Pog the Frog

Once there was a frog, who said his name was Pog. Pog the frog did all the typical things that frogs do, of course: Pog the frog slept on a log in a bog among the fog and smog. Just simple frog things for frogs to do. Pog would hop and jump and leap and any other synonym of the word that you could imagine. Except perhaps fly, let’s not take that one literally.

Then, one day, as Pog the frog sat on his bobbing log in the bog awaiting a quick snack that any frog would enjoy, a gnat or fly perhaps, he saw something strange

See frogs in bogs have gotten used to what they can see from a log in the fog, but some things just cannot be accounted for. In Pog’s case, he had never seen a human before. What was such a strange creature doing in such a wondrous place as a bog in the fog?

“I sure hope it has not come to take my log!” Pog the frog thought aloud.

The human was just as startled when he heard that voice. “Who said that?” Now, I’ll skip the jumping around and simply inform you that this human was a man. Feels stranger, after all, to call a human an “it.” Though I suppose for some of you, you may react the same as this man did; Frogs cannot talk, at least so we’ve been told. Anyway, the man was tall, about half the height of the bog trees as far as Pog could tell from the fog. 

“Well, that would be me.” Pog the frog jumped higher up his log to peek above the fog.

“I see,” said the man. “And just what would you be?”

Pog the frog made no attempt to rationalize how a human was speaking to him, or why they spoke the same language. Who knew that humans could speak frog? Instead, Pog simply answered, “I’m a frog. I thought you said you could see? Is it not clear to you what it is that I be?”

“Well, Mr. Frog, I-”

“Pog.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pog. I am not Mr. Frog. Mr. Frog lives by the log in the next-door bog. I am Pog.”

“I apologize, Mr. Pog, I-”

“Just ‘Pog,’ please. Mr. Pog is long gone. The birds got him.” Pog slumped down onto his log as he remembered his father Mr. Pog. Pog’s legs splayed out in a moment of weakness before he remembered why he kept below the fog on his nice little log. He drew himself back to being fully ready to hop at a moment’s notice and hopped down the log to be beneath the fog. “Can you still hear me clearly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good, I had to ask since you seemed to not clearly hear me before.”

“Well, it was strange, Mist-, I apologize... Pog. I had assumed I was alone out here.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, no one else seemed to be nearby. That’s all.”

“Quite rude of you to assume that my hundreds of brothers and sisters do not inhabit this bog as you know. This is where we live, do you not hear us croaking all night long?”

“Well, Pog, I am not from around here.”

“Well, I can see that quite clearly. Though I do find it marvelous that you can speak frog just as good as any frog.

“Are you by any chance a frog?” You may be thinking to yourself, what a silly question for Pog to ask, but remember he had never seen a human before. He had seen some large frogs and smaller frogs of all kinds, but they still looked like frogs. Pog was not one to make crude assumptions.

The man just stared at the frog.

So Pog repeated his question: “Are you a frog?”

The man shook himself from his stare. At this close of range, the fog was hardly effective at hiding the frog, so he gave Pog a kind look and made sure to make eye contact with one of his eyes (it is difficult to make eye-contact with a frog when their eyes are on separate sides of their head; it was even more exaggerated for poor Pog). “No, Pog, I am not a frog, I am a man.”

“I cannot say I was expecting that. In fact, I believe I can say I wasn’t expecting that. Your frog is too perfect. I know toads with worse frog than you. Regardless, what are you doing ‘man’ in this bog if you are not a frog? Have you come to take my log?”

“No, Pog, I have no desire for your log, I am simply lost in this bog. I was wandering the nearby forest when I lost my way in the fog. And now I’m talking to a frog. Oh my, I’m going insane, aren’t I?”

“Are you craving lettuce?”

“I could eat some lettuce. It sounds much better than nothing right now. I’ve been lost for the whole day.”

“Oh, that’s not good. You are insane. My aunt Mog wanted lettuce, and every frog knows lettuce is no good. She found some and died. Stay away from lettuce, man.”

“Stan.”

“Excuse me?”

“I apologize, I forgot to introduce myself earlier, I am Stan.”

“Well nice to meet you ‘Stan the man frog.’”

“I am not a ‘man frog.’ I am only a ‘man.’”

“That is quite strange, Stan ‘a man’. Are you sure you are not part frog? I assure you, it is quite unprecedented that anything other than a frog could speak frog so well.”

“To assure you I am not a frog, I feel I should remind you I am not from this bog, I have no desire for your log, I got lost in the fog, and I can eat lettuce and not croak.”

“You cannot eat croak?”

“I apologize; I meant simply that I would not die from eating lettuce. I do it quite often in fact.”

Pog considered it for a moment and determined that Stan might not be a frog.

“Fair enough, Stan ‘a man.’ Now do you think there is a way I could help you?” Pog offering such aid was kind of him considering he hardly ever left his log except to scour the bog for his family of frogs or a new place to catch flies. Pog was an independent frog and had found his current log all on his own.

“Do you know a way out of this bog, Pog? I was looking for a stone tower. The hag in the nearby village told me there was a man in the tower who could help me.”

Stone tower? Pog thought. Then it struck him. There was a strange mountain that was oddly cylindrical. He had never considered it a tower; it was much too big for that. He had been warned to never go near it. 

“That is a dangerous place,” Pog explained to Stan. “Frogs rarely return to their logs after visiting that place.” He could not say never because there was always the daring dart frog who was willing to test fate and pass. But as a humble bog frog, Pog was not inclined to leave his log to go there, but he did know where it was.

Stan’s eyes lit up brighter than the night sky on a fogless night. “You know it?”

“Yes, of course, did your parents-” he stopped as he reminded himself, “Oh, right, you are not a man frog, just ‘a man.’ I have only been told three things, Stan: never eat lettuce, never go near the cylinder mountain, and never buy worms from someone who is not a frog.”

“Well, Pog, I have survived lettuce, and I often buy worms as bait to catch fish, but I do not buy them from a frog.”

“That is strange, Stan...” Pog considered allowing Stan ‘a man’ to go to his doom at the tower, but then thought again about how Stan had survived so much that a frog could not. Perhaps, Pog considered, Stan will be okay.

It was then that he finally answered. “Okay, Stan ‘a man,’ here is my plan. Put out your hand in the shape of a fan,” (Do not ask me how frogs know what fans are) and point your middle two fingers to the sun.”

Stan obeyed. Pog noticed Stan had five fingers and settled for just one finger pointing to the sun. A very strange frog indeed.

“Hm. Your left finger does not seem to go far enough. Never mind the hand, then,” Pog said, observing Stan. Instead of trying to give him directions, Pog adjusted his own direction and used his head to point the way. “Follow that way and you will find the cylinder mountain.”

“Thank you, Pog!” Stan said, crossing large distances with single steps.

“Hopping is faster you know!” Pog shouted after him.

What a strange frog.