a few years. Boy, was I wrong! This type of frog lives about fifteen years. So week after week, for the past four years, I have been literally cleaning a swamp. (The good news is, I have only eleven years to go!)
Croaky thinks he's a cat. "Why," you ask? Because he seems to have nine lives. Two years ago, he jumped off the balcony from the second floor of our home. (Bubba had taken him out of his tank to play with him.) He landed on the carpet and kept hopping. No injuries. He didn't even seem to care that he was out of the water. (African clawed frogs must stay underwater to live.) I picked him up, transported him to his swamp, and let him carry on.
Today, he had another adventure. I brought him down to the kitchen to clean his swamp. As I poured out his dirty water, Croaky took a giant leap - right into the kitchen sink. Around and around he went, swimming dangerously close to the garbage disposal. I quickly grabbed a pot and covered the opening. You should've seen me trying to catch that slippery frog! After several attempts, I finally caught him and threw him into a fish bowl while I finished cleaning his tank.
Meanwhile, Schultz, our German Shepherd, was watching the whole thing. He wagged his tail and stuck his big snoot on the counter next to the fish bowl where Croaky was recuperating.
"Schultz, don't even think about it!" I said.
He was a good boy. He sat down and let me finish. That would've been all I needed! Schultz trying to eat Croaky!