Life According to Og the Frog

by Betty G. Birney

  I leap toward my neighbor and say, “Hoppy to meet you! BOING-BOING!” in my fabulous froggy way.

  And would you believe it? The furry guy looks shocked.

  He leaps backward, races to his cage and slams the door behind him.

  After a while, there is only the ticking noise and the gentle song of crickets in the room.

  So much for friendship!

  My Learning Curve

  THE SUN DROPS in the orangey-pink sky, and the crickets begin their song. Every swamp critter joins in a farewell song to the sun. Soon, the owls and the bats will be on the prowl, so I hunker down in the tall, wet grass and wait.

  Suddenly, Room 26 is as bright as daylight. I leap up just in time to see a tall man with what looks like a piece of moss above his lip pull something on wheels into the room.

  Oh, boy—I must have been daydreaming, because this place isn’t anything like the swamp. No owls, no bats, no grass, no sunset. Just a tank on a classroom table in Longfellow School.

  But I know this man, because he also came into Room 27 every school night.

  “Be of good cheer ’cause Aldo’s here!” he says.

  “Hello again!” I greet him out of habit. I think all he hears is “BOING!”

  “Hey, I know you,” he says. “The frog from down the hall. What are you doing here?”

  Of course, the furry fellow chimes in. “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!” And Aldo answers him. He even knows Humphrey’s name. Does he speak Hamster?

  I realize the name sounds like something the bullfrogs would say: RUM-RUM-RUMPHREY!

  Aldo pushes a round red thing into Humphrey’s cage. “Have a tomato, pal!” he says.

  Humphrey gulps it in one bite, and his cheeks puff out. Whoa! I didn’t expect that.

  Aldo says he’s sorry he didn’t bring me something, then sits down to eat his dinner.

  He talks while he eats, and Humphrey squeaks and squeaks some more. I can tell he likes Aldo.

  And Aldo has big news—he just got married. The furry fellow squeaks back at him and does a triple somersault. He sure is excitable!

  It’s amazing to watch the man clean the room: sweeping, dusting and polishing. He’s as graceful as a dragonfly and as busy as a bee.

  Before long, Aldo is gone and the room is dark again.

  I wait and listen. The furry guy is very quiet.

  At last, it’s peaceful in Room 26, until—

  Scritch-scritch-scritch!

  The scratching sounds are very loud.

  I hop to the side of my tank that faces Humphrey’s cage. What in the swamp is he doing?

  I stare at him for a few seconds and then I get it. He’s writing in a teeny-tiny notebook with a teeny-tiny pencil.

  Scribble-scribble! Scritch-scritch-scritch!

  This little ball of fur can write? Where did he get his notebook and pencil? How did he learn to do that?

  For a hop, skip and a jump, I am a little jealous. Of course, my webbed toes wouldn’t hold a pencil very well, and a notebook wouldn’t last long in my tank.

  Maybe he’s just showing off. But at least he isn’t as noisy as George. He doesn’t call me bad names, as far as I can tell.

  I decide to go for a nice soak in my bowl and let the water soften the scribbling sounds.

  Ah! It works!

  But I wonder what Humphrey is writing. Is he writing about me? If so, what does he think about me?

  After a while, the soft swishing of the water washes all those thoughts away, and I can Float. Doze. Be.

  I soak for a bit and then leap up to my rock. The ticking of the clock seems much louder than before.

  In fact, it’s almost as loud as nighttime in the swamp.

  At dusk, the bullfrog chorus begins. Yep, I remember it well.

  RUM-RUM!

  We are the guardians, defenders of the swamp!

  RUM-RUM-RUM-RUM!

  We love to live in the weeds.

  RUM-RUM!

  We are the hero frogs, protectors of the swamp!

  RUM-RUM! RUM-RUM!

  We love to sing of our deeds.

  If you ask me, it’s not much of a song. Defenders of the swamp? If Chopper, the big old snapping turtle, so much as hisses at them, the bullfrogs hop away from their beloved weeds and disappear. I’ve seen it happen!

