rambo frog

My friend Elke has recently been writing on Facebook that she is serenaded each night by peepers near her house in Melaque.

Even though there is a frog called the Spring Peeper, we do not have them here. But there are other chorus frogs here who fill in that gap with their evening concerts.

There is little standing water near my house, so, I am deprived of the peeper chorus. We do get the occasional odd chicken-cluck of cane toads. But they are more amusing than soothing.

That is not to say that the house with no name is frogless. While trimming the vines in the patio, I will regularly run across a frog camouflaged in the leaves. And in the night, the frog will happily share the warm water of my swimming pool with me.

I have always been fond of frogs. When I was in grade school, there was a green pond frog that lived in our damp basement. I would often find it on the steps when I went down to the freezer.

I invented a game where we would hop down each step together. For me, it was fun. For the frog, I am certain it was nothing other than his natural escape sense.

One evening we were hopping along step-by-step when tragedy struck. The frog jumped out of sequence as I was hopping and he landed under my foot just as it hit the ground. I was devastated.

I thought of that juvenile trauma when I crossed the patio to the kitchen last night. Something moved at the edge of the screen door. I thought it was a young cane toad. We get one or two each season in the house.

But, it wasn't. It was the frog from the vines out for an evening stroll. I suspect he was hunting for dinner or taking a swim. For all I know, he may have gone a-courtin'.

Because of my unfortunate history of anuracide, I was careful where I stepped when I left the kitchen. But the frog was gone -- I assumed on whatever he was doing before I interrupted his outing.

This morning I discovered why I had not seen him. He had slipped intio the kitchen and had not been able to escape when I closed the screen door. So, I grabbed him and put him in one of the vine planters. An hour later, he is gone. I assume he has climbed back up to his hiding place.

This is the first time I have taken a close look at him. From his markings, I thought he might be a leopard frog, But I was wrong. He is a Common Mexican Tree Frog. That makes sense with his Rambo-style camouflage wear.

According to my field guide, during mating season, the call of this species "consists of a series of short, explosive 'wonk-wonk-wonk' notes." I don't think I have ever heard it. But it certainly does not sound like the calming chirps of Elke's peepers.

Of course, I have the advantage of sharing the pool with my otherwise-silent swimming partner.