Doctor Frog

 The school year had been difficult for Filmore. It was hard for him to learn anything, especially as a small tadpole distracted in a well full of robust frogs hopping from leaf to frond without a care in the world. They seemed so confident and relaxed, lazing around on mossy rocks, waiting for a stray insect or worm to appear, and croaking with pride about their slimy skin and webbed feet. The teacher droned on about algae and metamorphosis while Filmore daydreamed about the hidden wonders of the well. He hated biology and couldn’t wait to go home so he could practice swimming.
“Filmore! Have you been paying attention?” said Miss Lily, Filmore’s science teacher. Her firm tone concealed a caring side. Miss Lily had empathy for Filmore and his impatient desire to hop like the adults.
“As I was saying,” Miss Lily continued, “today we are going to dissect a fly. I know some of you might be squeamish, but flies are a significant feature of life in the well, as you young tadpoles will find out when you are old enough to grow some teeth and a long tongue.”
Filmore sighed, his croak barely more than a soundless bubble. How could he even dare to dream of teeth and a tongue? Some of the bigger boys had already started growing legs, and Filmore worried that he might need to repeat school next semester with the other smaller tadpoles.
At the end of the school day Filmore skirted the shallows on his way home to the far side of the well. He swam hard, trying to grow legs and hoping to avoid the bullies. He sucked a little algae that his mother had kindly packed. She assured Filmore that algae would make him grow big and strong. He extracted the juice dutifully, pretending not to enjoy the taste in case the bigger frogs were looking.
“Hey squirt, where do you think you’re going?” croaked an adolescent frog. In no time Filmore was surrounded by the frog and his bulbous friends.
“Give us your algae, tadpole,” said one of the frogs, “before I kick you out of the well.” The frog did his best Kung Fu Frog impersonation, his powerful thigh and webbed foot sending ripples through the water.
“This little algae is all I have,” pleaded Filmore. “My mother gave it to me for lunch.”
“And you better give it to me,” said the frog, “or else we will take you outside the well and leave you as a sacrifice for the cat.”
Filmore understood the puffed up frog wasn’t joking. He knew the larger frogs could hop on land as well as swim in the water, and he had seen the gigantic ginger cat once or twice, peering into the well, big green eyes full of evil intent. He meekly handed over his small parcel of algae.
One of the frogs kicked Filmore lightly, enough to send him spinning. “Now go home and cry to mommy, you pathetic little tadpole,” he said. “And you better have some more algae for us tomorrow. We will be looking for you.” Filmore swam home, shamed and scared.
This well is no place for a tiny tadpole, he thought. It was the third time his lunch had been stolen that week.
Filmore listened at night to the mature frogs croaking in delight. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning and swishing his tail from side to side. His mother entered the room, a small alcove between two pebbles.
“What’s wrong, little Filmore?” she said. “Why aren’t you asleep like the other tadpoles?”
Filmore raised his sad goggle eyes. “Will I ever grow up to be a big frog?” he asked. “Some of the other tadpoles are already growing legs. They are almost ready to hop out of the well and chase flies, but all I can do is swim around in the shallows.”
His mother smiled widely, but with concern. “All tadpoles grow up to become bouncy frogs Filmore. You just have to be patient,” she said.
Filmore frowned. “It’s so hard to sleep here every night while listening to the big frogs croaking and singing. It’s like a party out there, and I want to join in, but the adolescents just laugh at me and call me names like Flimsy Filmore and Tiny Tadpole. They are so mean.”
Filmore’s mother stroked him gently. “A frog’s life isn’t easy Filmore. This well is huge, some say the biggest well of all, and there are only so many insects to go around. To you the sound of nocturnal croaking may be a party, but I assure you there is danger outside the well.”
“I want to live dangerously,” Filmore said bravely.
“You will get your chance,” his mother said. “It seems like fun outside, especially now in the wet season. The load croaking is even audible above the rain pattering down. The big frogs are croaking, joking and talking frog philosophy, but they sometimes forget that their sound attracts even bigger creatures who like to eat frogs.”
“I’ve seen the cat,” Filmore said. “I’m not too scared.”
“You have so much to learn,” his mother said. “How long are you, Filmore?”
“I’m one and a half centimetres at last measurement, thanks for reminding me,” Filmore replied angrily.
Filmore’s mother bloated as big as possible. “Now see how long I am and imagine a giant poisonous land tadpole a hundred times longer.”