  I run away, too, because none of us are a match for Chopper. But at least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.

  * * *

  The next morning, Mrs. Brisbane calls out her students’ names. In turn, each one replies, “Here.”

  This is so helpful! I know all their names now.

  A.J. is the one with the wide smile and very loud voice, but he’s much nicer than a bullfrog.

  And Sayeh is the girl who doesn’t like to talk much. She’s as sweet as honeysuckle.

  Art has something in common with me. He likes to stare out the window and daydream. I wonder what he’s thinking about?

  Heidi is the girl who blurts out answers in class. She reminds me of Owlbert, who calls out questions all night long. “Whooo? Whooo?”

  He hoots so much, after a while I think, “Who cares who it is?”

  Seth can’t sit still. He is as wiggly as any water snake.

  And Mandy complains like the peeper frogs. They never let up. It’s “PEEP-PEEP-PEEP” night and day.

  Someone important stops in to greet me. I met him once before in Miss Loomis’s classroom. His name is Mr. Morales, and he is the school principal. Apparently a principal is a very important human. He’s wearing a tie with yummy-looking dragonflies on it.

  I never saw a tie before I came to Longfellow School, but then I’d never seen a backpack or a chalkboard or a human up close!

  “And how is your new pupil adjusting?” he asks Mrs. Brisbane.

  “Very well,” she says.

  The principal peers down into my tank.

  “Hi!” I boing at him.

  He laughs. “I hear George has quieted down quite a bit since Og has moved,” he says.

  That must be a great relief to Miss Loomis!

  As the morning goes on, I can understand the lessons, especially the one about frogs. Mrs. Brisbane puts up a chart with lots of pictures.

  BING-BANG-BOING! I know those things! It shows eggs, tadpoles, froglets and a very handsome green frog who looks a lot like me.

  The students listen quietly, and even Humphrey-Rumphrey doesn’t squeak or screech his wheel while Mrs. Brisbane talks.

  I can’t believe my invisible ears. Mrs. Brisbane makes learning interesting—and there’s no George to interrupt.

  I just wish I understood Humphrey. All I get from him is “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK.”

  Most of the time, he’s in constant motion, but sometimes he disappears into a funny little hut to sleep. At least I think he’s sleeping, but who knows?

  When he’s awake, if he’s not spinning his wheel or squeaking his head off, he climbs up the side of his cage. Then he leaps (though not quite like I do) to his tree branch and drops down to the bottom of his cage, which is covered with something soft.

  If the bell rings, he hops on his screechy wheel. If a student asks a question, he goes “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!”

  If Mrs. Brisbane writes on the board, Humphrey climbs up to the top of his cage and hangs by one paw.

  If I could talk with him, I’d tell him to take time to stop and smell the water lilies. Float. Doze. Be.

  When Mrs. Brisbane talks about frog facts, her students are amazingly interested. I’m not sure that Humphrey is even paying attention until Heidi asks a question and he scrambles to the front of his cage to listen.

  “Where did Og come from?” Heidi asks.

  “From an egg,” Mrs. Brisbane answers.

  That sounds right, although I don’
t remember that part.

  Heidi shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I mean, how did he get to Miss Loomis’s class?”

  “Ah, I see,” Mrs. Brisbane replies. “That’s a good question. I’ll ask her.”

  She goes on to talk about how I like to eat crickets. Mrs. Brisbane makes a face as she tosses one into my tank and I grab it with my tongue.

  The big tads are very impressed!

  I am hoping for another cricket when the girl called Mandy reaches in my tank and picks me up. Without even asking. It’s a surprise, but not a pleasant one.

  Then she loudly complains about me when I pee on her!

  I don’t mean to—it’s just what we frogs do to protect ourselves when a stranger grabs us. And it works. Mandy drops me right away.

