The Frogzilla Files
© 1999-2009, Duane Fischer, W8DBF
The misadventures that appear here are the sole property of the Author and may not be reprinted, copied, given away, sold or otherwise distributed in any way, form or medium without the written permission of Duane B. Fischer.

Featuring Frogzilla: The Amphibian Answer to JAWS!

Chap. #1: This Land May Be Yours, Human, But The Pond Be Mine!

Written by Duane B. Fischer, W8DBF

It was a simply gorgeous June Friday night here in Michigan. It was 88 degrees outside, low humidity and bright sunshine through hazy clouds. It was so hot, that the normally rowdy teenage boys had stopped melting their car tires on the street and gone to Dairy Queen to practice doughnuts in the parking lot. It had not rained a drop in several weeks and the picturesque pond around my vertical was slowly drying up into an ugly mud puddle. Which was not all bad, as no water meant no more frogs! So what if all of the grass looked like it had been manicured with a blow torch. The trees were starting to wilt and sag like overcooked spaghetti. The ecological blight of my yard would ordinarily upset me, but I was distracted by the teenage girls next door strutting around in their new bikinis. More curves there than a Rocky Mountain highway!

I was sitting on my deck in my favorite ham radio lawn chair. Perfect for the beach, or field day, with pop up telescoping HF vertical, ground rod stakes built into the legs and automatic antenna tuner built into the arm rest. I was sipping an iced tea with lemon slice and thumbing through QST trying to find an article among the ads. Suddenly I noticed it had gotten quiet, very quiet. I looked up and glanced around. All of the frogs were sitting motionless on their lily pads staring at me. The teenage girls had stopped smearing their bodies with sun tan lotion and were staring at me. I quickly checked my fly to see if it was at half-mast, or worse yet, forgotten to put my shorts on!

I stood up quickly to see what they were staring at. The glass of iced tea fell off the arm rest, exploded into dozens of razor sharp glass shards as the tea soaked my sock and trickled between my toes. Hopping very slowly up my driveway was the biggest bull frog I had ever seen! Frogzilla was the size of a picnic cooler with legs! I had heard news stories about the appearance of odd looking frogs with all sorts of unexplained genetic mutations. Some had three eyes, others six legs and still others had two foot long tongues that looked like two sided fly paper! He stopped. Looked at the girls, then at me and then at the other frogs. He let out a croak that sounded like the fog horn on the Queen Elizabeth 2! Then he began hopping ever so slowly toward the pond again.

When he finally got to the edge of the pond, some of the other bull frogs approached him. A conversation quickly ensued as Frogzilla gruffly croaked out his reason for coming. I could hear the alarm on my microwave shrieking like a pig stuck under a fence, so I headed inside for supper.

I was just finishing up my Salisbury steak TV miracle meal when I heard a ham talking excitedly on twenty meters. I fine tuned him in and tried to make out the Spanish dialogue. Something about a boat load of shrimp off the coast of Brazil being rammed by a Greenpeace icebreaker. Something about intercepting a boatload of shrimp bound for Red Lobster restaurants because the fishing boat was in violation of the Aid To Disabled Fish Act? Made me wonder if the Captain of the Greenpeace ship had a magnetized steel plate in his head interfering with the ship's compass! An icebreaker off the coast of Brazil? Dah! I was just learning some new Spanish cuss words when my SWR meter suddenly flashed "TILT" in red and green LEDs alternately. The radio shut down and I slammed my fist down angrily on the ham shack console. Splat! Yuck! The Brussels sprouts with cheddar cheese sauce went airborne and landed in my lap. Sick! My white jeans looked like a bird taking target practice had dropped a load of half digested spinach on my right thigh! I hobbled toward the kitchen holding the goo with one hand and my crumpled aluminum plate with the other.

What was that racket outside? It sounded like my self-propelled rototiller. It was my rototiller! Frogzilla was busily plowing his way toward my neighbor's swimming pool. The teenage girls were screaming like a mouse ran up the leg of their jeans and was doing laps around their hips. The frogs in my pond were croaking in delight and cheering Frogzilla on. Before I could shout "STOP" to that web footed mutant from the swamps, the neighbor's mentally impaired Mexican Hairless burst onto the scene. Remember him? Already lost one hind leg in a freak fireworks accident. Here he came stumbling along on three legs and a prosthetic crutch barking like he was the canine version of John Wayne!