“You’re toying with my mind,” Filmore said, “trying to freak me out.” He was scared at the thought of such a long creature.
“Sometimes I also listen to the loud croaking at night Filmore. Young males are courting female frogs, and big frog philosophers are boasting. Then suddenly the croaking stops.”
“I notice that too,” Filmore said. “I really do.”
“It’s because of the giant land tadpoles,” his mother said. “They are called snakes, and the louder a frog proudly boasts, the more chance there is of a snake noticing.”
“Those big frogs aren’t so smart after all,” Filmore said.
“That’s right Filmore. Even big frogs don’t always know everything. Their pride can get them into all sorts of trouble.”
Filmore’s mother didn’t want to scare her tiny tadpole, but everyone must grow up and learn sometime.
“I will stay here with you tonight until you fall asleep,” she said.
“I’m OK now mother,” Filmore said bravely. I know I’m safe with you around.” He turned uncomfortably among the pebbles, trying to dig in a little deeper, “But I wish dad was still here too.”
His mother’s usually wide smile drooped slightly, eyes welling up. “I will sing you a lullaby,” she said. “I know you are a big tadpole now, but everyone likes music, and I think I know your favorite song.”
“It’s Not Easy Being Green,” Filmore said, fondly remembering the signature song of Kermit, the most famous frog of all.

“Close your eyes dear Filmore,” his mother said. She began to sing:
It’s not easy being green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves.
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow or gold-
Or something much more colorful like that.
It’s not easy being green.
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things . . .

Filmore had fallen asleep, snoring tiny bubbles, so his mother gave him a moist kiss and went to bed.
Miss Lily wore her best green smock and leggings at school the next day. “We have a special visitor coming to speak at intermediate tadpole class,” she announced to the students. “I would like you all to give a big wet welcome to Doctor Frog, the most distinguished authority on life in the well.” She bowed and paddled backwards respectfully as the doctor hopped into the room. The students recoiled uncomfortably as the doctor, a warty bloated toad, focused grumpily on them while attempting to heave his lumpy body onto a round rock. He slipped and lurched, stirring up silt, before hoisting himself up into position. When the mud finally settled Doctor Frog addressed his diminutive audience with a song.
“Today a tadpole, tomorrow a frog. Swim in the water then sit on a log.
We don’t need tails like lizards and snails, or floating aquatics like fishes with scales.
Learn how to hop to a leaf for disguise, flick out your tongue and recoil flies.
Croak with delight in the dead of the night, for life in the well has become your birthright.”
Filmore already knew the song by heart; after all, it was the national anthem. But he had never before heard it recited by its composer, Doctor Frog. Somehow, the bloated toad turned the joyous anthem into a monotone dirge, sucking the vitality from it, and leaving Filmore nonplussed.
“Tadpoles of the well,” Doctor Frog continued, his intense large eyes magnified by thick spectacles, “You are embarking on a journey toward becoming fully formed frogs with webbed feet. Eventually you will be masters of this well, the greatest waterway in all existence. In fact, I believe it is the very center of the entire universe. I have scientifically ascertained this by croaking extremely loudly and hearing the sound echo back to me from afar.” He bloated proudly as the tadpoles looked on with a mixture of admiration and revulsion. There was no denying the conclusion that Doctor Frog was quite smart and extremely ugly.
“There are many dangers!” Doctor Frog croaked threateningly. Even Miss Lily jumped. Doctor Frog glared past drooping eyelids at his audience, then tapped his cane heavily on the well floor. “Some of you will perish as victims of fish, snakes, or the cat. But be strong and band together, as there is no force as formidable as an army of frogs. Some of you may even one day become graduates of frog philosophy, although undoubtedly without as many honors as I have.” Doctor Frog chuckled, sensing his own greatness, and vibrations rippled through his rumpled body and warty head. “Learn well, eat fast, and live happily, young tadpoles. You are the future. Always remember the saying . . .” Doctor Frog waited for the expected reply as Miss Lily hopped forward.
“Student tadpoles,” she said. “Remember the most important saying you have been learning. Now let’s all repeat it together, one, two, three . . .”
“Doctor Frog is always right!” everyone croaked in unison.
“I think they’ve got it,” Doctor Frog said, his long lips forming the faintest of smiles. He slid off the rock, bounced off the well floor, and hopped heavily toward the exit. “My work is done here. Thank you Miss Lily,” he said, before departing without saying goodbye to the tadpoles.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Miss Lily said, wide eyed and puffy with honor. Filmore wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t put his finger on it, even if he had one, but to him Doctor Frog seemed more theatrical bluff than brilliant scholar.
