Frog Stories for Kids

Freddie the frog had been looking at the far side of the pond for his whole life. Every other frog crossed easily, jumping from lily pad to lily pad in a chain that reached all the way across. The pads were spaced about a frog-length apart. Freddie had never made it past the seventh pad. It wasn't that his legs were short. Actually they were quite springy. It was the seventh pad. Pad seven had a slight tilt to it and every time Freddie landed on it, something in his brain said "too wobbly" and made him jump back the way he'd come. All summer the other frogs went back and forth. Freddie stayed on his side. One afternoon old Greta the frog came to sit beside him. "Tell me about the seventh pad," she said. Freddie explained the wobble. "It wobbles a tiny bit," Greta agreed. "But it holds. I've been crossing on it for years." "I know it holds," Freddie said. "I just can't make myself stay on it." Greta was quiet. Then: "What if you don't stop on it? What if the seventh pad is just a midair point? Jump seven and immediately jump eight." Freddie stared at her. "Don't land and think. Just go." He stood at the edge for three minutes. Then he jumped. One two three four five six seven-eight nine ten, and there he was, on the far side of the pond, leaves and mud and a completely new view under his feet. He turned and looked back at the pond from the other side. Greta was there on her lily pad, watching. Freddie made the biggest frog sound he'd ever made. Something between a croak and a shout. He'd been afraid. He'd done it anyway. The pond would never look the same.

When it rained, all the other animals went inside. The rabbits tucked into their burrows. The birds went under leaves. The squirrels wedged themselves into their hollow trees. Ribbit the frog went outside. She hopped to the middle of the meadow and sat in the rain with her mouth slightly open, catching drops. Rain was the best thing. It made the mud soft and the ground smell extraordinary. It filled the puddles and refilled the pond. It made all the insects come out when it finished, so post-rain was also excellent. And the rain itself, landing on her skin, was just wonderful. One rainy day a small hedgehog was stuck at the edge of the meadow, curled up unhappily under a dock leaf, waiting for it to stop. "You could come into the rain," Ribbit said. "I could not," said the hedgehog. "It's actually very good." "I am not a frog," the hedgehog said. "You'd dry," Ribbit said reasonably. There was a long pause. Then the hedgehog uncurled and took one step into the rain. It stopped dead. Rain on spines feels very unusual. "It sounds like popcorn," the hedgehog said. "Doesn't it?" Ribbit agreed. The hedgehog took another step. Then another. They sat in the rain together for twenty minutes. The hedgehog found, somewhat to its own surprise, that rain on spines was actually quite a pleasant sensation, like a very thorough back pat. "How do you find good things in everything?" the hedgehog asked. "I look for them," Ribbit said simply. "They're usually there." The hedgehog came back in the next rain, without being asked.

Percy the young frog had set out to visit his cousin at the Blue Pond. He'd been given directions: "Go straight toward the tall pine, then right at the mossy log, then left at the yellow flowers." He went straight toward the tall pine. He went right at the mossy log. He went left at what he was quite sure were yellow flowers, though they were possibly more orange. He arrived at a pond. It was not the Blue Pond. It was a brown, weedy pond that smelled of mud in a completely different way from any pond he recognized. Percy sat on the bank and looked at the unfamiliar pond. He could try going back the way he'd come. He wasn't certain he remembered all the turnings. He could sit here and wait. For what, he wasn't sure. Or he could ask. A large turtle was sitting on a log near the bank, appearing to be in no hurry to go anywhere. "Excuse me," Percy said. "I'm looking for the Blue Pond." The turtle turned its head slowly. "Blue Pond is three meadows east. You went past the Yellow Flower crossing and turned too soon. The yellow flowers for Blue Pond come after the split oak, not before." Percy hadn't seen any split oak. He said so. "Then you went a little further than you thought before the mossy log," the turtle said. "Go back to the orange flowers. Continue north past the actual yellow flowers, which are a bright clear yellow. Then turn left." Percy thanked the turtle. He found the split oak, then the yellow flowers (the turtle was right: distinctly brighter yellow), then turned left, and found the Blue Pond in about twenty minutes. His cousin was already waiting. "You're late," she said. "I went to the wrong pond," Percy said. "How did you find the right one?" "I asked," Percy said, as if it were obvious. "Good," said his cousin. "Come in, the water's lovely."

