The Daily Bucket–In the Seventh year, Seven Daughters begat Seventy Sons.
Hi, Hoomans! The last couple of months have been a whirl! All I remember is waking up really horny and cold in the middle of January.
“Hey,” I thought to my self, I remember these ponds from before.”
At dusk, I heard a dozen male chorus frogs making their crude and loud propositions, and I watched their cheesy displays of macho at pond’s edge.
Female frogs don’t sing, so I closed my eyes and thought of England.
After 8 hours of letting the good times roll, I’d laid 300 fertilized eggs in 10 separate egg sacs.
Seven years ago, when the Hoomins first excavated, plumbed, and planted two fishless ponds in the Frog Mitigation Area, only a half dozen of us chorus frogs returned. Now, we occupy the FMA, by the hundreds, and have spread to neighboring fountains.
It happens every Spring.
Froggy hands aren’t sized for this keyboard so I’m signing off.
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