Filmore ate his algae at recess and had none left for the bullying adolescents, so he swam the opposite direction home after school. He darted and dived among the reeds, away from the prying eyes of hungry fish. He was exploring a small nook at the edge of the well when he noticed a glowing shimmer a little distance away. He edged closer, attracted by the radiant hue. It was the most exotic and palatial construction Filmore had ever seen. Shiny bottle tops stacked atop each other forming golden pillars; walls of solid stone; and a roof of thatch and mud built to withstand the fiercest storm. A large sign hung above the entrance: Doctor Frog, PhD, Distinguished Professor and Eminent Scholar.
Filmore slinked around the side and peered in a window. Furniture made from colorful shells and twigs rested on a floor of finely woven seagrass matting. Hot water, piped from a thermal spring, warmed the room. University diplomas adorned almost every wall. Doctor Frog lounged on a bedstead formed of finest silt, sipping algae through a long reed straw. Filmore slowly backed away, aided by a receding current. Turning to head toward home he stopped abruptly.
“Well, look what we have here,” a guard frog said, his huge face looming above Filmore.
“A snooping slimy tadpole,” his associate said while grabbing Filmore tightly with a webbed hand.
Filmore struggled vainly against the superior guard frog strength. “I wasn’t doing anything,” Filmore said. “I was just looking.”
“Looking for something to steal, more like it,” the head guard said. “Let’s see what Doctor Frog has to say about this.” They bustled Filmore inside, pushed him toward Doctor Frog, and stood sentry at the entrance.
“We found this sneaky tadpole outside looking for something to steal,” the guard frog said. Doctor Frog straightened, although still bulbous, and placed his drink down on the bedstead table.
“I wasn’t stealing anything,” Filmore pleaded. “I was just on my way home from school and I noticed this glowing building, so I came to see what it was.”
“A likely story,” the guard frog said.
“Silence guard!” Doctor Frog croaked hoarsely. “I will deal with this mischievous tadpole.”
Doctor Frog put on his thick spectacles and peered down at Filmore. “I recognize you tadpole. Where do I know you from?”
Filmore gained what little composure he had and replied, “You came to our school today, Doctor Frog. You told us to learn well, eat fast, and live happily.”
“Of course,” Doctor Frog replied. “You are a student of Silly Lily, that dippy science teacher. How you manage to learn anything in her class is beyond me.” He burped a large bubble that floated up and rested against the ceiling. “Why are you snooping around my home?” he said.
“I only came this way to avoid the bullies,” Filmore said. “They keep stealing my algae.”
“Then why don’t you get your father to punish them?”
“I don’t have a father anymore,” Filmore replied. “My mother said he was defeated by a lizard during the Battle Of The Long Drought. We never saw him again.”
“Ahh, so you are the son of Sergeant Slime,” Doctor Frog said with genuine admiration. “Slime was one of our best commanders. Did you know he once held the cat at bay with nothing more than a fistful of sharp pebbles?”
“I have heard the story,” Filmore replied.
“Sergeant Slime was good and honest,” Doctor Frog said. “I can trust the word of any tadpole of his. You are free to go.”
The sentry frog stood aside as Filmore got ready to leave.
“By the way tadpole,” Doctor Frog said, “did you ever hear anything from your Uncle Hoppity?”
“As far as I know, he left the well,” Filmore said.
“Your Uncle Hoppity was the greatest athlete in the well,” said Doctor Frog. “But Hoppity was a fool! He could have been anything: long jumper, soldier, even a professor like me, but he wouldn’t let go of his wild theory about giant wells and expansive waterways beyond the scope of even my great imagination. He is gone, lost or eaten by a snake or the cat by now.”
“My mother said Uncle Hoppity left because the well was drying up and food was scarce. He wanted to find another bigger well, possibly even the endless well at the end of the world.”
“Hahaha,” Doctor Frog laughed until he croaked. “The endless well is a myth! There is no bigger well than this,” he said. “This well is the center of the universe. That’s obviously why every dropped pebble sinks to the bottom, or hadn’t you noticed? Hoppity was a dreamer stricken with wanderlust.”
Filmore didn’t like hearing Uncle Hoppity being criticized. His mother had told him Hoppity was a hero, just like his dad, but even more adventurous.