Pip the frog lived alone on the far side of the pond. It was a perfectly good side, with soft mud and tall reeds and a wonderful view of the sunset. But it was far from the group of frogs who lived on the near side, and Pip was too shy to cross over and introduce herself. She spent a lot of time watching the other frogs from her lily pad. One morning she found a leaf floating near her. On it was a smear of mud in what looked, possibly, like a face. Either that or a cloud. She couldn't be sure. She kept it. A few days later, another leaf with a mud mark. This one was clearer: something round with legs. A frog shape. She looked across the pond. A small green frog on the far side waved one leg. Pip waved back. The leaves kept coming. Sometimes they had pictures. Sometimes they had things placed on them, a single water flower, a shiny beetle wing, a particularly beautiful green pebble. Pip started sending leaves back. She put small things on them too, whatever she found near her side of the pond that seemed worth sharing. This went on for a month. Then the small green frog sent a leaf with a very clear message, drawn in careful mud marks: an arrow pointing across the pond, and what was very clearly a question mark. Pip looked at the leaf for a long time. She crossed the pond. The small green frog was waiting on the near bank. His name was Bud and he'd been watching her with curiosity for months and hadn't known how to say hello any other way. "The pebble you sent last week," he said. "Where did you find it?" Pip smiled. "I'll show you."

Every frog at the pond sang the same way: ribbit ribbit ribbit. Loud and rhythmic and reliable, the sound of frogs at night. Mara sang differently. Her song had seven notes and went up and down like a little tune. When she started singing at night, the other frogs stopped and looked at her. "That's not how frogs sing," said one. "It's how I sing," said Mara. There was an awkward silence, and then the others went back to their ribbits. Mara kept her song to herself for the rest of the summer. She sang it very quietly when no one was around, mostly during the day when the pond was empty. One autumn night, a human family came to camp near the pond. Mara heard them from her lily pad: parents and three small children, cooking food over a small fire. The children were having trouble sleeping. The smallest one was crying. Mara thought for a moment. Then she sang her seven-note song, softly, into the night. The camp went quiet. Then the smallest child said, very clearly: "Mama, the frog is singing." Mara sang it again. Then again. By the fourth time, the camp was quiet in a different way, the settled, warm quiet of people who were almost asleep. The other frogs had heard all of this. One came to sit beside Mara. "That was beautiful," he said. "I didn't know frogs could do that." "I'm not sure they usually can," Mara said. "But I can." "Don't stop," he said. She didn't. Her seven-note song became the last sound of the pond on summer nights, and those who heard it said it was the best part of being near the water.

"Toby, come swim with us!" called Len. Toby shook his head. He sat on the warm mud by the pond. "I do not like deep water," he said. "It is not deep," said Len. "It is just the pond." Toby looked at the water. It looked dark and wide. "My legs are small," said Toby. "I will sink." Len laughed. "Frogs do not sink. Frogs float." A big wind came. It blew a leaf into the water. The leaf floated far out. "Oh no!" said Len. "That is my lunch. It was on that leaf." The leaf drifted to the middle of the pond. Toby looked at Len. Len looked sad. "I can get it for you," said Toby. But his voice was small. "You are scared," said Len. "That is okay." Toby took a slow breath. "Maybe I can try," he said. He put one foot in the water. Then the other. "It is not so cold," he said. He kicked a little. He did not sink. "I am floating!" said Toby. He kicked more. He swam to the leaf. He pushed the leaf back with his nose. "Here, Len," said Toby. "Your lunch is back." Len smiled big. "You did it! You swam to the deep!" Toby smiled too. "The deep is not so scary. It is just water. And I can swim." That night Toby told his mom. "I was brave today," he said. "How?" asked his mom. "I tried the deep water," said Toby. "I was scared. But I tried. And I floated." His mom hugged him. "That is brave. Brave is not no fear. Brave is trying when you feel fear."

