He watched in silence.

  “Come on, give it a try. I won’t let you drown.”

  He jumped in and flailed a bit. But soon he was making smooth circles that shot him through the water at a decent frog speed.

  “I’m a special green frog,” I said, gliding along beside him. “The hag imported some of my ancestors from France a long time ago. When she comes frogging, she sings a little song about how delicious we are.”

  The stranger looked at me and paled a little. I was glad to see he knew to be afraid of the hag, at least. Even if he didn’t know toads were dangerous, he knew the hag was.

  “You can tell the special green frogs because we have two vocal sacs.” I held my head up high out of the water so he could see. “One on each side of the head, instead of a single one on the throat.”

  The stranger swam around me in an oval.

  I inspected his head as he swam past. “I see you’ve got two vocal sacs, too. But you’re a slightly different type of green frog, aren’t you?” I said.

  The stranger stopped and bobbed gently in the water beside me. “I’m a pin,” he said.

  “A pin.” I flicked my tongue out and swallowed a snail.

  “You can caw me Pin,” said the stranger.

  “I can call you Pin.” I’d never known a frog with a name. But the stranger was different. He looked different, and he acted different. And if he wanted a name, it was okay with me. I sort of liked the idea. “Pin is a good name,” I said. “Hello, Pin.”

  “What dat?” said Pin, leaping along the mud at the edge of the pond.

  “That’s a water sow bug,” I said. “How can you ask what it is? Are you feeling all right?” I stared at him. “You know water sow bugs, Pin. You have to. You must have eaten hundreds of them in your life. Every pond frog has.”

  Pin swatted at the sow bug with his forefoot. It flew out of the shallow water onto the mud. I’d never seen a frog swat at something like that before. Pin stared at the seven pairs of thrashing legs on the turned-over sow bug. “Not bug,” he said.

  “Well, you’re right. It’s not a bug. It’s a crustacean. But we call it a bug because it’s so small.”

  “Tiny obteh,” he said.

  “Obteh?”

  “Tiny cayfih,” he said.

  “Cayfih? Cayfih? Oh, crayfish. Yes. And obteh must be lobster. Yes.” I looked at Pin with new interest. The water birds that stopped here every spring and fall talked sometimes about the sea creatures, and I had heard them describe lobsters. Most of the frogs I knew were too afraid of being eaten to do anything but dive underwater when the birds came. I didn’t dive, though. I hid among the rocks and listened. The other frogs knew only about the pond they lived in. But I knew whatever I overheard the birds say. I knew about the huge wonderful world away from this pond. Pin must be a curious frog, like me. “Yes, yes,” I said, leaping closer to Pin. “The sow bug is like a tiny lobster.”

  The sow bug righted itself. Pin swatted it onto its back again. “Obteh good to eat,” said Pin.

  “Who are you kidding? You’ve never tasted a lobster,” I said.

  “I have eaten obteh,” said Pin. “Many time.”

  “What a story!” I said. “Lobsters live in salt water. Amphibians don’t. You’ve never been near a lobster.” I shot out my tongue and ate the sow bug. “Don’t give yourself airs. I’m impressed by your size alone. You don’t need to make up silly stories about eating lobster.”

  “I have eaten obteh many time!” Pin drummed his forelegs in the mud. “Many time!”

  At that moment the mud moved. I leaped for the grassy bank. “Leap, you crazy frog,” I shouted. “Leap, leap!”

  Pin stayed in his crouch, and the mud lifted up right under him.

  “Oh, leap!” I hopped about in the grass wildly. I feared the worst. And my fear was right: It was the dreaded snapping turtle! Pin sat smack-dab in the middle of the back of the most hideous creature of the pond.

  What was the matter with that frog? He acted like he hadn’t felt the movement in the mud, but all frogs feel the slightest movement, even in dry ground. Pin should have recognized the danger instantly. He should have leaped for safety, like any sensible frog. Like me.

  Instead, he sat there, looking around. Helpless. It was as though he didn’t know the first thing about pond life. Oh, poor dead frog. And just when it was beginning to get interesting knowing him.

  The turtle shook the mud off its face and lifted its horny head high. “Who’s that on my back?”

