It is a good thing I wasn't thinking anything, or maybe I was, because the way the frogs are singing now you cannot hear yourself think from dusk to dawn, even if you are thinking aloud as Pinky likes to do because if she didn't think aloud how would she know what her thoughts were. What is she anyway some kind of mind reader? Some kind of part-Nubian mind reader? Some kind of what? What is she? Who's calling, please? Ribbet. Nothing but ribbet.
None of us would ever tell her what her thoughts were, since they mostly run along the lines of, "t-bone Abby," "eat more alfalfa," "t-bone Betty," "eat more grain," etc. So what with the frogs for the last few nights Pinky has been standing around in a daze unable to communicate with herself and leaving a big space at the feeder which Blue makes a point of filling.
"T-Bone Crayola," Pinky reminds herself.
Then, "what?" "speak up!" Then nothing.
Bless the frogs, the moonlight frogs and the patchy morning frogs and all the mighty-hearted loudmouthed little frogs. Bless you.
Speaking of Crayola, just like Sandy she has turned super-sweet. She isn't conceited like Crumpet, she is just a little humblebee. That's good because she isn't in the Baby Belle family so she has no business getting all full of herself, like Crumpet the Grand.
Our spring is coming on, no doubt, the frogs know what they are doing, they do not call a false spring, that is not how they operate.
Some day soon we will have a farewell party for the mud. We will do it British style, with cheery optimism, Goodbye Mud, off you go, here's your trilby and your wellies, sod off now and good riddance, you dirty brown chap!