Momo hopped through the grass. She saw a big green leaf on the ground. "This leaf is huge!" she said. "It will keep the sun off me all day." She sat under it. It was cool and nice. Then Pip came by. "That is a big leaf," said Pip. "May I sit under it too?" Momo looked at the leaf. It was big. But she did not want to move. "It is my leaf," said Momo. "I found it." Pip looked down. "Okay," he said. He hopped away. Then Nip came by. "Wow, a big leaf!" said Nip. "The sun is so hot. May I stand in the shade?" "It is my leaf," said Momo again. "Go find your own." Nip sighed and hopped away. Momo sat alone. It was cool. But it was quiet too. She looked around. Pip sat in the hot sun. Nip sat in the hot sun. Momo looked at her leaf. It was very big. It was big enough for three frogs. "Pip! Nip!" she called. "Come here!" They hopped over slowly. "What?" said Pip. "My leaf is big," said Momo. "It is big enough for all of us. Come sit." Pip smiled. Nip smiled. They sat under the leaf together. "This is much nicer," said Momo. "Yes," said Pip. "Shade is better with friends." "You were right to share," said Nip. "A big leaf is best when it is shared." Momo smiled. "I am glad you are here. The leaf was nice alone. But it is nicer with you."

Pip sat by the dry pond. The mud was cracked. "I want rain now," he said. "I want to swim." His grandpa sat next to him. "Rain will come, Pip." "But when?" asked Pip. "My legs want to kick." "Waiting is hard," said Grandpa. "But rain has its own time." Pip could not sit still. He tapped his feet. "I will not wait!" he said. "I will find water!" He hopped to the well. A frog sat on the edge. "Is there water?" asked Pip. "A little," said the frog. "Not enough to swim in." Pip hopped to a puddle. A bug stood by it. "Is there water?" asked Pip. The bug shook its head. "It dried up at noon." "There is no water," said Pip. His legs felt heavy. Pip hopped home. His feet were dusty. "No water anywhere," he said to Grandpa. Grandpa smiled. "Sit with me. Let us watch the sky." "But I am tired of waiting," said Pip. "Waiting is not doing nothing," said Grandpa. "Watch how the clouds get dark. That is the rain getting ready." So Pip sat. He watched the sky. It was gray. A small drop fell on his nose. "A drop!" said Pip. "I felt a drop!" Then two drops. Then ten. The rain came down. It filled the pond fast. "Look!" said Pip. "The pond is full!" "Yes," said Grandpa. "You waited. And the rain came." Pip jumped in the water. It was cool and deep. "I am glad I waited," he said. "Good things come to frogs who wait."

Rob sat on a rock. He saw a fat fly land near him. He snapped it up fast. Yum. Then Kim came hopping over. "Rob, did you see a fly?" asked Kim. "A fat one. It was my snack. I set it down for one minute." Rob's mouth was full. He chewed slowly. "Um," said Rob. "No. I did not see any fly." Kim looked around. "It was right here. Maybe it flew away." "Yes," said Rob. "Flies fly away. That is what flies do." Kim hopped off, looking sad. Rob sat on his rock. His tummy was full. But his heart felt heavy. He looked at Kim. Kim was digging under leaves. "What are you doing?" called Rob. "Looking for my fly," said Kim. "I am so hungry." Rob felt worse. He hopped over. "Kim," he said. "I have to tell you something." "What is it?" asked Kim. "I saw the fly," said Rob. "I ate it. I am sorry. I was hungry and I took it." Kim stopped. She looked at Rob. "You ate my fly?" she said. "Yes," said Rob. "I told a lie. I said I did not see it. That was wrong." Kim was quiet. Then she said, "Thank you for telling the truth." "You are not mad?" asked Rob. "I was mad," said Kim. "But you told me the truth. That is brave. Next time, just ask me. We can share." Rob nodded. "I will find you a new fly. Right now." He hopped off. Soon he came back with a fat fly. "Here," he said. "For you." Kim smiled. "Thank you, Rob. Friends tell the truth."

