The Hook
Thursday, July 28th, 2005Last night Christina, Cale, and I went to Potter’s Lake and walked around it. We were looking for frogs and turtles and whatever other critters wanted to make a showing. As we passed the halfway point around the water, we saw a little boy standing about twenty feet up the hill. Closer to the water stood his mother, fishing rod in hand and bent over, clearly in distress.
She looked up and saw us and asked us for help. She had caught a frog with her lure. As we neared, she quietly said that she was trying to pretend to fish and didn’t intend to catch anything. I came closer and tried to get the frog, but it jumped and made the most horrifying croak I’d ever heard. I finally got it in my hands and tried to remove the hook from its mouth… but to no avail. The brightly colored bait had done its job; the frog had fully expected a technicolor meal.
Eventually we pried its mouth open and tried, again unsuccessfully, to remove the metal from its jaw.
Finally, the woman who had snared her first frog with a rod and reel bit the line to break it at the lure and we released the frog to the water. Considering how well it swam away, I think it was more or less happy just to be rid of us.
I felt sad about that whole event and even now could cry if I sat and thought about it hard enough.