Why am I not a frog?

Science has not yet found a way to turn me into an immortal frog, so that I may live in a lake forever, in bliss. When will this day come? Why are we wasting our efforts on space travel, world hunger, better cellphones, global warming, and three dimensional television sets? Clearly turning me into an immortal frog should be a top priority.

This past weekend, I was kayaking with my wife. She saw a frog swimming along the surface. He was fairly close to the middle of the lake, which seemed strange. Shouldn’t he be closer to shore? I paddled over to the frog and, using the blade of my paddle, gently lifted him out of the water and put him on the front of my kayak. The frog accepted this with grace and dignity. He sat there in the sun, neither happy nor sad, entirely at peace. Oddly, the frog still had a tail. Presumably he was a young frog, not entirely out of the tadpole phase of his existence. I did not hold this against him in any way.

“Let’s take him over there, to the reeds,” my wife said, pointing to the closest shore.

We were already headed in that direction, so this was not inconvenient for us. But even if it had been inconvenient, I’d like to believe we would have done it anyway. We are good people.

Off we went, paddling along. The frog just sat on the kayak, occasionally opening and closing his mouth for no discernible reason. Maybe he was breathing. Maybe he was quietly singing a song to himself about riding on a kayak. We will never know.