[Today for you, tomorrow for me]: 256.Frog Legs

I take a giant leap to get away from the great new rising threat to my kind: Frenchmen. I croak deeply with relief as I escape into the bushes on the side of the dirt road, wondering how there could possibly be so many Frenchmen in France. I sigh triumphantly as the human makes a quick search through the brush and gives up, deciding the prize isn’t worth the effort. Why can’t there be more fish-eating humans in France and less of those who hunt my fellow amphibians? I don’t mean to impose the plague of mankind upon another species, but, honestly, I’d rather like to keep my hind legs, thanks. They are, in fact, mine. It figures that the French would come up with the idea of frog legs as an appetizer, they did invent the guillotine, after all.

Why, just last week we lost poor Barty to the humans! I’ve heard so many horror stories about his death I haven’t gotten a good nights sleep since! Who could possibly be next? My cousin? My sister? My wife?!

It’s hard enough living life as a frog without the fear that some abnormal creature roughly one-hundred times your size will be eating your legs for dinner next Sunday! The very idea makes me queasy and then there the fact that I’m still not sure whether to be offended or relieved that they have no use for the rest of us. I mean . . . our legs are tasty, right? Why not the rest of us?

What am I saying?! I do not want to be eaten! I glare at two humans that cross my path, blissfully ignorant of the every day troubles of a French frog. They walk down the dirt road, cozily nestled arm in arm. Suddenly my anger escalates and I fling myself out of the bushes at them, flying in front of the young woman’s face. She shrieks and, satisfied that for one moment the I was the larger creature, I hop away grinning.