The Last Laugh: Frog Hunting

Frog hunting sounded like a great idea by day. The loafers at the Plumbtree Crossing General Store maybe should have thought twice about it.

| July/August 1979

"Nothing is so firmly believed as what we least know."—Michel de Montaigne  

"Get your facts first, and then you can distort then as much as you please."—Mark Twain  

Well sir, spring has turned to summer here at Plumtree Crossin'. O' course, the changin' seasons don't have much effect on the ol' loafers who hang around at the General Store ... other 'n occasionin' the rehashin' of a diff'rent round of well-worn stories an' the sheddin' or addin' of a layer or two of clothin'.

Fact is, them ol' boys is about as close to a town monument as the Crossin's got. Regardless of the weather, a number of them can be counted on to be sippin', an' swappin' lies on enny given afternoon.

Which ain't to say the gents don't never do nothin' but hold the storefront bench in place. In fact, it was jist the other night when those worthies decided thet an evenin's outin' were called fer. And, bein' as how the nightly croakin' choir from out at Mud Lake hadn't escaped ennyone's attention, the boys determined to head on over to the water for some frog hunting an' nab themselves a sack or two.

Now those Mud Lake songsters is a breed apart from yer usual happy frogs. Folks say thet buzzards avoid flyin' low over the water fer fear of bean' swallered, an' Doc Thromberg claims them frogs kin leap "tree high an' river wide" on about the biggest, tastiest legs what was ever fried up in egg 'n' cornmeal.

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