“I better get going,” Filmore said. “Mother will be worried about me.”
“Go forth, young tadpole,” Doctor Frog said. “But be careful who you listen to. And remember, Doctor Frog is always right.” He stretched his fatty legs, laid back down on the soft silt bedstead, and resumed sucking algae through a reed.
Filmore dashed toward home as fast as he could, relieved to be away from Doctor Frog and the tough guards. He circled around a school of small neon tetras swimming effortlessly together like aquatic acrobats. They speedily darted and dived, forming a swirling cloud of tiny bubbles which caused the soft seagrass to sway and dance in time. Filmore felt cumbersome and awkward compared to the agile and colorful fish, and secretly wished he could swim like them.
“Hey, look at that ugly fish,” one of the neon tetras said. Filmore quickly glanced behind to see the ugly fish, but then realized they were looking at him. Within a moment there were a hundred colorful fish staring at him with amusement.
“I bet he can’t swim very fast,” their leader said. “He has a little fat body and skinny tail.”
“He looks like a slug,” another one said.
“No wonder he is all alone,” said another. “He has probably been kicked out of school for scaring the other fish.”
Filmore started to speak but nervously let out a little croak instead. He then tried again. “Actually, I’m not a fish at all. I’m a frog . . . or at least I will be when I grow up,” Filmore said.
“You look nothing like a frog,” said a neon tetra. “You are just an ugly fish. If you can be a frog when you grow up, I want to be an electric eel,” he said. They all laughed together, causing ripples that washed around Filmore.
The lead neon tetra quickly circled around Filmore, inspecting him closely.
“He is certainly not a frog,” he said.
“He is hardly a fish either,” said another.
“He’s nothing,” laughed another. “Let’s get out of here before he tries to kiss us and turn us into toads.”
In one movement, the neon tetras turned tail, flicked majestically, and disappeared among the seagrass.
Poor Filmore forlornly continued home. He barely had the enthusiasm to keep adrift above the crusty well bottom. When he got home he went straight to bed without even eating his algae. He had no enthusiasm for hanging out with the other tadpoles – they would only remind him of his own ugliness. Even his mother’s attempt to appease Filmore with songs of the great Kermit didn’t help.
He slept fitfully, dreams invaded by images of ugly toads, hungry cats and teasing fish. It seemed the whole well was against him, taunting and scary. The harder he tried to sleep, the more awake he became. By dawn, Filmore was stretched out across a slimy rock on his back, big eyes open and staring at the surface. He could hear his mother upstairs preparing algae, but he had no desire to get up.
“Rise and shine Filmore,” his mother croaked loudly. “You will be late for school.”
“I’m not going to school anymore,” Filmore called back. “I hate school.”
“I thought you enjoyed school,” his mother replied. “I know metamorphosis isn’t your favorite subject, but you do enjoy learning frog army history, and today is choir practice and the chance to expand your vocal sac.”
Filmore did like choir practice, and he had noticed his voice breaking at times from a tiny squeak to a slight croak. But he was in no mood for singing. His mother hopped back upstairs to the kitchen, hoping the aroma of breakfast would lure Filmore out of his alcove.
Filmore laid back, staring at the still surface – not a ripple in sight, when from above he heard an almighty splash. There was a moment of silence before Filmore’s mother called out.
“Uncle Hoppity!” she cried. “You came back!”
Filmore’s self-pity was immediately replaced with excitement at the sound of Uncle Hoppity. He bounced off the slimy rock and onto his webbed feet, hopping with joy. It took a moment or two to sink in, as Filmore looked down at his new feet and muscular legs. He hopped again, testing his legs out. He smiled widely from ear to ear of his new frog head, then poked his new long tongue out as far as it would go, accidentally licking the muddy well bottom in the process. It tasted bad and Filmore recoiled his tongue quickly, accidentally swallowing some pebbles. He was still spluttering and choking as he bounded upstairs toward the kitchen.
“Are you alright Filmore?” his mother called.
Without needing to reply, Filmore bounced in and hopped halfway across the room. “Uncle Hoppity!” Filmore croaked deeply, at least for a froglet. “You came back to us! Doctor Frog said you were gone forever and a dreamer . . . his guards captured me but I got away . . . the fish said I am a slug but I’m not even scared of the cat . . . because I’m a frog now . . . look at me . . . I’m a truly, really, actual frog . . .”
