Rana catesbeiana

Last Saturday I took C to her swimming lesson at the YMCA. On the way in from the parking lot, she stopped short at one of those wood-chip covered islands that mark the end of a row.
"Look, a frog!" she said.
I looked down and saw a huge bullfrog, half-burrowed into the mulch, right next to the concrete curb. It's been in the 90s around here for weeks and there was no cover for him other than a couple of anemic petunias. Plus there was a huge stretch of asphalt to navigate if he wanted to try to escape the parking lot. I resolved to collect him and find him a better spot if he were still there when we came out of swim class.

He was still there, and while we were checking him out after class, one of C's classmates (the big head kid, as I fondly think of him--can't help it, I help deliver babies for a living and that's how he strikes me -- he and C are always chatting before lessons about Teen Titans and other favorite TV shows) came along with his mom. He had the same impulse as we did -- we need to get this guy back to the water. Big head kid and mom went back to their car and came back with a little box. We loaded the frog up and headed for the field next to the building. I didn't think we'd find any water there -- all I saw was teasel and other field weeds, nothing marshy looking. Sure enough, it wasn't swampy at all over there. I volunteered to take the frog for a ride, since there was a pond across the street that we passed on the way home. I figured that the frog might have crossed the street the night before. We'd had a rainstorm, and it would have been easier for him to travel that distance.

Of course he got loose in the car on the way over... but we eventually got him back where (hopefully) he belongs.

You may have heard these guys in your neighborhood -- here's what they sound like.