Tim the tadpole watched the frogs sing. "Ribbit! Ribbit!" they sang. Tim tried. "Squeak!" came out. The frogs laughed. "That is not a frog song," said one. Tim felt small. He swam away. "I wish I could sing like them," he said. An old frog swam near him. "Why the long face?" she asked. "I squeak," said Tim. "I do not ribbit. I do not fit in." The old frog smiled. "You are a tadpole, not a frog yet." "What does that mean?" asked Tim. "Watch your tail," she said. "Do you still have it?" Tim looked. "Yes. But it is shorter than before." "Your legs are growing," she said. "Soon you will be a frog. Then you will ribbit." "But I want to fit in now," said Tim. "You fit in as you are," said the old frog. "Every frog was a tadpole once. We all squeaked once." "We did?" asked Tim. "Yes," she said. "Squeak loud and proud. It is your song for now." "Will my squeak ever turn into a ribbit?" asked Tim. "One day," she said. "When your legs grow, your song grows too." So Tim swam up. He squeaked loud and proud. "Squeak!" he sang. The frogs turned. They did not laugh now. "Good squeak!" said one. "I remember when I squeaked like that." "Me too!" said another. Tim smiled. He liked his squeak. Days went by. Tim's tail got smaller. His legs got strong. One morning he opened his mouth. "Ribbit!" he sang. The frogs clapped. Tim smiled. He was a frog now. But he still loved his old squeak. It was his first song.

Bo and Jo both wanted the best rock in the pond. "I saw it first!" said Bo. "No, I did!" said Jo. They both hopped to the big flat rock. It sat in the warm sun. "I want the sunny side," said Bo. "So do I," said Jo. They pushed and pushed. Neither one would move. "This rock is mine," said Bo. "No, it is mine," said Jo. A turtle swam by. "Why do you fight?" he asked. "We both want the same rock," said Bo. "It is the best rock," said Jo. The turtle looked at the rock. "It is a big rock. There is room for two." "Fighting will not warm you up," said the turtle. "The sun warms the rock for everyone." Bo looked at Jo. Jo looked at Bo. "He is right," said Bo. "The rock is wide." "We could sit side by side," said Jo. So Bo sat on one side. Jo sat on the other side. The sun was warm. The rock was flat. "This is nice," said Bo. "Yes," said Jo. "The sun feels good." A fly buzzed by. Bo snapped at it. He missed. "Here, I will help," said Jo. She snapped and caught it. She gave half to Bo. "We can share," she said. Bo smiled. "You know what?" he said. "A rock is better with a friend on it." Jo smiled. "And flies taste better when you share them." They sat on the rock all day. Two frogs. One rock. No more fights.

Dot the frog saw a new frog by the reeds. The new frog sat alone. He looked at his feet. Dot hopped over. "Hello!" she said. The new frog looked up. "Oh. Hello." "My name is Dot," she said. "What is yours?" "Nick," said the frog. "I just moved here." "Welcome, Nick!" said Dot. "This is a nice pond." Nick looked at the other frogs. They were all playing. "It is a big pond," said Nick. "I do not know anyone." "That is okay," said Dot. "Now you know me. Come, I will show you around." Dot showed Nick the big lily pads. "This is where we nap," she said. She showed him the mud bank. "This is where we catch bugs," she said. She showed him the log. "This is where we sing at night," she said. Nick smiled a little. "See that rock?" said Dot. "That is the best spot to watch the sun set." "I like this pond already," said Nick. "Come meet my friends," said Dot. She took Nick to the other frogs. "Everyone, this is Nick," said Dot. "He is new. Be nice to him." The frogs hopped over. "Hi, Nick!" they all said. "Want to catch bugs with us?" asked one. "Want to sing with us later?" asked another. Nick's face lit up. "Yes! Yes to both!" Nick turned to Dot. "Thank you," he said. "You said hello first. That meant so much." Dot smiled. "A kind hello is how new friends start," she said.