  She complains about other things, too. Earlier in the day, I heard her complain about a girl named Tabitha. Mandy explained that she tried to get her to play, but Tabitha wasn’t friendly.

  “Maybe she’s shy,” Sayeh said. “I was shy when I came here at first, because I come from a different country and I was embarrassed that I didn’t speak English very well.”

  “You were shy,” Mandy agreed. “But you were always friendly.”

  * * *

  Soon Mrs. Brisbane stops talking about frogs and starts talking about numbers and subtraction, but I don’t understand a lot of what she says.

  Here’s what I know about numbers: I have one head. I have no tail (zero). I have four webbed toes on my two front feet and five webbed toes on my two back feet, which make me very strong and able to leap really high!

  The most flies I ever ate in one sitting? Eleven!

  And there are hundreds of singing bullfrogs back in the swamp. Way too many to count.

  What else do I need to know?

  While the teacher draws numbers on the board, I slide into the water bowl.

  Time to Float. Doze. Be.

  A little while later, Mrs. Brisbane catches my attention again when she reads something and talks about rhyming words.

  Poems are new to me, but they turn out to be a lot like the songs I like to sing, without the music.

  Rhyming words is easy peasy. Hey, that rhymes, too!

  * * *

  A few days later, the big tads groan when she tells them they have to write a poem, too.

  They start to work, and there are more groans because some of them are writing about Humphrey—and they can’t think of anything to rhyme with his name.

  There’s nothing that rhymes with hamster, either.

  I am lucky that Og rhymes with frog and log and bog and all kinds of wonderful words! And I am starting to understand them all.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, I nod off . . . until I wake up to the awful sound.

  Screech-screech-screech!

  It’s Rumphrey—I mean Humphrey—spinning that wheel. The students are gone, and we’re alone again.

  Suddenly, he leaps off his wheel and flings open the door to his cage.

  Before I know it, he’s pressed his hairy face right up to the side of my tank. Get a load of those wacky, wiggly whiskers!

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK! SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!”

  He looks right at me and squeaks his tiny lungs out.

  I know he’s trying to tell me something, but although I’ve picked up a bit of human talk, I still have no idea what he’s saying.

  Whatever I say, I know he won’t understand me. And I don’t want to jump and scare him again. So I just smile.

  He keeps squeaking for a while, but we are getting nowhere. I am as frustrated as a nearsighted dragonfly trying to land on a twig on a windy day.

  I guess Humphrey is frustrated, too. After a while, he gives up and goes back to his cage.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I mutter, but I don’t think he hears me.

  * * *

  When Aldo comes in to clean, I am very grateful for the tidbit he tosses into my tank.

  “Mrs. Brisbane asked me to give you this,” he says. “Enjoy!”

  BING-BANG-BOING! I’ll say I enjoy it—because it’s a cricket!

  It tastes frogalicious, and I am very hoppy. (It isn’t difficult to make me hoppy—really!)

  “Thanks a lot!” I tell him.

  He just laughs.

  Later that night, I hear Humphrey scribbling in his notebook again.

  Scritch-scritch-scritch!

  Why do I feel as if he’s writing about me?

  After a while, he’s quiet.

  There’s a nice light shining through the window—kind of like the moon perched on a post.

  I feel content, and before long I’m asleep.

  The Long, Long Weekend

  SUNRISE IN THE swamp. Is there a better time of day? The bats, owls and scary night creatures are in bed. The bullfrogs are still silent, and the dragonflies are just opening their wings. They are slowest before they limber up, so if I can only get into the perfect position, I’ll have a lovely breakfast . . .

  “Class? May I have your attention?”

  That’s Mrs. Brisbane’s voice. I was paying attention to my plan to catch a tasty dragonfly, but back to reality.

  I listen up, but all she says is something about lunch and the cafeteria, so I go back to daydreaming about that dragonfly.

  When the tads come back from lunch, some of the students stop by our table.

  “Hi, Og!” It’s Art, the daydreaming boy. “You know what?” he asks. “Sometimes I forget to pay attention in class and stare out the window. Now that you’re here, sometimes I watch you!”

