A story about my dad.

When I was 10, we lived in a house with a backyard that was separated from the neighbour’s yard by a four foot high wire mesh fence. All our bedroom windows faced the backyard.

Our neighbour (I’ll call him Dick because that’s what he was and that was his real name - so perfect) had a large circular stone pond in his yard, built above ground with a diameter of about 10 feet and about four feet high or so. It was filled with aquatic plants and bullfrogs.

Oh, Dick loved his bullfrogs. “They make such sweet music,” he said. No one else agreed - our bedroom windows all faced the backyard and there was no way any of us could sleep at night. People that lived beside our house had the same complaints - these things were obscenely loud. They were particularly active in the summer and temperatures where we lived were hot. Hardly anyone had A/C back then, so we had to keep our windows open. I hated the frogs, I hated Dick, I was so miserable. We all were.

But ol’ Dick wasn’t going to do anything about it. “My yard, my frogs, my rules” he said.

One night, I was in bed and I heard my dad yell from his bedroom - he had had enough. Put on his clothes, went into the garage and grabbed a can of pesticide/herbicide (can’t recall) - you know, the old-timey ones that used the metal box shaped containers, before they started using plastic. Mom, my sister and I all crowded the window in my room to watch what was going to happen.

It was very dark but we could see his shape moving across the lawn to the fence. As he climbed over, the can hit the post and made a loud sound. Dick’s sheepdog was tied up on the veranda and started going ballistic. After about 30 seconds the outdoor light came on and Dick came storming out in his tighty whiteys, cursing at the dog for barking so much. He had a look around the yard, saw nothing and went back inside with the dog. Then the light turned off.

Go time. Dad ran across the yard to the pond and hid on the far side of it facing away from Dick’s house. Off came the cap and he reached up over his head with his back to the wall of the pond and emptied the entire can into the water. I can vividly remember the “ba-dunk ba-dunk ba-dunk” sound of the sides of that can as the liquid came out.

When it was empty he ran across the yard again, climbed over the fence and came into the house through our back door.

A few minutes later after washing his hands, he joined us at the window. The frogs had started up again now that no one was around, but over the next 30 minutes (felt like DAYS) the frogs grew quieter and quieter until there was nothing but silence.

The next day, dad was in the backyard doing some chores. Dick called over to him saying “Hey Frank, get over here.” Oh shit, the jig is up. But Dick simply started bitching that all his precious frogs were dead! He was so upset, but had no idea what could have caused it. They were all floating on the surface of the water. “Jeez, it stinks in there too!” Dumbass.

“Gee Dick, that’s a shame. Strange, eh? Wonder what could have happened.”

Nothing ever survived in that pond again and it was torn out the next summer.