Hoppity smiled broadly, “Slow down little fella,” he said, “and give Uncle Hoppity a big wet hug.”
The frogs embraced stickily, the smaller Filmore stretching as tall as possible, almost reaching up to his uncle’s waist. Hoppity felt bony, and his coat was tattered and torn, but at least he was back.
“You look like you could do with some breakfast Hoppity,” Filmore’s mother said. “Have something to eat and then rest awhile. You can tell us all about your adventures later.”
“I want to hear everything now,” Filmore said, while Hoppity gratefully sat down, leaning back against a rock. He was emaciated and tired, but his big green eyes were full of life, brightly reflecting the morning sun shining on the water. Filmore sat at his feet, attempting to cross his long gangly legs and looking on like a proud disciple.
Hoppity spoke slowly between mouthfuls of slime. “You are probably wondering if I found the endless well at the end of the world,” he said.
“I bet you did,” said Filmore. “If any frog could find it, you could, Uncle Hoppity.”
“Whatever I achieved isn’t all my doing, young Filmore,” Hoppity said. His smile drooped slightly as a steely look entered his eyes. “I left this well with a small frog army determined to find a bigger well. Only a handful of us have returned. My brave soldiers are all heroes; they risked everything for the sake of our kingdom, and many of them perished along the way.”
“But you are the strongest and smartest,” Filmore said.
Hoppity turned and looked at him gravely. “I’m the luckiest,” he said. “We faced dangers more formidable than any frog could withstand. We crossed wide pathways where giant land creatures on wheels crushed many of us into the road. Huge beasts of every kind stalked and preyed upon us. Magnificent birds with giant talons as large as toads picked up some of my best commanders like they were mere tadpoles, and carried them away. We discovered a world that is terrifying, beautiful, and enormous.”
Filmore rose and excitedly bounced around the room like a prize-fighting boxing frog. “How I wish I could have been with you Uncle Hoppity. I will be a good member of the frog army. Next time I will be by your side. I’m a real frog now and ready for action, sir.” Filmore saluted strongly, underestimating the size of his new hand, and poked himself in his bulbous eye.
“There won’t be a next time for me Filmore.” Hoppity said. “My adventure is over, and I have returned to find a wife and have some tadpoles of my own.”
Filmore’s mother finished spooning the last of the slime into Hoppity’s bowl before speaking.
“And did you find the endless well at the end of the world,” she asked.
Hoppity smiled a wry smile. “We found it alright,” he said. “It’s so huge that there seems no more land . . . no trees . . . no hills . . . no cats. It goes on and on forever and I heard someone say it’s called the Pacific Ocean. But guess what? It’s so salty that I couldn’t even drink the water, not to speak of any frog being able to live there permanently.”
Hoppity talked of exploration and battles all morning before falling into a deep sleep for the rest of the day. Filmore swam and hopped to school as fast as he could, and was soon surrounded by all the other frogs eager to learn about the adventures of Hoppity. Filmore told them about everything: the frigid winter where Hoppity and his men went into trance to stop their organs freezing; then concealing themselves under autumn leaves to stay moist and avoid wild dogs; sunning their cold blood in warm spring weather next to enormous waterways called rivers and swamps, where flies and mosquitoes literally jump into your mouth; and huge ponds much bigger than the well, where entire frog families laze happily on beds of lotus flowers. By afternoon, the school was abuzz with talk of the adventures of Uncle Hoppity.
Miss Lily was confused. “There is nothing in your textbooks about any of this,” she said to Filmore. “Our course material is all written by Doctor Frog himself, and he is the eminent authority regarding our entire universe. I like your Uncle Hoppity, but do you think that he possibly got too much sun on his travels and fried his brain a little? He could be delirious.”
“For the last time Miss Lily, I’m telling you Uncle Hoppity is fine,” Filmore said. “He’s my hero and Doctor Frog is nothing but an unsightly fat toad in a small well.”
“Show some respect, Filmore. I’m still your teacher and Doctor Frog did write the national anthem after all. This well is everything to him.”
“Maybe that’s his problem,” Filmore croaked a little more softly. “Doctor Frog doesn’t actually know everything.”
“Well, I’m sure when the news reaches him, Doctor Frog will have plenty to say,” said Miss Lily.
It didn’t take long. Early the next morning there was a loud knock at the door. Filmore jumped up, followed by his mother. Uncle Hoppity was already at the door, still thin but scrubbed fresh in his new shiny green suit. The two guard frogs that had previously arrested Filmore stood formidably in front of Hoppity, who stared them down. Filmore bravely crouched next to Hoppity, adding his insignificant support to his uncle. One of the guard frogs uncoiled a parchment scroll and began to read with authority.
