Trust Takes Root

Night after night, as the moon began its slow climb into the velvety sky, Frankie would trot out to the edge of her yard. The air, still warm from the day, carried the sweet scent of dewy grass and the faintest hint of something earthy, something alive. It was the scent of her friend, Frog. He’d be waiting, a small, jade-green statue against the darkening lawn, his big, golden eyes blinking slowly.

Frankie remembered her Daddy Worm’s words, a little knot of worry that would sometimes tighten in her tummy. "Be careful, Frankie-bug," he'd said, his voice soft but serious. "Frogs have… special pee. It can make little dogs go blind, you know." The thought of not being able to see the bright sunshine, or the wobbly way her tail wagged, or the happy smile on Daddy Worm’s face, sent a shiver down her spine. She loved Daddy Worm with all her heart, and she always listened to him. But Frog… Frog was special.

Each evening, Frog would greet her with a gentle “Ribbit?” It was a soft sound, like a whisper in the quiet. Frankie would approach slowly, her little paws making almost no sound on the grass. She’d stop a few feet away, her tail giving a tentative thump-thump against her leg. Frog would watch her, his throat pulsing with each breath. He never hopped closer than she was comfortable with. He never made a sudden move. He just… was.