Tales of Stupidity

#9: Ranidaphobia story 1

I was probably around ten years old at the time, because I remember that this story wouldn't have taken place without my aunt's puppy being the energetic little shit that it was. Thankfully, the dog's energy level depleted over time as it got older, but at the point in time that this story took place, my aunt's dog Meg was one/two years old.

This story begins with my Meg running away down the back garden. The back garden led out onto a back lane which was quite long, had a gate at the far right end, and was fenced off along the far side because behind that, there was a field which the school close by used.

It was an incredibly warm day during the middle of spring, so we had left the door separating the back garden from the back lane open, as me, my granddad and my aunt were doing some work in our section of the back lane. So, knowing this, me and my aunt were panicked as we went after Meg, who had already made it down the garden and was heading into the back lane.

Why were we panicked if the back lane had a gate and was fenced off? Well, the gardens from everyone's houses led out to the back lane, and some of them didn't have gates separating their garden from the back lane - meaning that Meg would run off into someone else's back garden and get into trouble.

So I was running after Meg, my aunt following close behind. She had made it into the back lane and turned left, running to the section of the back lane with only one garden with a gate fencing off the garden from the back lane.

The back lane had wet ground even though it was hot. Meg was messing around in the other section of the back lane, and to get the the section of back lane Meg was at, I had to cross over a two-meter square of corrugated iron on the floor.

I knew, as soon as I put my foot on it, that something was going to go wrong. Nevertheless, I had to retrieve Meg. I put both feet on the corrugated iron square. Nothing happened. I was relieved. I took steps forward until I had gotten to the middle of the square. And then it happened.

Like a bullet being shot from a gun, literally about fifty frogs dashed out from underneath the square and hopped away into the undergrowth by the edge of the fence. Like anyone with ranidaphobia in that situation, I screamed, and was back up at the house within seconds. My aunt watched me as I raced past, already knowing from other frog experiences what had happened.

I've never been down in the back lane since then, mostly because I was scared shitless of a second attack from the millions of frogs which lurked within the grass and marshy ground. In fact, I hate being around ponds, too.

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See ya later, my little demons!

-F (admin)