I, Doctor Frog, PhD, Distinguished Scholar and Eminent Philosopher - Leader of all frogs within the well - hereby charge Hoppity Frog with treason! Hoppity is spreading vicious propaganda, lies, and outright fabrications about the well, and eroding the faith in the frog population regarding the nature of our well as the absolute center of the universe.
Hoppity Frog has three options. 1: Desist from ever again speaking about his so-called journey to the endless well at the end of the world. 2: If unable to reform, Hoppity Frog and his entire family must leave the well immediately and never return. 3: If Hoppity Frog continues his course of preaching mythological fantasy he will be sacrificed to the cat.
I, Doctor Frog, also challenge you - the minuscule, low-born Hoppity Frog - to a debate to be held on the eastern well bank at dusk today, where I intend to defeat your nonsense fantasy philosophy and re-establish the doctrine of Doctor Frog (me), as the essential and unchangeable teachings of our entire civilization.
The guard frog rolled up the parchment as Hoppity laughed uncontrollably. “So the bloated old toad is still in charge around here,” said Hoppity, still chuckling. “Well, you can tell fatso that I did indeed find the endless well at the end of the world and will be happy to meet him at dusk.”
“Uncle Hoppity isn’t scared of anyone,” Filmore chimed in. “And you can tell Doctor Frog that Filmore will be there too in case of any trouble. I’m a fully formed froglet now and ready for action.”
“Sure . . . come along midget,” the guard frog said. “You can be the entree before your Uncle Hoppity is sacrificed to the cat.” The guards sneered crookedly, before turning and heavily hopping away in unison, shouldering curious onlookers aside.
By early afternoon, frogs started gathering at the eastern well bank, jostling for vantage points to witness the great debate between Hoppity and Doctor Frog. What began as a subdued murmuring soon became raucous croaking as more and more frogs arrived. A pleasing drizzle began to fall, soaking everyone to the slimy skin. If not for the great debate, it would be a perfect afternoon for a picnic. Opportunistic vendors selling flies and worms hopped among the hungry crowd, and gambling frogs placed their bets on the outcome of the debate. Supporters of Doctor Frog croaking the national anthem were joined in unison by Hoppity fans enjoying the occasion. The festivities lasted all afternoon; froglets locked limbs in mud wrestling contests; athletes jumped high and far; lady frogs showed off their best leggings and coats, with green once again the seasonal fashion color of choice.
Hoppity sat at the water’s edge, dangling his legs in the cool current, resting back against a rock. He croaked happily with Filmore’s mother, who appeared nervous. Frogs gathered close by, anticipating action at any moment.
“Hop back!” Filmore scolded the pressing crowd. “Give Uncle Hoppity some room.” Filmore had appointed himself head of Hoppity security, and took his responsibility seriously. He wore camouflage pants that were three sizes too large, plus a matching jacket. He carried a small baton made out of hardened twig in case of trouble.
A loud murmuring began at the periphery of the crowd, followed by the piercing sound of an off key bugle resounding loudly. Frogs everywhere surged and pushed as Doctor Frog, carried on a palanquin by sturdy males, made his way slowly toward the eastern well bank. He was preceded by a row of drummers beating in time, and surrounded by tough guard frogs. With every hop of the palanquin carriers, Doctor Frog lolled and bounced around uncomfortably. He repeatedly realigned his thick spectacles, and continually bonked inept palanquin carriers on the head with his cane. The bugling got no better as the procession approached. Upon reaching the eastern well bank, Doctor Frog slid slowly from his seat, rubbed his aching back, and raised his cane in the air.
“My frogs of the well,” he croaked loudly above the hubbub. “I am your leader, and I greet you with blessings and benedictions. This well is not only our home, but the center of the entire universe, and today I will prove it. By my leadership, the frogs of the well are happy and fat, with no limit to their opulence.” He threw handfuls of tiny insects to the crowd, as froglets jostled for the spoils. Doctor Frog’s arrogant smile became a sneering grimace as he turned to face Hoppity, who was busy applying sunblock.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Frog,” Hoppity said. “Glad you made it here.”
“I wish I could say the same to you Hoppity,” Doctor Frog replied. “I had hoped you were lost forever in your ludicrous expedition to nowhere.”