Frogzilla glanced at him and cranked up the throttle on the rototiller. Dirt clods and clumps of grass were flying out behind in an eight foot rooster tail as Frogzilla neared the Olympic size pool. The dog ran up beside the rototiller and snapped at the huge frog. Frogzilla stuck a webbed foot under the dog's chin and flipped him into the air like a buttermilk pancake. The Mexican Hairless did several complete rotations as he sailed across the yard and landed head first in the fresh cow manure compost pile!

Frogzilla ducked his head down, let out a mighty croak and slammed into the fence around the pool. The rototiller bogged down and started to stall. He hopped down, put a shoulder to it and pushed. My pond full of green hoppers were cheering wildly like it was the end of a political convention and they could not wait to go home! The rototiller coughed, snorted out a cloud of black smoke and burst through the fence. It ate through the colored patio stones like they were mini shredded wheat squares. Kasploosh! Glug. Glug. Over the side of the pool it went leaving a bubbling cloud of steam behind. Water raced through the new canal and into my thirsty pond. Frogzilla was all smiles as he slowly hopped back to join the other frogs. He shot out his tongue and sampled the fresh pond scum as the swirling water whipped it into a creamy foaming froth. He sighed. "CROAK! Ribit!" A quick check of my amphibious critter lingo dictionary revealed that translated to, "Humans even give soap scum a bad name!" He rather reminded me of one of those Japanese super monsters, like Mothra or Godzilla. Frogzilla seemed like a fitting name for the behemoth amphibian with an attitude that had just claimed my pond as his own. I had this tingling feeling in the soles of my feet not too dissimilar from athlete's foot, that this muscle bound frog was going to be a permanent fixture in my landscape scheme.

Chapt. #2 When Frogzilla Is Near, Better Cover Your Rear!

By, Duane B. Fischer, W8DBF

The propagation rumor mill, had it that ten meters would be open early the next morning, so I set my alarm for 4:30 AM. When it went off, it sounded like a steel billed Woodpecker trying to knock the rivets out of a metal trash can from the inside! Not only did it startle me wide awake, it also instantly cured the constipation that had been troubling me recently. Still dreaming I was on a ship being sucked beneath the sea by a giant Octopus, I dove for the waiting life raft. thud! The pungent smell of a foot fungus penetrated my sinus cavities and triggered an allergic fit of sneezing and coughing. I opened my eyes and discovered I was looking into one of my tennis shoes. The image in my mind of the razor sharp beak of the Octopus biting the life raft in half faded as I slowly got to my hands and knees. I limped toward the bathroom trying to ignore the stinging pain from the rug burns on both knee caps. "Yes.", I told myself, "It was going to be a wonderful day!"

As usual, the propagation forecast was wrong. Made me wonder if these people at the National Bureau OF Standards were first cousins to the folks at NOAA. The only thing open was the all night Rite Aid on the corner! These things were showing up faster than cock roaches at a pot luck! I sipped my Florida sunshine with extra vitamins A, C, D, E and zinc? "What was this stuff? orange juice or oral chemotherapy!" Fifteen meters was hotter than a cigarette ash dropping down your tank top! Wow! Ireland was S15. time to get serious!

I had worked fourteen stations When my bladder signaled a yellow alert. Reluctantly I got out of the chair and headed for the bathroom. I looked in the vanity mirror as I washed my hands at the sink. Hmmm. My eyes looked like two red beets in a light cream sauce. I looked around in the medicine cabinet for some of those "get the red out" eye drops. I was just about to drip a drop when this awful racket irrupted from the back yard. The eye drop missed my eye, but hit the ear canal perfectly. wonder if this stuff dissolves ear wax?

I opened the bathroom window to see what all of the commotion was about. What could possibly be going on at 7:01 AM on Sunday anyhow? The Frogs were jumping up and down on their lily pads like a bunch of over wound Jack In The Boxes. They were croaking in every imaginable key and flicking their little red tongues in and out. Looked like one of those Richard Simmons aerobic workout videos! then half of them dove into the pond sending water splashing everywhere. I ducked instinctively as a small wave slammed into the bathroom window leaving some green pond scum behind.

I opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. Frogzilla was still there, snoring blissfully in the birdbath! then I saw something move out of the corner of my right eye and turned toward it. "Stay right where you are mister! Don't so much as burp, or i'll blow you so full of holes your next of kin can rent you out as a strainer!" There in my yard was this tall skinny woman brandishing a M16, who if she stuck her tongue out and turned sideways, looked like a zipper! She had on a combat helmet, flack jacket and camouflage fatigues. There was an ammunition belt around her waist with several hand grenades prominently displayed. She had on military issue combat boots with a bayonet sticking up out of its holder. She had a intense look in her eyes that reminded me of a very hungry Python that I had seen on the Discovery channel.

"Would you mind lowering that rifle barrel and telling me what the heck you are doing in my yard pointing an automatic military issue weapon at me?" Her eyes darted from side to side as she looked for possible security threats. "Don't take that tone with me mister.", she snarled. "I haven't had my second cup of coffee yet this morning and my hands tend to shake. If you catch my drift? I just hate wasting good munitions on innocent civilians." I looked past her into the next yard, as if I was watching something behind her. this never fails to unsettle their nerves. "Listen GI Jane.", I retorted. "Get the moth balls out of your ears and listen up! Lower that weapon and get yourself off my property, now!" Bang, bang, bang! She fired a few rounds into the bird house just over my head and slightly behind me. I turned just in time to see the splintered remains hit the ground, along with two dead Sparrows who never got to finish their breakfast!

"I'm here to take that fugitive frog over there into custody. Don't get in my way or I'll bust your belligerent butt for harboring a fugitive. do I make myself clear?"

I looked at Frogzilla who was now awake and stretching. He opened his mouth and yawned and I swear you could have parked a VW Beetle in there! I glanced around the yard at my shrubs to see if any other rifle barrels were protruding. Obviously not the Men In Black, as this Annie Oakley wanna be didn't meet their dress code. "Would you mind telling me who you are, who you work for and why you are here violating my civil rights?" She puffed on the stubby little cigar, blew a cloud of smoke sideways and squinted at me. "Listen here smart mouth. When I get done with you, you are going to need an attorney just to get permission to pea! Now get out of my way, I've got a fugitive to take in, dead or alive! And don't try that stupid look like there is somebody behind me, that is the oldest one in the book. Now move it!"

I stared back at her and stood my ground. The frogs were sitting there spellbound and even Frogzilla was paying attention. "I asked you who you are, who you are employed by and why you are waiving weapons at me. Let me see some ID or get off my land. And on your way out, be sure to pick up the two dead birds who will never have a chance to grow up and have a low voice thanks to you blowing their feathers off!" I kept looking over her right shoulder and staring into the distance. "I am a security agent for a research lab and that big steroid slurping frog over there taking a leak in your birdbath escaped yesterday. I'm here to capture him and return him to the scientists, dead or alive. Dead would suit me fine, as I hate frogs anyhow. Last warning. Get out of my way or I will arrest you for having a frog pond in a suburban area without a wet land permit, as well as harboring a fugitive."

Frogzilla looked at me thoughtfully, looked at the other frogs and hopped down from the bird bath. He gazed at the woman. Was that a sneer on the corner of his mouth? Slowly he started to hop toward her. She lowered the rifle and pulled out a heavy net from her backpack. I could not believe that this behemoth bull frog was going to surrender knowing the only future he had was on a disection slide under a microscope!

"what are you smirking at mister?", she demanded. "You think this is funny or something? Once I get this mutant safely in the van, I've got a mind to come back and yank your teeth out one at a time!" I just kept staring over her shoulder. "Gee.", I thought to myself. "I'll bet this woman is just a lot of fun on a date! Probably suck the fillings out of your teeth if she French kissed you!" She raised the net as Frogzilla approached. All of a sudden the neighbor's mentally impaired Mexican Hairless, (Remember him? The one with the prosthetic hind leg?), charged her. He grabbed her by the seat of the britches, growling and snarling for all he was worth. She dropped the net in surprise and instinctively reached for her butt. The dog let go, bounced off the ground, kicked upwards with his bionic leg, snapped and caught her hand in his razor sharp false canine teeth.

