The frog and the lawnmower

Ben, Dave's brother, cut the lawn a couple of weeks ago. His lawn, not ours.

They do have frogs in their garden so it can be a delicate affair, but the frogs generally confine themselves to a small patch of the grass so only a small amount of consideration is required.

Ben did the usual; trying to scare any frogs that might be around and checking to see if any were dumb enough to hang around after they'd been given due warning.

No frogs found, mowing began.

Half way through the exercise it was clear all was not well. You see when something foreign gets mown, one sort of feels it.

On closer inspection, a frogs was found, minus front legs. He didn't look happy (although he did look 'armless).

It was clear that froggy would not, and could not, survive without his two front limbs.

Ben knew he had to end it. Euthanasia was required to put the little amphibian out of its misery.

Ben happens to be a bit squeamish with the emphasis on 'squeamish' and not on 'bit'.

How to dispose of Mr Froggy, always more difficult when one starts to allow it a personality.

In these circumstances Ben would normally rely on his fiancee Molly. She was unavailable and it wouldn't have been fair to Mr Frog to wait until she could assist.

The next option for consideration was the space. A hard whack should have been sufficient. Ben held the spade, looked into the eyes of his little slimy friend and couldn't do it. Killing things isn't easy.

Behind him Ben found some bricks. Now I'm sure many of you will know of the brick sandwich which is often used to dispatch a sick or ailing small animal. Well Mr Froggy was on soft ground. If hit with a brick he might just be further wounded and planted in the earth.

The solution, thought Ben, was to smack him as hard as possible with the brick.
Ben lifted the brick high and took a look at his target, who at this point was probably screaming in frogspeak "Just end it. I can't take it anymore!" He couldn't do it. Killing things really is a bit tricky.

Ben was getting desperate now for the ideal murder weapon. His eyes fell upon a paving slab. It was big, so no chance of missing the victim. It was heavy, so less chance of injury in lieu of a kill.

Ben lifted the slab, took one last pitying look at Mr Frog, and slammed the paving slab down as hard as he could, and then ran into the house.

Ben has been having waking nightmares about meeting a bipedal frog ghost with blood gushing from the stumps where severed front limbs once were.

A couple of days later Molly checked under the slab. Mr Frog was dead. Ben made sure he was buried with dignity (in a deep grave from which he couldn't rise again).