I have mentioned before and we have discussed at length your encounters with our native fauna. You have fed wallabies, frightened innocent little blue tongue lizards, and been petrified of spiders. Wait a minute. Did I just say petrified? Because the next animal of which I speak was exactly that.
We stayed at a little Bed & Breakfast in the Hunter Valley called “Hilltop Lodge.” I was recently nearby and saw signs entreating me to stay, so I can only assume it still operates. It was a nice home with a nice view. We checked in late in the afternoon, and when we had our room to ourselves you retired to the en suite. Upon entering our bathroom you shrieked and came running out. My immediate fear was that a snake had come up through the plumbing, something that occasionally happens here.
You were virtually speechless. I’m not sure I had seen you like this before. Eventually you alerted me to the beast within, and I steeled myself for the encounter to come. I entered with a little fear and trepidation to find a dead, dehydrated, petrified, it-ain’t-ever-going-to-breathe-again frog. I was about to deal with it, when you pulled me away. Your face was filled with worry and concern. I summoned the owners and they apologetically removed the offending carcass.
As a fitting coda you were attacked yet again. The sun had been down for many hours, and we were heading out to dine. We made for the car, but before we could embark a very much alive frog leapt out in front of you. He had back up. His mate was watching nearby. You shrieked and clung to me for protection. I laughed as sympathetically as I could manage. They were only seeking the sanctuary of the nearby pond my love. I don’t remember where we dined, but I remember your angst at having to cross the threshold that was the frogosphere before we could sleep. Suffice it to say we made it across safely and lived to tell another tale.
I will save you my Darling
From Sir With Love
I went in to take a shower, and all I saw was some dark thing in the bathroom with me. I didn’t stick around to see what it was. Your smirk is etched in my memory. I added heaps of amusement for you during our adventures. I was happy to oblige. I do feel awful how terrible the owners felt though.
If I hadn’t been with you nearly every waking hour, I would have suspected you of planting that dead frog just for the chance to be my hero again. You had already reached hero status with me, love.
I had forgotten about the live froggy assault outside. I’m beginning to wonder if there was some sort of cold-blooded, vertebrate conspiracy going on, and they were out for justice for their fallen comrade. The frog certainly died in the most unromantic way, and those neon-green buggers knew it. They blamed me. They knew I had dined on frog legs in the past – numerous times. They were figuring out a way to creep into our room at night, to pounce on my face, and stuff their webbed hands up my nose.
I knew it would be dark when we returned to the Bed & Breakfast, and the frog brigade would be lying in wait for me. You would have just laughed yourself to death, and where would that have left me? With a lifeless Australian and a lane full of dead amphibians after I beat them all senseless protecting myself because my “hero” died in the throes of a laughing spree. That just wouldn’t have been ideal.
I laughed when I saw the pictures of the Bed & Breakfast and the room we stayed in. I had forgotten how the towels on the foot of the bed looked like giant nipple pasties. The room has changed very little from the link you supplied; I guess we stayed in the Deluxe Room.
The owners were sweet, and they fixed us an awesome breakfast the next morning, so deceased animal carcasses and burlesque bed lingerie just added an element of excitement to the otherwise quaint atmosphere.
And if memory serves, you asked me to assume the frog position a time or two for a game of leap frog. Yeah that’s right – leap frog. Ribbit.
©2014 Darling and Sir