"Ouch! You stupid hairless mutt! Let go of me! Ouch! I'm going to cut you into dog jerky strips and then soak you in cheap Tequila!" She reached for the bayonet in the boot.

Frogzilla shot out his double sided sticky tongue and caught her hand in mid-air just as the bayonet cleared the boot top. He made a few quick moves with her hand before she knew what was happening and the military surplus pants fell down around her ankles faster than locks of hair dropping off at a head shaving contest! There was enough hair on her legs to give a bald Polar Bear a new fur coat! But those purple Barny undies were just too much! The Frogs were croaking hysterically as Frogzilla herded her down the driveway cursing and screaming by spraying her bare legs with ice cold water from a garden hose held between his smirking lips.

I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes as I looked down the driveway at the woman's van. A sure winner in the world's ugliest truck contest! What looked like a Chevy Astro-van with a pug nose and puffed out cheeks! The front end looked like a fighter that took one too many punches to the nose! The doors were all bowed out, like something had exploded inside, such as an elephant with a serious chili dog gas problem!

"Alright guys.", I gestured to the frogs on my pond surrounding the vertical antenna. "Escort this intruder to her pumpkin coach, I've got a net to do!" I had never heard a woman swear quite like that before. Very colorful! "Hey G.I. Jane type lady.", I shouted as they shoved her into the van. "Next time somebody is looking over your shoulder, remember the first rule of survival. Always cover your rear!"

Chap. #3: That's No Flying Carpet, It's Miss Piggy With Gas!

By Duane B. Fischer, W8DBF

It was Thanksgiving morning and the weather in Michigan was almost Spring-like. The Sun was just peeking over the forty foot Scotch and White Pine forest as the sleepy woodlands came to life. I could hear the Frogs splashing in the HCI pond as they scrubbed up in preparation for another day of gorging themselves on filet of watercress, honey roasted Flies and Diet Coke. I plunked the Poultry Pride all natural vitamin enriched steroid-free Turkey breast into my trusty crock pot. I added some purified mountain stream spring fed deminerlized water, half a can of black pepper to kill any bacteria the water did not and a few secret herbs an spices from my 1956 A.C. Gilbert Chemistry Lab kit. Turned the cooking temperature knob to high, slapped the lid on and noted the time.

I started to prepare the special stuffing I had gotten from a Tibetan Monk on the Internet. "A half cup of ground Yak liver soaked overnight in Mountain Goat urine?" Was this really an ancient Monk's recipe or something out of Jack The Ripper's Diary? I tried not to gag as I ground up the five cloves of Garlic. Smelled worse than my brother after two bowls of my homemade chili, several beers and those pickled hard boiled eggs he eats! I glanced out the kitchen window just in time to see the Frogs all assume a two column formation and hop off with military-like precision. "Where the heck were they going at 6:45 AM anyhow?"

I was enjoying the annual Hudson's Thanksgiving Day parade through Detroit when I heard this chorus of loud croaking from the pond. I hit the mute button on the remote and wandered over to the window. About five hundred Frogs were pushing and pulling a huge chest freezer with "Welcome To A&P" stamped on the front of it across the neighbor's yard! They were humming what sounded like the theme to Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, its to the Frog pond we go..." I knew that Frogzilla had to have a webbed foot in this, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Dozens of other Frogs, probably the females, were wearing little aprons decorated with Lily Pads and different images of Kermit. They were hustling around setting up little charcoal barbecue grills, Lincoln log picnic tables and other furnishings obviously stolen from some child's Barbie collection. Others started to unload the huge freezer as assembly lines of Frogs prepared the food. It had never really crossed my mind what Frogs ate on Thanksgiving, but then again I never devoted much time to pondering what the Tom Turkey I was roasting ate either! Unless I had to eat the gizzard and tail, I wasn't going to wonder either!

I finished up basting the candied Yams with my famous hot Rum and cinnamon butter sauce and slid them into the oven to bake. Ah yes, it was starting to smell like Thanksgiving in the ham shack! I glanced back at the parade. "Frogzilla? What the Tungsten triodes was he doing in the parade?" There he was, big as a gas filled Kermit, riding on the float with Miss Michigan! He had a smile as big as a Brontosaurs buttock! Oddly enough his slimy green skin matched the color of her eyes. Gee, what a Kodak moment!