A tidily groomed frog ascended a series of flat stones. “Frogs, toads, lady frogs, and froglets,” he called. “Today we are witness to the great debate. Doctor Frog, leader of the well, which has until now been accepted by all as the greatest waterway ever, has challenged Hoppity Frog to prove his claim that there are even bigger wells, and possibly the existence of the fabled endless well at the end of the world.” Doctor Frog grumpily clambered up the stairs and pushed the handsomely groomed frog out of the way. “I will take over from here pretty boy,” Doctor Frog said. He continued, croaking loudly for everyone to hear, “I have in the past, presented a body of evidence to prove this well is the greatest of all. My theory of limited distance has been proved by the sound of returning echoes . . . I have even proved that we are at the absolute center of the universe, with every dropped pebble falling directly to the bottom of the well. How much more proof do we really need? Hoppity is nothing but a hobo frog stricken with wanderlust, but even he has returned. That in itself is proof that this well is the greatest of all. But I can see you want more proof, and it is staring you right in the face.” Doctor Frog’s eyes bulged out as he turned around, working the audience. He smiled his best wide winning smile.
“See these eyes,” he said, pointing to his huge goggle orbs. “All you frogs in this well have them, although none as majestic as mine. With these protuberant eyes we can see in front, to the sides, and even behind. It’s called evolution my friends. For millions of years frogs in this well have evolved to develop eyes that can see unlimitedly in every direction. My eyes are the perfection of evolution, and from this platform I can see every one of you and so much more. There is no more to see, no more to say, and no more to know. I, Doctor Frog have easily defeated the minuscule Hoppity and I rest my case.”
Frogs in the audience murmured in agreement.
“He makes some very good points,” one frog said.
“I don’t see how Hoppity can defeat such sound logic,” said another.
A chant started softly but rose in volume. “Doctor Frog is always right. Doctor Frog is always right . . .”
Doctor Frog descended from the platform, burping pleasantly as he passed Hoppity on the way up.
Hoppity stood tall and straight, gazing over the vast audience as the chanting quietened.
“Fellow frogs of the well,” he said. “I have no desire to depose Doctor Frog as your leader. In fact, it’s true that this well is a wonderful home for all of us. We are healthy and prosperous, and the government is firm but fair. But there is more to the world. I have seen it, and I have even seen the endless well at the end of the world.”
“Prove it scoundrel!” Doctor Frog croaked hoarsely from below. “My theories are sound, but all you have are hollow words and a vivid imagination.”
Hoppity reached into a satchel he carried. “You may have many theories, Doctor Frog,” he said, “but I have proof.” From the satchel Hoppity pulled out a gleaming conch shell, intricately designed and shining white. He expanded his vocal sac and blew into the shell, creating a deeply resonating sound that permeated the sky. The audience cheered in amazement.
“The largest shell ever,” a frog called.
“It’s a hundred times bigger than any shell in our well,” said another.
“Certainly superior to Doctor Frog’s bugle player,” a musically inclined frog commented.
Hoppity smiled widely. “This conch shell is from the endless well at the end of the world. And I have more proof.” He placed the conch shell back into the satchel and retrieved a small container. Hoppity held the container high and slowly tipped the contents out. Fine gleaming particles fell glistening through the air for all to see, landing in a bowl below. As one, the crowd gasped in wonder and surged forward.
“The fabled golden silt,” frogs and toads joined in chorus.
“It does exist,” cried a female frog. “How beautiful it would look with my outfit.”
“It could only come from the endless well at the end of the world,” someone called.
Hoppity continued speaking. “The endless well does indeed exist. It is called the Pacific Ocean, and it is surrounded by enormous beaches of golden silt, called sand. I have been there and I have seen it. I returned not to cause trouble but only to inform you all of a world full of wonder, where many nations of frogs live happily, some in wells and ponds much larger than our own.”
Doctor Frog had scrambled back to the platform and now stood next to Hoppity. “Hoppity Frog is a charlatan . . . a magician . . . or a mad scientist. Maybe he is all of these things,” Doctor Frog said. “I doubt he went to the well at the end of the world. In fact, I believe he has been hiding here in this well all along, creating these cheaply manufactured imitations in a secret laboratory.” The crowd continued talking among themselves. Doctor Frog was losing their attention.
“I have more proof that we are the greatest well in existence,” he croaked. “We all learned in school that a well can be no wider than the distance the most athletic frog can hop, and here among you are our greatest long-jumpers. Come forward long-jumpers and we will prove my theory.”
