To Serve and Protect

The greatest invention in the world is the doggy door. No longer do I have wait on the bear-snoring, slumbering form that is my human, Momma, to bumble out of bed to let me out to take care of my business. Honestly, and probably a glimpse into my occasionally petty mind, I think it took stepping in one too many of my perfectly placed accidents early in the morning before she finally installed the cherished doggy door.

Speaking of, I desperately need to pee.

Crossed legged times two, I hurry outside, barely making it to where the grass and the walkway meet before popping a squat.

"Hey! I didn't realize they were calling for rain today!"

Startled to the point I suddenly decorate the yard with yellow pearls, I whip around, trying to figure out where the tinny voice came from.

"Yuck, it's acid rain!"

I look down into the grass, which doesn't take much because my eyes are only inches above the ground, to find a tiny, pink umbrella in the midst of green. It shifts to the left to reveal a...

Bang!

I don't know what scares me more, the sound from my tiny body hitting the side of the motor home or the even smaller frog peeking up at me.

Definitely the frog.

As I curse my body's fight-or-flight response for choosing the "frozen in fear" option, the frog opens his (I think its a he?) mouth again.

"I don't know who seems more terrified by the current situation - me, with my near," the frog shivers, "golden shower or the mountain of dog cowering in the corner?"

Great, not only is it my worse fear, but it's rude and mocking me.

Yep, frogs is to me like clowns and spiders are to many people - downright fuel for the fear gene. Ever since a nonconsensual game of tag with a small army of frogs when I was a puppy, I have kept away from frogs as if they carry the plague.

I guess in a way they do - the excess adrenaline plague.

"So scaredy cat," seriously, rude, "you got a name?"

I give the frog a prickly silence.

"I'm just going to start calling you Lion." I swear I can see the frog mischievously raise an eyebrow. "As in something easily freaked out by something much smaller then itself."

My annoyance overrules the terror coursing through my body enough to begrudgingly growl out, "Parsnip."

"Oh, she speaks." The frog inches closer. "My name's Gorf."

"Seriously?" I chuckle out, partly out of nerves, because why is he getting closer? Maybe he's part dog, able to smell my fear, and enjoys torturing me, like one of those sadists Momma watches on those weird crime shows. "What kind of name is..."

The frog, sorry, Gorf, doesn't even let me finish. "Hey, hey, hey. I know, my name isn't all that original, but don't get all judge-y. My momma gave me that name."

Before I can respond, Gorf starts to grow, until he slightly towers over me.

Pee drips down my leg. How do I have any left? Does fear cause the body to hyperproduce pee? I'll have to look into that, you know, if I have time later.

"Well, Parsnip, I hate to cut our conversation short," he reaches behind him into some invisible pocket and pulls out a knife, "but I have a little thing to take care of."

He flops toward the steps leading up to the house.

"Wh-y-y-y are you trying to get in my house?"

"I told you I had something to take care of. I can't very well kill a bunch of humans from outside."

Strongly motivated, I bolt up the steps, placing myself in front off the attempting homicidal frog. "You aren't getting past me."

Then I charge, biting Gorf's leg, and aggressively shake my head.

"Parsnip, Parsnip!" Gorf is snatched from my grasp and suddenly, I find myself back in the house. Momma sits in front of me with the remnants of...something.

"Remind me to never get a frog toy for you ever again."

***