She was blowing kisses to the hundreds of thousands lining the streets of Detroit. Frogzilla had jumped down onto the pavement and was hopping alongside the float giving squealing politicians a ride! It was amusing watching them trying to ride something slipperier than themselves! I glanced back out the window. They were still unloading the huge freezer. I wondered how the ruptured resistors they got that out of the store with out being busted by the security guards? But then I remembered it was illegally in my backyard and decided it was better I did not know, as who were the police going to believe? If they gave me one phone call, just who would I call on Thanksgiving?

The parade was just about over. Santa Claus made his yearly appearance sitting in his sleigh parked atop a Greyhound bus. Nine Reindeer pranced around like they all needed a bathroom break, now! Frogzilla hopped over to the handlers holding Miss Piggy down and let out a mighty "CROAK!" The crowd grew silent for a few seconds and the riot police started spraying Mace on anybody who smiled funny. Frogzilla grabbed several ropes, gave a big kick with his muscular legs and lifted off. He waved as he cleared the AM 760 WJR golden towers of the Fisher building and headed North and home.

I was just setting my delicious smelling dinner out on the table when I heard enough croaking from the pond to drown out hormonally charged screaming teenage girls at an Elvis concert! Frogzilla let go of the ropes and dropped like a very xxxx large green hail stone into the pond. Kersplash! A column of swamp scum shot up to the top of the Hustler 6BTV vertical and splattered all over the sides of my house sixty feet away. Maybe the extra moisture would help my ground rod system?

Frogzilla grabbed the neighbor's long haired French Poodle as it sped by chasing the other neighbor's mentally impaired three legged Mexican Chichiua, and wiped himself off with it. They all sat down to eat whatever it was that Frogs eat for Thanksgiving and I sampled my Turkey.

I was about two good bites into my dinner when the phone rang. A solicitor? On Thanksgiving? "Hello? Did I see anybody pushing a large freezer down my street full of Rocky Mountain Oysters, greens and black eyed peas? Nope. I am blind. Didn't see a thing. Would you like to talk with my Seeing Eye dog? Well be that way! Sorry!" Click.

Chap. #4: If You Can't Beat Them, Eat Them!

By, Duane B. Fischer, W8DBF

It was a beautiful day here in MI! Bright sunshine, nary a a cloud in the sky, blueness everywhere, a light wind and it was hotter than a Beaver with his tail caught in a blow dryer!

The Frogs were happily splashing in the pond, napping on the crisp green Lily pads and setting up their little gas grills. Looked like they were planning a cook out. Frogzilla was not sleeping in the bird bath as usual, so I wondered where he was and what his frogness was up to. When this behemoth web footed amphibian was quiet, it generally spelled TROUBLE!

Five or six groups of about fifty Frogs each were moving through the neighbor's yard methodically beating the grass with small tennis rackets. Reminded me of the national Geographic special about the African natives beating the bushes to drive the white men out, or was it the animals? As they whacked the grass they let out a loud croak in perfect unison. Whack. Croak! Whack. Croak! The Mosquitoes having sex in the grass flew out in a rage with their blood sucking syringe noses glistening in the golden sunlight. It sounded like a RC model aircraft convention when everybody tried to take off at once! As the Mosquitos boiled up in a cloud, a group of Frogs threw a fine woven net up and snared them like Smelt in a fishing net, Then dragged them back to the HCA Frog Pond.

I was impressed. Not only were they getting rid of those blood sucking Vampires with wings, they were doing it without damaging the ecology. I could not help but wonder if the Frogs served their grilled Mosquitos with hot sauce?

I turned to go back into the house and wrestle with some dust bunnies big enough to saddle and ride. How the heck did my grandson grow these allergy ridden beasts so big? As I reached for the handle on the screen door there was this loud cheer from the pond behind me. I turned to see what was exciting the Frogs. Here came Frogzilla lumbering up the driveway like an overloaded semi. He was pulling his two wheeled aquatic RV cart behind him. Judging by the way he had the canvas tied down, he was bringing something home besides dirty underwear! The phone rang and I dashed into the house to see who it might be.

