A frog decided to make its home in a waterlogged furrow at the side of a muddy track. The furrow was deep and heavy autumn rain had filled it nearly to the brim with cold, cloudy water. A perfect place to wait out the winter, it seemed to him.

When a frog who lived in a pond nearby discovered him, she felt duty bound to warn him of the risks. The track was not a thoroughfare, but carts and cattle and travellers on horse back passed that way; they would devastate this furrow of his sooner of later.

“You needn’t concern yourself on my behalf,” the frog replied. But the other frog was concerned, and after talking to her neighbours in the pond, she returned to invite him to come live with them. “The pond is quiet and secluded and there’s plenty of space,” she explained.

“No,” the frog replied, bluntly. “I wish to make my own way in life. I do not want to bend to the will of others.” “But everyone is very nice!” the other frog exclaimed. “It really does not take much for us all to get along.”

“I’d rather stay here,” the frog insisted. “Why not join me? Why not take a risk for once?” “Are you crazy? A furrow in the middle of a muddy track is no place to raise a family. If you survive the winter, your furrow will dry up before spring is out.”

“Then we’ll move, we’ll strike out for new waters.” “Your kids will die.” “Not all of them. And those that make it will be strong.” The other frog had thoughts about this attitude, but she kept them to herself. “I see your mind is made up,” she said. “I wish you well.”

The winter passed and all concerns lay suspended in the muddy depths of the pond, but no sooner had her body twitched back to life the other frog thought of the furrow in the muddy track. She went to visit her intrepid friend.

But the furrow had been devastated, just as she had feared, and though she regularly went to look, she could not find his body.

 Richard Parkin, 2024