A Trug is Dug

With our four-legged brothers wishing to leave home we suddenly realised that we have no way of getting out of this box. This led to one or two of the froglets getting panicky - they said they were finding it hard to breathe underwater and needed air... But we needn't have worried, The Great Fat Frog was already building us a new home.



For the princely sum of £40 he had bought a garden trug, some plants, a few bricks and a big bag of shiny stones. His great plan was to sink the trug into the garden as a second pond, arranged so that we can easily climb in and out, while giving us lots of exciting places to hide near the water.



After a certain amount of taking another deity's name in vain, the top was cut from the trug and it was sunk into the ground and leveled so that the water surface would match the level of the ground. We looked on in apprehension; it did not look very welcoming to us. And would we still get free daphnia?

Meanwhile one of The Great Fat Frog's underlings, a little angel apparently, was working hard to clean the stones, and get his socks as wet as possible.



Two hours after the great work had been started it was ready for the chosen ones. The trug was filled with pond water and a pile of bricks supported a platform giving easy access to the water's edge. Shady plants surrounded the water and smooth stones ensured easy access to the perimeter of the pond.



We, the vanguard of the six four-legged ones and sixty-eight followers, were magically transported to our new home and have been exploring ever since. We can bask, just under the surface, on the platform, play in the caves underneath and investigate the interesting new plants.

A promised land indeed. But the six chosen ones still say they want to leave.