It was a friend of mine who just loves to discuss antenna theory. He had a new design for a Moon bounce beam that he just could not wait to share with me. We tossed antenna height, physical location, angles of radiation, lunar cycles, apogee and perigee issues and all sorts of equations back and forth for over a hour. I lost, as usual! I like him a lot, but I just wish he would build one of these suckers instead of talking about it for five years! Maybe even buy a receiver, listen to some short-wave and get a real life!

"What the curling Gallium cat whiskers was that?" I jumped up from the kitchen table, dumped my iced tea with lemon down my Fruit Of The Loom boxers and stepped on my grandson's skate board toy. As I lay on the kitchen linoleum staring at it close up, I realized just how filthy the floor truly was! When I got to the back door there was this sharp rapid staccato sound like a machine gun shooting bolts of electricity. The Frogs were cheering like Madonna had put her clothes on for a change!

My grandson burst through the door like he had a swarm of angry Bees in hot pursuit. "Yo Grandpa! Guess what that big green horny Toad has done now?" Before I could formulate an answer and get the words airborne, he answered for me. "He stole that great big bug zapper those people the federal agents arrested last week had hanging inside their screened in patio. You know the ones Gramps. The dudes who were growing Marijuana and selling it to those people who claimed they were using it for mulch in their herb gardens?" How could I forget. One of the tear gas grenades the SWAT team missed with landed in my tomato patch and killed everything but those fat green grubs with horns!

"Frogzilla has that big bug zapper on the picnic table roasting bugs and serving them to his little Frog friends. Whew! Can you smell those big Moths when they get fried? Gross! Makes me want to hurl! By the way Gramps, what's for lunch?"

That big bug barbecue device did not run on aa batteries , so I figured Frogzilla had it plugged into the electrical outlets on my Ham shack shed. I wandered over to investigate. Yep, sure enough. There was my heavy duty 12 gauge fifty foot extension cord plugged in. Oh well, at least the Frogs were getting rid of the double bumper crop of Mosquitos and I did appreciate that.

Then the three legged mentally impaired Mexican Chihuahua that lived next door charged into my yard like he had a red hot charcoal briquet stuck to his tail. He was barking in that high pitched shrill whine of his that made me want to bait my trash compacter and hope! He was headed straight for Frogzilla who was wearing his Paul Neuman chef hat and brandishing a pair of large food tong tweezers. Before I could yank the cord out of the outlet, the dog with no brain leaped into the bug zapper with his two or three remaining teeth bared and lips curled into a snarl. Zap! Sizzle! Kapow! Sizzle!

Sparks flew, smoke rolled out, the smell of scorched hair filled the yard and the dog stopped yelping. There was a loud pop as the fuse finally got around to blowing. He staggered off toward home with one ear burned like an overdone marshmallow, a lip that looked like he had kissed a waffle griddle, a body that looked like a singed chicken and a little puff of smoke that came out his nostrils each time he coughed.

"Grandpa? Can I please eat? I think my stomach is rubbing on my back bone." I patted him on the head. "Alright I will fix you some lunch before you waste away. While I am doing that, go get a new fuse out of my tool box and get the bug zapper back on line." He dashed off, stopped and looked back. "don't want the Frogs going hungry Gramps?" "More like cut down on my neighbors pets fertilizing my yard! Maybe that fat hair ball that killed all of my Robins will be next!"

Chap. #5: The Gnomes Law Solution

By, Duane B. Fischer

It was a warm hazy Summer afternoon in Michigan and Frogzilla was napping in the cool waters of the forty-eight inch diameter bird bath. He was sprawled on his back with green webbed feet extended upwards like a dog waiting for someone to scratch his belly. His feet would twitch in little spasmodic jerks like he was dreaming about kicking and splashing his way through a thicker than pea soup fog cloud of fat Mosquitos hovering over a stagnant tropical pond. His pale red stickier than Molasses tongue was darting in and out faster than a teenager can lick a melting triple dip ice cream cone. His snore sounded like a small Piper Cub plane sputtering and hacking as it sucked the last drop of fuel from the wing tank.

