I Killed a Frog

I killed a frog last night. It was manslaughter -- not a premeditated act but rather an accident -- and I feel an enormous amount of guilt about it. In fact I felt so much guilt that I barely got a wink of sleep because I was up all night thinking about the poor frog. Sure I dissected one in high school for biology class but it wasn't by choice and the frog was already dead but this was different; this frog just hopped along merrily and splat!

The incident occurred as I completed the drive home from the restaurant where my husband and I celebrated his birthday. I drove because I'm not a drinker and was the designated driver (I'm always the designated driver). Since I don't consume any alcohol I cannot be charged for drunk driving, intoxication or DWI; so there was no excuse for me to kill the frog other than the fact I did not see Alberto (yes, I named the frog Alberto). I drove into the driveway completely unaware of the fact that Alberto's body was under the wheels. I honestly did not see Alberto in the driveway. It wasn't until we let our dog out that I scanned the front yard and driveway and spotted the horror of death.

I walked over to Alberto because he looked okay (except for some blood that oozed out of him -- hey, I was no doctor). I thought maybe just maybe he would make it, but then I spotted guts and realized that was not a possibility. What happened next was what kept me up at night.

I spotted another frog on the driveway; this one was alive and she (I named her Maria despite the fact I had no idea if she was a he) stared at Alberto. I don't speak frog but I'm pretty sure it seemed like a scene from West Side Story. Maria screamed, "Alberto! Alberto!" Then I took a step towards Maria and she showed human emotion (I kid you not). She hopped but not away into safety; rather she took one jump so her body hid slightly under the cement near the grass and her head stuck out just enough to look at me and say, "Please don't kill me too!"

I felt a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Maria looked so frightened of me at that moment and it made me feel horrible. I killed her precious Alberto and now she was not only mourning the death of her friend (lover, husband, partner, family member -- who knows?) but she had to fear the same thing would happen to her by the same perpetrator. When I asked my husband what I should do, his response was, "Isn't the guy coming next week to pressure wash the driveway?" Nice, real nice HV! How could you say such a thing? How could you just ignore the fact that your car tires just tore apart a family? Clearly I wasn't getting any sympathy from my husband.

I apologized to Maria and Alberto (out loud, not caring what the neighbors thought) and walked back to my house with murderer written all over my conscience. I didn't know what to do with Alberto's body. If he was a Jewish frog he would have to be buried within 48 hours. Or should I carry his body to the sea (a toilet, creek, or river)? And what if he wanted to be cremated so Maria could carry his ashes with her everywhere she hopped? Yes these are the things I pondered while I lie awake at night.

I decided that it would be best to place Alberto's body where he grew up: in the water in the ditch in front of our house -- where I watched him develop from just a tiny tadpole. They grow up so fast, don't they? But my plan was foiled because when I awoke and looked out the window, I spotted Alberto's body smashed into a flat frog like Earl, the Dead Cat (the stuffed animal which really is an oxymoron). My husband ran over him again with no thought of Alberto or Maria. Now all I can do is pray that one day Alberto and Maria forgive me. May they be reincarnated as mosquitoes so they can bite the heck out of my legs.