  “Pin,” said Pin.

  “Pin? Who are you, Pin?”

  “Fawg,” said Pin.

  “Fawg?” The turtle twisted its neck so that it could see Pin sitting on the high ridge of its shell. “You’re a frog.”

  “De Fawg Pin,” Pin said.

  “De Fawg Pin?” The turtle snapped at the air a few times. “Well, come on down here where I can eat you.”

  “I’m not dumb,” said Pin. His tongue fell out. He pulled it back in. I had to admit he looked dumb when he did that.

  “Hmmm,” said the turtle. “You’re on my back. You’re pretty dumb.”

  “No,” said Pin. “You under me. You petty dumb.”

  “You talk funny,” said the turtle.

  Pin blinked.

  “Okay, wise guy,” said the turtle. “Just try to get off of me. I’ll snap you in half.”

  “Bad idea,” said Pin.

  The turtle took a few steps forward. “Did you fall off yet?”

  “You dumb,” said Pin. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

  “You’re making me mad,” said the turtle.

  “You mad? I’m de one mad,” said Pin. “I’m a fawg.”

  “What are you saying?” said the turtle. “What does being a frog have to do with being mad?”

  “I’m mad at being a fawg. Oh, am I mad,” said Pin.

  “You’re mad at being a frog?” said the turtle.

  “Mad,” said Pin. “You one dumb tuh-tuh, and I’m one mad fawg.”

  “You’re going to be one dead fawg in a minute,” said the turtle. He leaned way to the left.

  Pin slid to the left.

  The turtle snapped just as Pin managed to pull himself back up to the ridge of the shell.

  The turtle leaned way to the right.

  Pin slid to the right.

  The turtle snapped again, and again Pin managed to get back to the high ridge just in time.

  “You de king of dumb,” said Pin. “You can’t get me.”

  “Yes I can,” said the turtle. He leaned way to the right, but Pin leaped up and landed right on the shell ridge. He leaned way to the left, but Pin leaped again.

  Right.

  Leap.

  Left.

  Leap.

  “All right,” shouted the turtle. “This is war.” He leaned all the way to the right and flipped over just as Pin leaped onto the mud.

  The turtle whipped around on its back and snapped. But Pin leaped again, into the tall grasses beside me. “Hi,” he said.

  I stared at him.

  “I’ll get you yet,” shouted the turtle as he struggled to stick his saw-toothed tail down into the mud.

  “You too dumb,” Pin shouted back.

  “You’re the dumb one!”

  “Den why you on back and I not in tummy?”

  “Next time,” screamed the turtle. His tail was now fully in the mud. He used it to flip himself back onto his feet. “Next time!”

  Pin leaped back toward the turtle.

  “Stop,” I called after him. “Stay away from reptiles. He’ll kill you.”

  Pin picked up a stick in his mouth. I’d never seen a frog with a stick in his mouth before. My jaw fell open, and my tongue lolled out. Right then I must have looked like him when his tongue fell out. I snapped my tongue back in my mouth. Pin looked at the turtle and spit the stick through the air.

  The turtle snapped the stick in half.

  Pin picked up a rock in his mouth and looked at me.

  “You’re very crazy,” I said.

  Pin spit the rock at the turtle.

  The turtle snapped at the rock. “Owwwww!” he screamed. “That hurt!”

  Pin leaped back beside me. “Dumb, dumb, dumb,” he said.

  “You can’t sit on a lily pad all day long in the hot sun without eating.” I snapped a dragonfly out of the air and let it fall on the lily pad in front of Pin. “You’ve gone three whole days with no food. It’s not right. It’s not froglike.”

  Pin kicked the dragonfly into the water.

  “You’re one stubborn frog, you know that?” A small painted turtle swam by and snapped up the dragonfly. “What a waste,” I said. “Listen, Pin, you told the snapping turtle you were mad. You told the wood frog you were mad. You even told the stupid caecilian, that’s hardly better than a worm, that you were mad. But I simply don’t understand. What are you so mad about?”

  “I can’t expain,” said Pin.

  “Expain! It’s not expain, it’s explain.”

  “I can’t expain,” said Pin.

  “Try.”