  “I watch you, too,” I tell him.

  He smiles and says I’m funny.

  I notice Garth in front of Humphrey’s cage, and he looks as happy as a fish with a wiggly worm in his mouth.

  “Today is Friday,” he tells the hamster. “My big day!”

  Humphrey squeaks happily, so I guess it’s a big day for him, too.

  Soon, Tabitha stops by my tank. She looks as unhappy as a worm caught by a fish!

  “Hi, Og,” she says. “How do you like Room Twenty-six?”

  Tabitha has hardly spoken to anyone in class, so I am surprised she is talking to me.

  “It’s not bad,” I answer honestly.

  When she hears my “BOING!” she breaks into a big smile. I think that must be the first time I’ve seen her smile.

  “BOING-BOING!” I repeat, hopping up and down.

  “You’re so funny!” Tabitha says. “Don’t you think so, Smiley?”

  She looks to make sure no one is around, then reaches in her pocket and pulls out a small, worn toy bear with a big smile sewn on his face. “Smiley, meet Og.”

  It’s not a real bear, thank goodness. (Real bears are even scarier than snapping turtles!) So I say, “Hi, Smiley!”

  Tabitha giggles. “Did you hear that, Smiley? That’s how Og talks. BOING!”

  She giggles again, and that makes me hoppy. Mrs. Brisbane calls the students back to their tables, but I feel proud that I made Tabitha smile.

  I’m in a good mood . . . until the end of the day.

  That’s when Humphrey starts to squeak excitedly. Garth is excited, too.

  Before long, Garth—with his pal A.J.’s help—throws a blanket over Humphrey’s cage and carries him out of Room 26!

  Mrs. Brisbane smiles as she watches them.

  I am in shock! Are they kidnapping Humphrey? Or hamsternapping him?

  If they are, Garth and A.J. sure look happy about it, and so does Mrs. Brisbane. It doesn’t make sense.

  I hear some weak squeaks from the cage as the boys leave Room 26. What is Humphrey trying to tell me? Maybe it’s “good-bye forever!”

  Poor little furry guy. Those boys seemed so nice . . . until now.

  Then, Mrs. Brisba
ne leaves, too, and I’m all alone in Room 26.

  When I was in Room 27 with George, I used to wish with all my heart that I could be alone.

  But this is more alone than I’ve ever been.

  What can I do? I am stuck in a tank with a lid on it. It’s a nice tank with a large water bowl, a few plants and a dry place with rocks, but it’s a lot smaller than the swamp.

  There’s nothing I can do to help Humphrey, the missing hamster. So I do the only thing I can think of: I take a nap.

  I wake up when Aldo comes in to clean.

  He doesn’t seem concerned that the hamster is missing. He smiles and talks while he sweeps and dusts.

  Watching Aldo is more entertaining than watching a hawk with a poor sense of direction.

  I hold my breath hoping . . . and then he tosses me another cricket. I dine like the king of the swamp!

  But once Aldo leaves, Room 26 is even quieter than on weeknights. I’m almost hoppy for the loud ticking of the clock, although I hardly notice it anymore.

  So I do what I did on lonely nights in the swamp.

  I sing.

  Oh, give me a home

  Where amphibians roam,

  Where there’s crayfish and turtles and fish,

  Where seldom is heard

  A discouraging word,

  And the insects are simply delish!

  Home, home in the swamp,

  Where there’s crayfish and turtles and fish,

  Where seldom is heard

  A discouraging word,

  And the insects are simply delish!

  I sing all the songs I can think of, and then it’s quiet again, except for the clock.

  With nothing better to do, I decide to spend a little time watching it, because it keeps changing. A small arrow moves in a slow circle, number by number, and a longer one moves around the circle faster.

  After a while, I get it. The numbers stand for the hours. This might be very useful, especially in a classroom where I can’t always count on watching the sun to tell what time of day it is.