Bill Kirby: Early morning home invasion includes dogs, a frog and a colander
“If this chaos is my way, then that’s my way.”
– Luba Sakharuk
I hate sleeping late like I did Thursday because that means trouble gets a head start.
I woke to one of the dogs near my side of the bed whimpering softly to be let out. I got up and shuffled toward the kitchen and the back door and we were quickly joined by another terrier who hates to miss pre-dawn outings.
I had yet to pour a cup of coffee and my brain was still trying to connect the dots of the day when I opened the back door to let the dogs out.
A frog hopped in.
It wasn't big, about the size of two golf balls, and it suddenly froze as time stood still along with two terriers and a groggy human.
Then the show began.
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The dog with pressing bladder business bolted out the open door. The other dog, a four-legged yap machine who sometimes barks himself to sleep – lunged toward the visiting amphibian with malice aforethought.
The frog (Praise the Lord) did not slip beneath the table and chairs nor down a darkened bedroom hallway (Thank you, Jesus), but instead hopped to a well-lighted corner, and turned to face furry fury. The terrier, a little over a year old, wasn't quite sure what the frog was capable of, and kept his distance, satisfied with laying down a cover fire of staccato barks.
It was like he couldn't decide whether to eat it or play tag with it.
If I lived alone, I would have considered letting nature take its course, strolled over to the kitchen counter, fixed a cup of coffee and then come back later to clean up whatever happened.
But as most of you know, I share a home with two terriers and my wife, and she has a very strong aversion to inviting nature into her home.
I had to get rid of that frog.
Did I mention I had yet to have a cup of coffee? I think I did.
Moving with speed most men my age no longer remember, I flung open a cupboard looking for a solution and spotted a stack of colanders – you know, those big bowls that drain stuff. There was a fancy metal one. And a white plastic one and yellow plastic one.
I snagged the one on top, pivoted back to the corner, blocked the barking dog with my right leg and scooped up the frog in a container where the last occupant had been pasta.
The frog kept looking like it was about to leap from the colander, but I would "bounce" the bowl gently to keep it off balance.
Juggling a frog in a kitchen appliance while keeping a barking terrier at bay, I somehow crossed the room toward the garage door (bounce … bounce), opened it (bounce, bounce). Raised the garage door, then launched (big bounce) my captive into a dew-covered lawn.
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Then I fooled the terrier into thinking the frog was still in the colander.
He followed it and me back into the kitchen and chased when I pitched it into a far corner. That distraction allowed me to open the other door and let the second dog (now finished with her business) back inside.
Checklist Time: Frog gone. Back door closed. Garage door down. Kitchen door closed. Dogs not barking, but curiously sniffing a colander in the corner.
Let's get that coffee.
Between sips, I fixed the dogs their breakfast bowls and they settled down and I had time to ponder.
Do I tell my wife when she gets up that her kitchen has been invaded by a frog?
Do I tell her how I (heroically) defended the family fortress?
Do I tell her which colander I used?
Let's hope a second cup of coffee yields an answer.
Bill Kirby has reported, photographed and commented on life in Augusta and Georgia for 45 years.
This article originally appeared on Augusta Chronicle: Bill Kirby: Try handling a home invasion before your morning coffee