The little Frogs were taking turns flinging themselves off the eighty meter whip on the top of the Hustler vertical. One by one they shinnied up the shiny metal, threw their weight from side to side to get the whip moving and then let it fling them in a high arc across the yard and then splashing down into the Frog pond. Others had their little gas grills fired up and were starting to barbecue some choice loin of Lizard. Some others were sipping chilled pond scum as they lounged on glistening Lily pads catching some rays and reading Swamp Illustrated. The picnic tables were set, the watercress and kelp salad had been tossed by the yard mulcher and the Froglets were working up an appetite riding on the back of the neighbor's calico Cat.

I wandered out the back door and headed for the 14x16 foot shed on the East side of the yard. It was twenty feet due South of the thirty foot tv tower with DSS dish, tv beam and Hustler 7G-144 two meter vertical. I built this shed so I could live in it if the need ever arose. But she ran off with some guy at General Motors so there was nobody left to kick me out! So I made it into a Summer home. Set up a cot, put in a freezer, hooked up a thirteen inch Sony portable with built-in vcr, set up the micro wave, got out the folding table from the military surplus store, and wired up some sand state rigs. My kind of roughing it! I was rummaging through the freezer looking for the inch thick leaner than a teenage gymnast Porterhouse steak I stashed there. Ah yes. Tender steak, grilled baked potato, corn on the cob done just so and a big glass of Coke. Life was good.

Just as I shut the insulated steel door to the shed, there was this deafening racket from out by the Frog Pond that sounded like somebody fed the whole darn feline animal shelter to a paper shredder! There was more squealing, shrieking and screeching than thousands of teenage girls at a Fabio underwear modeling session! I made a quick dash for the back door and locked it behind me.

I activated the closed circuit tv cameras and switched on the super sleuth evesdropping microphones I got from the Spy Guy mail order catalog. Leaping Lizards! There was this huge Crow lumbering through the sky like a tired B-52 with drooping wings! I had never seen a Crow this big. He was so fat he had to have a rocket assist just to get airborne! Right behind him was this humongous flock of Black Birds that looked like a monstrous black drop cloth just waiting to fall upon and smother the life out of the unsuspecting victims below. All I could think of was the movie Alfred Hitchcock made called The Birds. I did not have time for this harbinger of doom and his feathered fiends to white wash my beautiful green grass with bird dung! Besides I had this succulent steak to sizzle and a net to do!

The huge Crow circled the yard several times dropping lower with each pass. Kersplash! Whoosh! He hit the Frog Pond like an Elephant doing a belly flop into a swimming pool! Water, pieces of Lily Pads and Frogs went everywhere. The flock of Black Birds descended on the picnic tables like a plague of Locusts. The racket awakened Frogzilla who opened one eye and surveyed the area. He spit out the rest of the June bug he had been chewing on when he dozed off. He hopped down from the bird bath and loosened up with some light calisthenics. He stared at the huge Crow floating half submerged on the pond and let out a contemptuous croak. The Crow looked at Frogzilla and let out a CAW that sounded like the harbor horn on an ocean liner! Then he flicked one of his huge wings and sent a wave of scum green water rolling across the yard. Frogzilla stood his ground. He brushed some seaweed off his head, spit out a small painted Turtle and then let out a thunderous CROAK that startled the huge Crow. Then he hopped off toward the shed at his best speed.

The Black Birds had eaten everything in their path and were now chewing on the little wooden picnic tables. The little Frogs were all huddled around the base of the Hustler vertical hoping those birds did not like fresh Frog legs! Then several of the meaner than a junk yard dog Black Birds eyed the little Frogs and got a glint in their eyes. Up they went into the air like planes on a strafing mission and snatched a Frog as they flew by the antenna. Up they went over the trees with a Frog dangling down from their razor sharp talons. The little Frogs were croaking in high pitched tones of panic as they hopped for cover anywhere they could find it. their little pale green amphibious webbed feet were going like pistons in a NASCAR race engine.

The neighbor's mentally impaired three legged Mexican Chihuahua, (Remember him?), raced across the yard yelping in that obnoxious high pitched "my shorts are too tight!" tone of his. The huge Crow turned his head to see what all of the commotion was. Just as old Meat Ball got to the edge of the Frog Pond his prosthetic right rear leg fell off. He leaped into the air like somebody had goosed him with one of those 'Invisible Fence' things. He landed smack on top of the huge Crow's head, dug his claws into the feathers and started biting the Crow like he was on a mission to rid him of Fleas! The huge Crow slipped a wing tip under old Meat Ball and gave him a flip into the nearby Pine woods. Thud! Yelp! Thud. Crack! Snap! Thud! Old Meat Ball staggered upright, spit out a mouthful of Pine needles and snarled at the huge Crow bearing what few teeth he had left. (Remember his mishap with the large firecracker?)

