the pickled frog

i once heard of a frog, who refused to go in the water. silly thing.

he would hop all around, the day long. all his friends were swimming in the water, protecting themselves from the sun. but not this frog. he couldn't find anywhere to hide from the sun. it just kept beating down on him, all day long.

many of the other frogs, and even some of the other animals (but not the ones who wanted to eat him) tried to pursuade him to jump into the pond in order to cool off and swim for awhile.

'after all,' they said, 'frogs were meant to go into the water.'

but he would have nothing to do with it. he steadfastly rebelled against all forms of conformity. it didn't matter that the other frogs were going in the water because they needed to, in order to survive. it didn't even matter that he would eventually have to sacrifice his life in order to maintain his rebellion. and never once did he think about why the other frogs went in - he just knew that they all did it. that was enough.

it eventually came to the point where this poor, destitute frog barely had enough life left in him to catch the occasional fly, let alone have the force of will to open himself up to the possibility of changing his beliefs. he was lying down to die.

and do you know what happened next?

one by one, all of the frogs in the pond jumped out. they just stood on the banks looking around at one another. when finally all the frogs had vacated the pond, they let out one unanimous CROAK to signify that they too had shunned the water, and would never go back in.

well wouldn't you know it, but the old, lame frog could still hear. and when that unified statement of conformity -- CROAK -- rang out, he sat up. actually sat up. and before the last echo bounced back to his ears, our sunbleached, sallow friend made his way to the banks of the pond and jumped in.

/pk