Sprightly, tall frogs with muscular thighs bounded toward the platform, flexing their athletic limbs. Doctor Frog’s assistants hastily cleared a runway and jumping path for the athletes. Small froglets, including Filmore, bounded around in imitation, dreaming that they would also one day be so well formed. Hoppity stood to the side, politely offering tiny grains of golden silt to a group of chattering females. Upon the command of Doctor Frog, the first long jumper bounded down the track and sprung into the air, before landing at the far end of the well.
“There you see,” Doctor Frog commented. “He jumped as wide as the well.” Turning to Hoppity he said, “is the endless well longer than that jump?”
“Much longer,” said Hoppity.
Doctor Frog thought for a moment. “It’s true that during the wet season our well is a bit longer.” He then commanded the second best long jumper in the entire well to prove his theory. The muscular athlete bounded high and far, exceeding the distance of the first frog jumper by a meter and a half.
“I believe that proves my theory,” Doctor Frog said. “Is the endless well longer than that?”
“Still much longer,” Hoppity replied.
Doctor Frog didn’t enjoy his authority being challenged, and was becoming puffed up with anger.
“You may have a point Hoppity. Although you are without logic, it’s true that the great flood did once overflow our banks and make the well seem quite a lot longer.”
It was the turn for the gold medal long jump winner to show his prowess. He stood at the end of the track, jumping up and down to flex his muscles, before leaning back and then bounding ferociously down the runway. He leaped hard, like a sinewy projectile arrowing above the crowd, and came crashing down in the undergrowth 3 meters past the end of the well.
“It would be impossible for any waterway to be bigger than that,” Doctor Frog commented. “If a well were any larger, the whole gravitational field would reverse and water would flow upward. I have already discussed this in my frog physics textbook. So you see, foolish Hoppity, my point is proven.” He glared meanly at Hoppity. “Is your endless well longer than that?”
“I’m afraid it is much longer Doctor Toad . . . I mean Doctor Frog,” Hoppity replied.
Doctor Frog was fuming, literally, a steaming stench emanating from his skin. “My science is infallible, “he said, belching in Hoppity’s face. “I will prove once and for all that a well can be no longer than a frog can jump.”
Doctor Frog called for his palanquin bearers, and was soon being carried through the underbrush. Several minutes later they appeared in the distance, scaling a rocky edifice some 15 meters away. The palanquin became unsuited for the climb so Doctor Frog disembarked and continued slowly clambering up the incline, squeezing his way between boulders. Higher and higher he climbed until, puffing and panting, he reached the summit of a hillock. Beside the summit was an enormous mud slide that sloped away at a dangerous angle before ending in the shape of a ramp. Doctor Frog edged his way closer and sat poised at the top of the slide.
“Now I shall prove my point once and for all,” he called, before taking a deep breath, releasing his hold and sliding down the incline. Doctor Frog hurtled downward at speeds normally impossible for a frog, with mud spraying behind him. He clasped his knobbly knees tightly and rode on his back down the slide, gaining more and more speed until he reached the ramp. Doctor Frog launched high into the air, way above the well and the crowd of frogs below, who all looked up in amazement. His limbs flailed in all directions as he rolled and tumbled above everyone, spectacles falling off in the process, which were expertly caught by Filmore.
Grinning like a madman, Doctor Frog sailed above the crowd. “Doctor Frog is always right!” he croaked joyously, as his supporters cheered.
He was above and across the well and almost out of sight when another larger figure soared through the air to meet him. In a flash of blurring ginger brilliance, the cat, mouth agape, in a leap timed to perfection, swallowed Doctor Frog in mid-flight, before landing comfortably and bounding off out of sight among the thicket.
The crowd of frogs was silenced, disbelieving, and unsure if what they had witnessed had actually happened. It was all so fast and so surreal. After a few moments, an old lady frog spoke. “I guess we can all go home now,” she said.
The frogs ambled slowly back to the well, and plunged in, small groups croaking together as they went their separate ways.
“I claim the master bedroom,” Filmore heard Doctor Frog’s head security guard say to his companion as they headed home.
Filmore waded slowly along, accompanied by his mother and uncle Hoppity, with a group of eligible females following closely behind, including Miss Lily. He tried Doctor Frog’s glasses on for size, and laughed.
“These glasses make the well look enormous,” Filmore said.