Many years ago - when I was about eight, I discovered a pond near home chock full of bull-frogs.
I spent the day catching as many as I could. I darn near filled a pillow case with them.
Proud of my catch - I took them home to show my mom. My dad,having grown up in the hills of North Carolina during the depression didn't see the pet aspect of things - he saw dinner.
My brother, two sisters and I sat mortified in the living room watching TV to the alternating sound of the electric knife and the garbage disposal.
When dinner finally arrived - we stared in silence at the miniature drumsticks on our plate.
Sensing our distress, our mom bravely lifted a frog leg and took a bite. Se smiled at us and told us how wonderful they were and how they reminded her of delicious fried chicken only better. We weren't buying it and our lack of appetite was clearly irritating my father. A uneasy quiet settled over the table.
Minutes of absolute silence ensued - no one was talking - you could have head a pin drop from fifty feet away. When from the dark recesses of the kitchen garbage disposal, there came a distinct sound. As clear as a warm summer night.
-RIBIT-
My sisters started crying - my brother started crying - my mom started crying - I started crying.
My father said nothing - he simply sat and woofed down frog leg after frog leg.
I sure they're good - but honestly - I wouldn't know.
