My son had a pet frog. His name was Hoppy; he was a White's Tree Frog. Unfortunately the boy had not apprehended that frogs don't play football! Hoppy entered his eternal peace this day due to multiple contusions to his little legs.
So as I dug the hole behind the back fence, my son runs to tell mommy my instructions..., “Mommy, mommy, daddy needs his pray-book!” I hoped to capture the moment for my son and send Hoppy to heaven with all our best intentions. Coming back outside, I heard him telling mommy this prayer, “Jesus, send us another frog, that's the story of a frog.” So we dropped Hoppy in the hole and read the burial service for a child. Ahem, timely.
Moments later as I sat to write this tale I heard the boy screaming out front as if he'd broken a limb. No, no injuries this time. He's just found the answer to his prayer...a huge bull-frog on the front porch. His screams were sort of terror—marked as those frogs are—and half elation for the quick reply from Jesus. Only one problem...we forgot to specify that we wanted a TREE FROG, not a BUSH FROG!
Don't drop us another BUSH FROG, JESUS! This time we need a TREE FROG.
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