  Pin looked at me. Then he looked out across the pond. Then he looked up toward the sky. Then he looked at me again. “I mih my wohd.”

  I didn’t understand. “Try again.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “I’m new to de pond. I don’t have . . .” He sighed. “I don’t have my home.” His eyes were big and sad. “I’m not me. I’m no one. I can’t even tawk.”

  I thought about that. Pin was certainly someone. He was a big green frog. But it was true, he had a lot of trouble talking. “You know, I’ve got it figured out. You can’t say llll, can you?”

  Pin didn’t answer.

  “And you can’t say shhhh either. Or rrrr or zzzz or ssss or thhhh. That’s why you say obteh for lobster and poy-en for poison and dat for that.”

  Pin looked at me in silence.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked. “Why can’t you talk right?”

  “My tongue,” said Pin.

  “Your tongue? Stick out your tongue.”

  Pin opened his mouth, and his tongue lolled out.

  “You have a perfectly normal tongue.”

  Pin pulled his tongue back in his mouth. “My tongue attached at bad point. It faw out.”

  “Your tongue is attached at the front of your mouth, just like all frogs’ tongues.”

  Pin stamped his forelegs. “My tongue new. It too ong. Too ong and too fat.”

  I looked at him. “All frogs’ tongues are long and fat.”

  Pin blinked. “I hate my new tongue. I can’t move it ight.”

  His new tongue. Why did he keep saying such strange things? And what a complainer Pin was turning out to be. As though moving his tongue was some sort of difficult task! I saw a ripple in the water off to our left. I sat very still. No more ripples. It was probably just bird droppings, thank heavens. I looked at Pin and shook my head and sighed. “You can’t talk and you’re mad and you act loopy.”

  “Oopy?” said Pin.

  “Loopy. Like you didn’t know the first thing about toads. And then you didn’t recognize that the snapping turtle was under you. And I had to give you that whole big long lesson about danger: about raccoons and turtles and water birds and bullfrogs and especially snakes.” I shivered at the very thought of water snakes. “There’s something wrong, Pin.”

  Pin looked at me. “I tode you. I’m not me. I can’t expain any betteh.” He hung his head.

  “That’s enough! No more glum faces around here!” I dove into the water and came up with a glass worm. I plopped it on the lily pad. “Eat, Pin. Happy or sad, eat! That’s an order.”

  He kicked the glass worm into the water.

  “All right, that’s it. You don’t like insects. You don’t like worms. What on earth do you eat? Besides lobster, that is.”

  “Meat.”

  “Meat? Like baby mice? Don’t tell me you eat small mammals like a bullfrog does.”

  “No. Big animow. Beef.”

  “Beef?” I’d never heard of it. “What is beef?”

  “Meat of cow,” said Pin.

  “Cow? You mean those big land animals that eat grass on the other side of the pond?”

  Pin nodded. “Cow. My cow. Dey my cow.” His voice was mournful. “Dey my cow, and I eat cow.”

  “They’re your cows, and you eat cows,” I said slowly.

  Pin blinked.

  No, it couldn’t be. I looked hard at his jawline. “Open your mouth.”

  He opened his mouth. His tongue fell out. He quickly snapped it back in. Thank heavens he was doing better with his tongue, at least.

  I inspected carefully. “Okay, shut it.”

  He shut his mouth.

  “You’re a liar,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “You have the same mouth I do. Your jaw is wide, but it isn’t hinged like a snake’s. You can’t swallow anything that’s bigger than the rim of your mouth. You can’t eat a cow!”

  “I eat cow,” said Pin. “I bite.”

  “Oh, I see you have some little teeth there. But don’t think that shocks me. I’ve known frogs with teeth before. The wood frog has a row of sharp teeth, too. But hers are tiny, and so are yours. They’re too tiny to do anything but hold your prey in place while you prepare to swallow it. They can’t rip anything. They can’t chew.”

  Pin blinked.

  I felt sorry for him. “Listen, even if you tried to eat a cow, it would only step on you and squash you.”

  “I eat dead cow.”

  “Dead cow? A frog never eats anything that doesn’t move.” I saw something dart through the water. I dove and came up with a minnow. I threw it on the lily pad, and it flopped around.

