Mother nature & Dr. DooALittleTooMuch

They've done it before, and now they are doing it again.

Under our very noses, at this very moment, they are rogering each other senseless in an amphibious orgy.

They are out there now, flaunting their fertility en mass. There's hardly a patch of water surface area that doesn't have a couple of froggy heads peering out totem pole style.

Dozens of sets of 4 bulging post pond coital eyes gazing up at us, having ridden each other ragged.

The croaking is getting louder and louder, akin to announcing that they are about to slip into something a little more comfortable. The water is rippling like an inconvenient duvet in the wake of kermitty couples jockeying for the best position.

Within days we'll be slipping on piles of fertilised frog spawn, and in just weeks the garden will be a living hallucination as tiny frog babies hop all over the place.

Last year I was irritated by their brazenness, and overwhelmed by their fecundity, but this year I feel a certain kinship with my pond-dwelling buddies.

On the surface we may not look much alike, but similarities exist. They too have to wait for the signs before they can commence their own project of hump n'hop, we note it's CD14, they note it's the end of March. If you think we are under pressure to give it our best on cue once a month, can you comprehend the level of froggy stress at having only one shot a year? You may moan about the state of your sheets afterwards, but just imagine having to swim around all day with your own embryos floating around your head.

I wonder if frogs can be infertile? Are there a couple of pale, short, brace wearing frogs in the pond somewhere, huffing and puffing with no tadpoles to call their own?

If I could identify them, I'd help.

I'd break up a 100mg Clomid tablet, stick the pieces to some dead insects, and toss them into the pond. Little froggy ET would gobble them up, get all emotional for a while, but then I'd bring her out and give her our unused trigger shot.

I'd coax little froggy xbox into a shoebox, leaving him with my iPod running videos of animal planet and a contact lens holder to deposit into.

All that would remain would be get little froggy ET to spread those French delicacies of hers long enough for me to find her amphibious love tunnel and fill her with her beau's best.

I wouldn't charge them a penny for my services and kindness, but should froggy xbox and froggy ET accidentally happen to meet their demise at the paws of our neighbour's cat, I'd raise their tadpole family as my own.

If that Madonna bitch doesn't get there first again.