Since 2002, Geoff Fox has written about the offbeat and dynamic personalities that make Pasco County unique. He is now revisiting them, meeting new characters and sharing more stories. Email
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Posted Jul 10, 2008 by Geoff Fox
Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:38 PM
Her tone was disgusted and insistent.
We’ve been married 13 years, so that was nothing new.
But it was 4:15 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning and Ironhead’s sudden, exasperated appearance set my senses atwitter.
Yes, I call my wife Ironhead. Yes, she answers to it. No, it isn’t disrespectful: just my way of celebrating the hard-headed woman Cat Stevens was looking for.
Anyway, she’s not the squeamish type. If a snake bumbles its way onto our back porch, she shoos it away. She catches toads just to “beep” their noses. Whenever a roach appears on the linoleum, she flattens it with a primal shriek that women tennis players could appreciate.
This was different.
“I need your help,” she said.
I was led through the dark to the bathroom door, mostly closed and outlined by an unholy light. She pushed it open and I was temporarily blinded. Iron was motionless as a cardboard cutout, her finger extended toward the toilet.
There he was, equally motionless and possibly confused, sitting on the toilet seat. Later identified by Ironhead as a pig frog, he had just gotten a view of my wife that I could have charged him for.
“Don’t kill him,” she said, as she wiped moisture from her leg that had come from his back.
Happily, the little guy wasn’t fast. I got him in a paper towel and tossed him out the front door. Following a chorus of other amphibians, he hopped toward the conservation area.
Iron reasoned that he had not gotten into the house when one door or another was left open by kids who couldn’t shut a door if you paid them, but had successfully navigated the sewer system until his little Peter Lorre eyes popped out of our toilet bowl water.
Unfortunately for me, Iron’s theory doesn’t hold water, according to Gary Morse, spokesman with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.
“From time to time you have these reports of people claiming that frogs and whatnot come up through the toilet, but they don’t. They come through the house,” he said. “They come through the house and find the coolest spot they can find and it’s the toilet.”
So, it couldn’t have somehow gotten into the toilet through the sewer system?
No,” Morse said. “That whole system is closed. They’d have to get underground and travel through that system and come through the toilet, and that’s virtually impossible. Usually, it’s a tree frog and they come in unbeknownst to you and they seek out the coolest, wettest spots, and that’s usually your toilet bowl.”
Meet Ironhead:
“Oh, come on,” she began, when I told her what Morse said.
Her tone was disgusted and insistent.
“There’s plenty of anecdotal evidence online,” she said. “If you look online, you find people who have had rats [in the toilet], and they say they keep the [toilet] lids closed. How are [frogs and other amphibians and reptiles] going to get in there? They can’t flatten themselves that much.
“The sewer people are going to come out and check the sewer line. That’s what we pay utilities for.”
In Iron’s head, there is no way the frog could have snuck into the house, noiselessly hopped across the carpet, eased his way under our bedroom and bathroom doors, and gotten into the toilet.
“I think I would have heard him splash.”
The conversation was taking a familiar turn. I tried to backpedal, saying it wasn’t me she was disagreeing with, but Gary Morse, the fish and wildlife guy.
You know, the guy who gets paid to know this stuff.
She snorted.
“He’s one guy; give me a plumbing and sewage expert. What does he know? He doesn’t know. I’d say a third of the people keep their lids closed. They can’t get under there. This happens in India all the time.”
A third of the people … what?
And, we don’t live in India.
“Yeah, whatever,” she said. “We’ll see when the sewer people come out.”
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Reader Comments
Por (Robert) on July 10, 2008 (Suggest removal)
Your Mom passed on the link to your new blog! Thanks for the laugh!!! I am looking forward to future articles.
Suggest removalPor (William Miller) on July 10, 2008 (Suggest removal)
I’m officially subscribed to your blog feed. Good to see Iron living up to her full potential. I’ll get on that sewer research!
Suggest removalPor (Joe P Myers) on July 10, 2008 (Suggest removal)
I for one would not bet against iron. It does sound like an inside job. However, while the trip to us might sound too unpleasant, a frog just might be able to manage it. They live in swamps and hibernate in muck. I’ll be interested to hear what the Sewer People have to say. You have to wonder why a frog would go to all that effort to work its way through a closed door and under a closed lid when nearby there is a much more convenient toilet that is always open. I take it that you have interrogated other residents of the household about the possibility of bringing found pets inside.
Suggest removalPor (Marty Pautz) on July 10, 2008 (Suggest removal)
The answer to the riddle is right there in your story. You do have kids, don’t you?
Suggest removalPor (Lisa J. Corley) on July 15, 2008 (Suggest removal)
Knowing both of you, I can see the whole thing clearly. It reminds me of the cave cricket in the bathroom when we were younger. Thanks for the laugh and I’m pulling for Iron!
Suggest removalPor (Beth Castor) on July 18, 2008 (Suggest removal)
Maybe it’s one of those Martian, instant Frogs
I have to say my bet is on the frog entering some way other than sewer - but be glad no matter how it got in, that it wasn’t that kitchen alligator!
great photos! Jacques says you’re brave to write about the wifie.
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