We are creatures of habit. We prefer the comfortable and familiar and often cling tenaciously where we would be better served to let go. And we see this truth demonstrated in the story of the frog whose excessive fondness for the stream where she was born led to her tragic demise.

Every year the frog laid her spawn in the same stretch of water and every year a snake who lived in a hole nearby consumed her progeny, devouring the tadpoles before they had chance to grow a tail. Yet the frog kept trying, again and again, hoping for better fortunes each time.

Eventually, the frog’s reserves of hope were exhausted. The snake, she realised, was not going to change its diet or leave its cosy home. Something would have to be done. Something radical. The frog sought counsel from an old crab, who had gained a reputation for wisdom.

The crab raised its claw to its mouth and pondered the problem. There was a creature, it said, a weasel—a sharp-toothed, ravenous killer—that would surely rid her of the snake. The frog need only lure the killer to the stream; instinct would take care of the rest.

As instructed, the frog laid a trail of fish—small ones!—leading from the weasel’s den to the tree roots at the bend in the stream, where the snake had made its hole, then she withdrew to the safety of the long grass.

The weasel’s tiny snout twitched at the smell of the fish. It was too good to resist. Out it came and began to gobble its way eagerly along the trail. By the time it reached the bend in the stream—which was no time at all—it was ready for the main course.

The snake, meanwhile, had been forced further afield in search of its breakfast. ‘I suppose I shall soon have to find a new hole,’ it said to itself. ‘Even a creature as stupid as the frog could not be expected to provide my meals forever.’

When the snake returned, it met the weasel. There was a sharp, shrill whistling sound. There was a hiss. There was splashing, a lot of splashing. And then there was silence.

The frog emerged from her hiding place. To her delight, she found a slick of snake blood spreading across the surface of the stream. She leapt into the water and, with high hopes, and more invigorated than ever before, she and the other frogs began to spawn.

Boosted by the success of its advice, the wise crab embarked on a tour of the neighbourhood recounting the dramatic events to anyone who’d listen, concluding its oration with sage proverbs, such as ‘one nail drives out another’ and ‘all good things come to an end.’

Finally, the crab decided to pay the frog a visit to bask in a little of its gratitude. The stream, however, was quite deserted. Puzzled, and rather annoyed, the crab muttered along the bank until it caught sight of a small frog desperately trying to stow itself beneath a rock.

“Why do you hide?” the crab asked. “Surely the danger has passed. The snake is gone.” “Oh, the snake has gone, alright!” replied the cowering frog. “But the weasel enjoyed its meal so much it came back for more and now it has an insatiable taste for us frogs and our spawn.”

© Richard Parkin, 2021