Maybe the frog knew it was going to rain. Maybe the persistent dry heat had finally driven it from its slowly desiccating shelter in a desperate attempt to find moisture elsewhere. Maybe I’d disturbed it from the long grass as I pegged out the washing. Whatever, suddenly there it was, hopping sedately up the lawn.

Frogs always cause a hullabaloo in our garden and this one was soon surrounded by curious children, wondering where it had come from, and what they were to do about it. Leave it alone, I stressed. So long as the cats did not see it, it would find its own way back to some suitable shelter.

Despite our pond housing a successful smooth newt colony, we have never had frogs breeding in it. They do climb into the water, and one year we had a ragged ball of spawn, but it quickly disintegrated into an opaque white mess, and no tadpoles ever resulted. We often see frogs of various sizes, under flower pots, behind the compost bins, or hopping about in the more unkempt bits of the flower beds, so they must be breeding somewhere close by.

It slowly made its way up the garden, and eventually disappeared under the dahlias. It did, however, stop briefly by Buster, peaking out of the guinea-pig run, and gave us the perfect opportunity for the Gardeners’ World blog wildlife caption competition. How about…

Buster: “Get me out of here.”

Frog: “No, let me in, there are cats out here.”

What do you think?