In springtime, the frogs come out of hibernation and breed like the clappers. As the warm weather and the strengthening sun bathes their cold blooded squishy hides, their natural urges and instincts take over.
On the 9th March, my other half Deb took a stroll into the woods near our home. It was a crisp spring day, beautifully warm, with drifting clouds peppering the blue sky and a gentle breeze rustling in the trees.
In the marshes however was a heaving mass of seething frog bodies, entwined and pulsing, spewing forth their spawn, fertilising their spawn, throttling each other, groaning and grunting, rutting like mentalists. (I can't keep up the evocative prose for long). The males can be distinguished from the females by their slightly longer feet, armed with horny (heh) pads to help them grip the females better. Females lay 2000 eggs... of which only 2 will survive to froggy adulthood.
At this time of year, their survival instinct is overcome by the urge to breed, therefore frogs are easy pickings for predators. Herons, Ducks, Stoats, Birds of Prey, Badgers, Pike and Peter Beardsley. All of these will feast upon the rich pickings of randy amphibians gorging themselves till they shit themselves with joy.
Please review the film debbie took, it really is quite disgusting if judged from a human perspective. I myself think it is a beautiful ballet, one female ballerina being crushed under the burgeoning weight of 200 males all trying to cop a feel.
And at the end of this mass orgy, a snuff element. The frogs get so weak, they can die..... of exhaustion.
The ballet is a tragedy, I have a tear in my eye, but like Sir David Attenborough and Terry Nutkins always say, we can't get involved, it's like Star Trek, we have a prime directive of non-intervention. We may pay for our arrogance though.... Just wait till those frogs evolve enough to beat the fuck out of us, then we'll be sorry.