A special individual occasionally swoops into your life, touches you, however briefly and then moves on, leaving a lasting impression. Such was my experience with Leroy.
Our paths crossed quite by chance. One spring morning, while puttering about the deck, I reached down to pull a batch of withered brown parsley stalks from a large planter and noticed the grayish-brown skin of a dead frog resting on the old vegetation.
Poor little thing froze over the winter, I told myself, but before digging up the soil, tapped the small corpse with a twig. It twitched, looked up at me with big bulgy eyes, and my relationship with Leroy, the tree frog, began.
Leroy stayed half submerged in his soil bed, spending the rest of that first day in the parsley container, moving out just slightly from under last year’s stalks as the sun rose higher and the day warmed.
Expecting not to see him again, since other tree frogs have come my way and disappeared overnight, it was a pleasant surprise to find him in the same container the next morning, bulgy eyes, and all.
Watch where you step! Camouflaged frogs like this one could be underfoot at any time.
He was still there when I returned home that afternoon, and I was beginning to form an attachment. Frogs are harmless and cute in a warty sort of way, (and who doesn’t love the sweet sound of spring peepers) so it was easy.
I figured he’d move elsewhere under the cover of dark so was pleasantly surprised the second morning to find Leroy nestled and submerged even deeper into the soil. Maybe he’d stay for a while.
When he was still in residence on the third morning, I named him Leroy after the Jim Croce song, Big Bad Leroy Brown.
Although I never saw Leroy on the move, he began exploring his surroundings when I wasn’t looking. He would be in one place, then suddenly disappear, only to pop up in another.
The first time this happened, I learned the true meaning of the word camouflage. He wasn’t in his home base container or behind it. He wasn’t underfoot. (Thank goodness.) Scanning the deck and the railing for the sight of his little chunky body, I came up with nothing.
Suddenly I spotted him, motionless, sitting on the deck next to a knot hole, completely blending into his surroundings. It was a wonder I hadn’t stepped on him. This prompted me to hang Don’t step on Leroy and Caution. Tree Frog Crossing signs in the vicinity.
Leroy continued to find new haunts for his daytime hours but always returned to the parsley container at night. I continued to search him out, finding him here and there, discovering him on the railing or behind the potting soil bag, and several times under an empty rectangular planter. Discovering each location was like being on a treasure hunt for me. I can’t really say what it meant to Leroy.
Leroy became part of the household routine. “Think I’ll check out Leroy today,” I’d say. Or someone would ask “Where’s Leroy now?” prompting a search, and we’d find him somewhere, hunkered down and motionless.
But finally, the day came, when he left for good. Although that was a week ago and I still search for him outside my kitchen door, I understand that he is a wild creature and has gone his own way.
Our relationship was short but meaningful, and although he wasn’t a great communicator I enjoyed his company.
After his departure, I did some research and discovered that Leroy was a grey tree frog and something I hadn’t considered, possibly a female. Males have a yellow coloration on the under part of their hind legs and I hadn’t seen anything like that.
Very possibly, Leroy was a Loretta.
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