Frogzilla lumbered out of the shed pulling a wagon load of assorted color multiple shot Roman Candles with him. He shoved the spike end in the grass and lit half a dozen of them with my Propane hand torch. Boom! Boom! Boom! Flaming colored balls were sailing through the air like ground artillery shooting shrapnel at in coming bombers. Black Birds were disappearing in little poofs of smoke as the exploding balls left them butt naked featherless! Not wishing to miss out on the excitement, I dragged out a few special class B fireworks I had left over from the fourth of July.

These were three inch commercial class mortar shells that required a special launch tube. I just happened to have a heavy 3/8 inch thick steel well pipe welded to a heavy steel base for such occasions. I set two of them up, dropped a Titanium Salute in each, lit the fuses and headed for cover. I knew I had exactly five seconds before the lift charge would blast the shell several hundred feet into the air.

Kaboom! Kaboom! The shells hurled upwards as I covered my ears and hid behind the Generac generator. Boom! Boom! The ground literally shook as the two shells exploded with the concussion of three sticks of Dynamite each. What a mess! It was now hailing Black Birds! They were landing everywhere over a four house area. Wonder if they are any good for fertilizer?

the huge Crow got a concerned look in his eyes as what remained of several Black Birds splashed down beside him and paddled to the edge of the Frog Pond. He clambered onto the shore, shook the water off his wings and tried to lift off. He created quite a breeze flapping the B-52 bomber like wings, but remained grounded.

Frogzilla was busily doing some sort of computation on a calculator. "Hey! You slippery web toed third cousin to a Salamander, that's my calculator! If you get that wet I am going to add Frog legs to my seafood diet!" He dropped the electronic calculator and hopped off toward the huge Crow. I picked up the calculator and the scrap of paper he had scratched something on. Gnome's Law? G=D/N. Gremlin=Druid/Nymph. Great galloping terminal strips, what was this amphibian up to?

Now I knew that a Gremlin is often associated with mechanical failure in an aircraft. In this case, the huge Crow. Now the Druid was an ancient order of priest commonly associated with Welch and Irish folklore and said to have prophetic and magical powers. Frogzilla? Now the Nymph was a female spirit that inhabited, and animistically represented, elements of nature. Such as woodlands and waterscapes. Hmmm. That part of the Gnome's Law equation was missing. Unless the pond was protected by such a Nymph?

Frogzilla was hopping toward the house at his best speed. Slightly faster than a large Turtle with a serious limp! this Frog moved slower than Maple Syrup in a Michigan January! What in a toasted Triode was he up to? All of a sudden the huge Crow let out a 150+ DB CAW that sounded like the space shuttle blasting off from Cape Canaveral! The little Frogs dove under the Lily pads in the Frog Pond, Frogzilla hopped inside my fifty gallon trash can and I hit the ground. The huge Crow took about five quick hops and leaped into the air. Wings flapping frantically he lumbered down the concrete driveway like an overloaded cargo plane hoping to get airborne before they ran out of runway! He took out a Mercury Vapor light on a high pole and several tv antennas and just barely cleared the power lines.

I stood up and surveyed my yard. Yuck! There were pieces of Black Birds scattered everywhere. Looked like a County Park after a Rolling Stones concert! Bodies, bags and beer cans everywhere. Meat Ball staggered out of the woods and wobbled toward home on his three legs. Before I could pick up his prosthetic leg and reattach it, he paused to take a leak. He forgot he had only one rear leg, raised the other and crashed onto the grass. This dog was dumber than a dead twig! I heard the yard tractor roar to life behind me and turned just in time to see Frogzilla head out pulling the wagon with my fifty gallon trash can behind. The little Frogs were taking turns flipping bird parts into it, so I decided to head on in the house and do some research on Nymphs. Although I really think it was that Roman Candle Frogzilla inserted in the huge Crow's rump that did the magic!

This page last updated 01, November 2011.