Once upon a time, there was a meadow. Next to the meadow and down a hill was a forest. A little ways into the woods was a pond. Our story takes place at this little spot but lying beyond the pond was the rest of the big wide world—full of other wonderful stories to this day.

    

Two friends lived there at the pond, one a Frog and the other a Fish. The two had lived there for as long as either of them could remember. They lived a quiet life. Picture a perfect summer day: cotton-ball clouds slowly sailing across endless blue; tree-thinned sunshine speckling the forest floor. This was how things were at the pond for as long as either of them could remember.

     One lazy afternoon, the frog sat on the bank idly catching flies, as he usually did. Every so often he would call out to the fish who was swimming a short distance away.

“My great-great-great-great-great-granduncle went on shore once, and look how that’s turned out,” muttered the fish to himself. “No, I’m perfectly fine out here!”

The frog shrugged, leaned back on a cool mossy stone, and promptly dozed off. The fish went back to his swimming. Swimming was how he spent most of his afternoons. What the frog didn’t know was that the fish was searching for an escape. He had explored the entire pond probably one hundred times over the years, but still he searched. The fish wished for something more than lazy summer afternoons.

     Well, this particular lazy summer afternoon turned into a blustery summer evening and soon into a stormy summer night. The fish and the frog camped inside an old log under the water and away from the swirling wind and rain. This was unlike any other thunderstorm that had ever come to the pond.

The fish awoke early and well before the frog, as he usually did. Immediately he noticed something peculiar. He peeked his head out of the log to have a look about. This wasn’t the pond.

     What the fidgety fish and snoring frog didn’t know was that the storm the night before had rained and rained and rained until the pond flooded over its banks. While the two were sleeping, the flood had carried their log boat downhill, past the woods, and into a river.

uh oh

“Frog! Wake up! We’ve got to get moving!” said the fish frantically.

     The frog yawned. “We seem to be moving already.”

     The fish glared at his friend but he knew that they needed to do something—quickly—to get back to their pond.

     The frog (now fully awake) finally noticed his chum’s concern.

“Don’t fret my fishy friend. You wanted an escape from the pond, and now you’ve got one. We might as well enjoy it. Now, let’s get out of this river before we are swept all the way to the sea.”

     The fish gave the frog a quizzical look, wondering if his slimy companion had forgotten of fish’s, err, physical limitations when it came to traveling on land.

     “Oh, right. I forgot that you are lacking in the leg department. Don’t fret my fishy friend.”