Last night, Jamie, Mom, and I went down to the basement to work on a few things. Mom’s niece Heather is coming over for the weekend – Mom and all her “kids” are going to the Blink-182 concert Friday, and she wanted the room for Heather to be all made up and nice.
Jamie had other things on his mind besides housekeeping. He wanted to tinker with his motorized bicycle. Unfortunately, this has become an “if-it-can-go-wrong-it-will-go-wrong enterprise”, and Jamie just wound up getting upset and frustrated with the machine. I of course, supervised all the activity from the comfort of the stuffed chair:
Mom tried to help out with the bike but I think it was a case of two hands too many.
Anyway, she and Jamie gave up. Mom walked over to the small, inflatable hot tub to make sure it had dried out. Much to her surprise, she saw a small frog in the bottom of the spa.
Mom was petrified at first, and then even more so when she realized the poor frog was petrified himself. Literally, hard as a rock. Mom gulped, got the broom and dustpan, and swept the froggie out of the tub and into a trash bag. Then she and Jamie put the cover on the spa (it was, in fact, very dry). Mom said she didn’t want any more “visitors” getting petrified in the tub!
Mom says Dad’s gotta “get crackin'” to fix the spa and re-inflate it so they can use it over the winter.
I felt very sorry for the frog, whom, I assume, leaped into the tub after coming up through the sump pump. Nobody noticed him, and he croaked just sitting there.
Woof! Love, Maggie