“I was happy down there. What’d you pick me up for?”

“Wow! A talking frog.”

“Who are you calling a frog?”

“You; who else?”

“Well, I ain’t a frog. Never have been, never will be.”

“To quote the duck test – If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.”

“Say what?”

“You look like a frog, move like a frog—”

“But I don’t croak like a frog.”

“Two out of three ain’t bad.”

“What are you quoting now?”

“Meat Loaf.”

“You are quoting your lunch?”

“Of course not. Meat Loaf is a singer.”

“Now I know you’re crazy. You’re quoting a sewing machine.”

“Not a Singer sewing machine, a singer – someone who sings songs.”

“Yeah. Bored. Put me back down.”


“Why not?”

“Firstly, because I’m about to cut the grass and I don’t fancy having to clear up a shredded frog.”


“Are so.”

“Am not.”

“Have you looked at yourself? How can you not be a frog?”

“You don’t know much beyond what you see with your own eyes, do you? What’s that by my back leg?”

“That little green patch?”


“I’ve no idea. A leaf?”

“No. It’s part of me and it’s what tells you that I’m not an actual, natural frog.”

“How does it tell that?”

“Duh – real frogs don’t have a green patch.”

“So, let me get this right. You’re not a real frog, so that means that if I kiss you…?”

“You’ll probably end up with warts on your lips.”

“Hah! Got you. It’s toads that have warts, not frogs.”

“Yeah, whatevs.”

“So, if you’re not really a frog, what happened?”

“Not what you read in the story books for a start. Not with me, anyway. I was working at the airport when this geezer comes along with some kind of gun I’d never seen before and ups and shoots me with it. I went over and when I got up – BAM. Suddenly I’m a frog.”

“So before he shot you, what were you – a man or a woman?”

“Neither. I’m a dog.”

“A talking dog?”

“Bite me.”

“Yeah, I can see the headlines – man bites dog.”

“Look. I enjoyed a connection with my handler that was as close to speaking as you can get. We communicated mind-to-mind, like I am to you now.”

“Okay, I’ll buy it. So. In real life, you’re a dog?”

“Yes. A police dog. A good one, too.”

“German Shepherd?”

“What else?”

“And your name? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. Prince? Ha ha ha.”

“No, Princess.”

This was written in response to Kreative Kue 206 published on this site recently.


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