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I almost missed him.
Reee-deeep, reee-deep

I do not taste like chicken.

There he was, cleverly disguised as mud and greenery in the pond.  He sat very still for me.  I’d like to think he was posing but, in reality, I’m sure he was merely hoping he would not become something I was going to sautee that evening with a little wine and butter. 

“I do NOT taste like chicken, I do NOT taste like chicken…”  I could feel the subconscious messages being willed my way.

I found myself a little jealous.  Never a weekday passes that, at some point, I am not wishing I could blend into the woodwork, unnoticed by those around me.  Oddly enough, my job finds me standing in front of some two hundred plus of my staff members, speaking at a podium to all.  Being interviewed for a newspaper article, usually when something really bad has happened.  Standing in front of the government officials, asking for additional allocation dollars. 

And then there is that red light on my phone that never seems to extinguish, always reminding me that someone needs to speak with me.  Urgently.  Now.  Or else.  So silly and strange of a job, for someone as shy as I.

Of course, unlike the frog, being discovered in my camoflauge doesn’t usually mean something might try to devour me–not literally, anyway.  Still, I had the urge for a split moment to crawl into the cool mud of the pond—but I left my amphibious little friend be to enjoy the sparkle of the sun and a few wayward flies that might stray on to his sticky tongue.

Maybe another day.

 

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