Porn in my garden……

I’ve got shedloads of it. It’s ‘porn central’ in our garden at the moment. Gooey, sticky body fluids, writhing contorted bodies and non stop hedge to hedge jumpy-rumpy-pumpy-humpy action. Yes, frogs’ porn is back and it’s left a tapioca slick of Torrey Canyon proportions in my pond.

Frogs – millions of them, billions more probably, but I don’t want to get accused of hyperbole. They are bloody everywhere – and all desperate for a shag. Strolling through the daffs’ today, I was acutely aware of the all pervasive scent of froggy testosterone and the all too obvious ‘in tandem’ bouncing of amphibians on the grass and in the pond …. They’re all sex mad. I’ve come to the conclusion that frogs, when they are in the mood, will have a go at anything….

Several years ago, I found a half-dead carp flapping around on the surface of the pond. The fish didn’t look very well, not surprising really, on top of it with his little hands stuffed into each of the fish’s gills and hanging on for dear life was a randy rogering little frog. I mean, it's just not right is it? What future would their offspring have? Would they be called frish, figgs or foggs?

Good God almighty, I tried and tried to get that frog off the fish, but his little hands were shoved right into the gills, the more I pulled, the worse the fish looked.

Alfreda, helpfully suggested that a good dose of cold water sploshed over the couple would shock Freddie sufficiently to bring about coitus interruptus. I’m so desperate, I don’t even consider the insanity of the suggestion. Eventually, Alfeda’s ‘under the influence of drugs’ idea is refined. I grab my son’s ‘SuperSoaker’ water bazooka, take aim and fire.

Incalculable p.s.i. of pressure later and no effect whatsoever. The frog is still riding for all he’s worth. By now, the fish is well and truly buggered. Drastic situations require drastic actions. I land the two lovers in a net and put into action ‘PLAN B’.

It’s amazing how versatile a tool a cocktail stick can be. Sure, it skewers glace cherries and slices of lemon….. But it also makes a superb frog prodder. It’s my tip of the day. If you are ever in a position where you need to get a frog’s complete and undivided attention, then a 3-inch bit of wood will do it. A few well directed digs into his soft and wobbly nether regions soon does the trick – the frog rolls off, happy as you like and my carp is free, if a little weary.

Of course, frogs haven’t always had it so easy in our garden. Our late cat, Tizzy Wizzy Woo, especially valued this time of the year as a useful protein supplement. She would catch them, bite the legs and arms off the unfortunate amphibian, eat them - then calmly walk away, licking her lips.... Nice.

Sounds a bit brutal I know, but it was just a food thing with her – nothing personal. I tried to stop her as much as possible obviously, but ultimately I had to take a view. With the help of my pond, we raised thousands and thousands of froglets every year, a few got eaten, but most got away – it’s the law of my jungle.

Whenever I did find a Frog with an appendage deficiency of three or more as a result of Tizzy Wizzy Woo’s tyranny, I would get out my ‘despatching mallet’ and do the decent thing. If they only had one or two limbs missing then they coped pretty well, our pond is a wildlife haven – a frog doesn’t have to move very far to get a meal. Occasionally, she would bite off the limbs from one side only. Predictably, they swam in ever decreasing circles…….