The Spy Who Croaked (Excerpt)
“My name is Pond,” said the frog. “James Pond.”

Not that I wasn’t used to all the talking animals round Sale Lake. The whole neighborhood was. It’s amazing what you can get used to, when it happens right in your neighborhood. But where a frog comes up with a line like that, I ain’t got the foggiest. Might hear something like that from somebody’s pet, maybe, but I can’t see some runna-the-muck ‘phibian spending much time front of the TV.

Mostly the critters by the lake got narrow concerns. They got pretty narrow lives, if you think about it. First one ever spoke to me was a blue heron, and all she wanted was me outta the way of her afternoon fishing. “Go find your own spot,” she hissed, and I just about jumped outta my skin. Shouldn’t have. Spreading Sentience Syndrome was all over the news by then, and Big Joe next door’d told me the squirrels was cussing him out these days. I told Big Joe, when ain’t squirrels cussing at you, huh? But I knew what he meant. Still, it’s a whole ‘nother thing the first time you hear it for yourself.
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This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for September 11, 2015. Patrons can download the full-length fictionette (1030 words) in PDF or MP3 format depending on their pledge tier.

Cover art incorporates original photography taken by the author, who is very good and does not ride her bicycle along the nature path.