I’m guessing not many of you have gone frog hunting and those that have, did it for fun when they were kids. I live in a caravan full-time with my husband, Malcolm, and the covid virus has kept us grounded in one spot for over eleven months. The vegetation here is lush and tropical, the birds and animals are unique and varied. The spot we originally chose to park our van in, too, is pretty sheltered from strong winds and we have been relatively happy here.
A few nights ago, we began hearing shlap shlap shlap noises on our roof. Not thinking anything about it other than a wayward frog had somehow gotten up there—though we had no idea how—we promptly went back to sleep.
The second night it happened as well, except it sounded like the original frog had brought along his mates and were partying up there. My hubby can sleep through anything—and I mean pretty well anything. But the sounds the frogs made kept me awake for a long time. The next night, we took action and went frog hunting. Malcolm got the torch, ladder and the rake and we managed to remove 6 pesky frogs and relocate them. We thought we had solved the problem.
But the next night, they were back!
So, we went outside around dusk, checking for them hopping up the side of our van, but saw nothing. Hopeful, we went back inside and watched TV. But then we heard the ominous shlap shlap shlap noises on our roof and we knew they hadn’t gone at all. So, we armed ourselves for battle. Malcolm got the big ladder out, the strong torch with the high beam and we went frog hunting for the second night in a row. After a concerted effort, we managed to remove another 5 frogs. Unbelievable!
(Poor Malcolm did it with a raging fever, too.)
After we removed every single frog we saw up there, I took him to the Ballina District Hospital as he had a cellulitis flair-up. I drove home, late, thinking I’d be able to have a good night’s sleep, since I had witnessed the removal of every single frog. I climbed into bed and listened with dread. But all was quiet.
About 3:30 am, I heard the dreaded shlap shlap shlap sounds on our roof.
In the end, I stuffed my ears with cotton wool, went back to bed and tried to sleep. But it was hopeless as I lay wondering what we were going to do about them. That’s where this story ends—for now. Hopefully, we’ll find a solution to this annoying problem soon.
Has anyone else had such an annoying experience with wild critters? How can you relate it to writing a book?