  Pin looked at it.

  “Fish is like meat,” I said.

  “Dead,” he said.

  “It’ll be dead in a minute,” I said. “Just wait.”

  When the fish stopped moving, Pin flicked his tongue out and touched it lightly. “Ugh.”

  “Don’t be picky.”

  He blinked, and with a flick of the tongue the minnow disappeared into his mouth.

  “See?” I said.

  An instant later he spit out the minnow.

  “You’re ridiculous. This is your last chance.” I leaned over the lily pad. “Look, there goes another. Go for it.”

  Pin dove into the water. He came up with a small crayfish hanging on to his bottom jaw. “Hep me,” he shouted. “Hep me.”

  I pulled the crayfish off and put it on Pin’s lily pad. “Come eat it.”

  He shook his head.

  “Come on,” I said. “It’s just like a baby lobster.”

  Pin shook his head again. “Too haad,” he said. “Too haad to eat.” He pushed his tongue against the crayfish’s hard outer shell.

  The crayfish grabbed onto Pin’s tongue with one claw.

  “Aaaaa!” screamed Pin.

  I knocked the crayfish off. “Your stomach acids will dissolve his hard shell. You can even eat small turtles if you want. Now there’s good meat, they say, turtle meat. The bullfrogs eat them all the time. And I would rejoice to see you eat a turtle, after all the green frogs I’ve seen get eaten by turtles.” I watched the juicy crayfish with growing hunger. “Come on, eat the crayfish.”

  Pin swam in a circle, eyeing the crayfish on the lily pad.

  The crayfish held up its claws and threatened.

  “Pin, be brave. You’re not a tiny spring peeper. You’re a giant for a green frog. And this is a small crayfish. Eat him!”

  Pin circled the lily pad again. Then he jumped up on my lily pad beside me. “Cook,” he said.

  “Cook? You want to cook the crayfish?”

  Pin blinked.

  The crayfish flipped itself into the water and disappeared.

  “Pin, frogs don’t cook their food.”

  Pin lifted his chin toward the sun.

  “You look like a statue of the perfect frog,” I said. “But you’re half-starved, and if you insist on cooked crayfish, you’re going to be fully starved very soon.”

  “Dead,” said Pin.

  “That’s what they call it,” I said. “Dead. You talk about being no one. Well, dead is being no one.” I felt the breeze cool my wet skin and make it quiver. “Oh me, oh me, oh me, oh me. If you starve, Pin, there are so many froggy happy days that you’ll never know.”

  “Happy day?” said Pin.

  “Yes, of course. Frogs are always happy. I told you that. We’re not melancholy like toads.”

  “Happy fawg,” said Pin, without conviction. “Dead may be betteh.”

  “How can you think that? Staying alive is what it’s all about. I don’t understand you one bit.” I looked at his fine green body and thought of how I was getting used to his funny way of talking. I sighed. “If you starve, I’ll be all alone again.”

  Pin looked at me. “You want me wid you?”

  I thought about how odd he was. About all his unfroglike ways. I had stayed with him against my better judgment. I couldn’t help myself. Pin was crazy. An utterly mad frog. But he was new and interesting and even fun. “Yes,” I said, half-surprised at my own words. “I want you with me.”

  Pin took a deep breath. Suddenly there was a gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before. He snapped himself to attention. In an instant he flicked out his tongue and swallowed a gnat.

  I leaned toward him. “How was it?”

  “Not bad.”

  We sat in silence, motionless.

  A moment later he flicked out his tongue and swallowed a mosquito.

  “You fine big frog,” I said.

  Pin leaped onto his own lily pad. He landed in a crouch, just like any other frog.

  Pin sat on a rock in the early evening. I leaped over and landed so that my hind leg was lightly brushing the rock. It was still warm from the day’s sun. Pin looked at me with interest. I was delighted to see that his eyes were finally coordinated—no more of that one-eye-then-the-other-eye-then-the-first-eye business. His skin glistened, even though he hadn’t been in the water for at least an hour. He had learned how to use his mucus glands. He had learned how to take advantage of his flexible joints in leaping, too. And he could sense movement in the water or on the mud with his feet and skin just as well as I could.

 

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