Frogs don't have tails, but that's another story

School was out for the summer. The hot days in the classroom were over until Labor day. After my chores were finished I had to run an errand to the store to buy bread, milk and a can of soup for lunch. With that done, I had the rest of the day to myself. Walking down the dirt lane bordered on my left by gnarled boxelder trees and on my right by the irrigation ditch and pasture, I strolled down to the pond. The sunfish were plentiful though not very big. What they lacked in size they made up for in speed and aggressiveness. Jigging a fly through a hole in the moss soon provolked a speedy attack. A quick eye, a quicker hand and more than a little luck and there dangling on my line was a frisky bluegill. The first time I tried to remove a sunfish from my line I found the sharp spines on the dorsal fin and it was not a pleasant lesson. I caught and released a few more fish then thought to myself, "I'll try casting out to the middle of the pond. Perhaps there are bigger fish out there." The only thing I caught was a big gob of moss. As I was retrieving the next cast a frog popped his head through the moss and jumped at my hook. I missed his bite but the rest of the day I forgot about bluegill and concentrated on frogs. A big bullfrog rested near a fallen tree with just his eyes and nose out of the water. I must have spent an hour trying to get him to go after my hook but he was either too smart or too lazy. Counting the day a success I collected my gear and walked back past the cows in the meadow, the barn and old farm dog. The summer breeze carried a hint of catnip or mint. As I came to the boxelder trees their somewhat bitter smell reminded me I was almost home and it was time for supper. Mom had been cooking a pot of navy beans when I left and the fragance flooded my nostils as I opened the screen door. I wonder how that big bull frog's legs would taste with a heaping bowl of beans.