It rained and rained in the middle of the night and my son woke up to the shrieking sounds of frogs below his bedroom window.
He eagerly grabbed the military-grade binoculars — given to us last year when our friends from Australia visited — then shrieked as loud as the frogs when he saw them in a wild loving frenzy.
Quoting from the David Attenborough documentary he had been watching the night before, he ran down to where it was all happening — looking for frog foam (fertilised eggs) in the pond. He came back delighted (despite no foam sightings) to have seen groups of frogs piled on top of one another — hopping from one rice pond to the next.
Or coming unstuck.
The next day there were squashed frogs all the way up, and all the way down our road — my son was quite thrilled by their sudden display of life and death. Naturally, my only concern was making sure the strap on those military-grade binoculars was fastened firmly around his neck.
PS: When I say frogs I mean brown ugly things that look like cane toads. Ewww.