Hog Frog Callin’

Somebody…Anybody…call PETA


I have to admit that I do some pretty strange stuff every now and then, but people that know me in person already know that. I guess that I’m finally prepared to admit it here on the blog this morning.

Take animals, for instance.

I like to mess with their minds because, quite simply, it is so much fun.

Mental torture that leaves no scars, so to speak...and all of you perverts out there can go ahead and get your own minds out of the gutter because this is an intellectual discussion…keep your personal passions to yourself, if you will.

As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up back in the day when my grandfather still had a functioning single family farm—300 plus acres—down in lower Alabama.

Smoke house, corn crib, chicken yard, hay barn, cane mill, pecan orchard, functioning windmill, and all of the accoutrements, situated on a one and one half mile long dirt road that ran through the property with NO Neighbors.

A young southern boy’s ultimate playground, if I do say so myself.

I sincerely hate it that most kids today will never experience the freedom of spending summers running around on foot, BB gun in hand, all day long with dogs and chickens and cows and pigs and God knows what else wild game, and never being able to leave the family property because of the expanse of land we owned around us.

All that you needed to know was where the boss rooster was and which pasture the Bull was in, and everything else was a piece of cake as long as you watched out and didn’t “get on a rattlesnake” and stayed out of the beds of poison ivy.

In the ensuing years my time on the farm has been limited mostly to short visits with my mother and to help maintain our share of the homestead dating from the 1820’s, but I learned lessons in those early days about how to enjoy animals without having to actually kill, skin, gut and eat them that serve me well—even here on our little island.

The first lesson is that of silence, and listening.

Let the animals tell you of their presence by the sounds that they make. If you just go stumbling and clomping around everywhere with your I-pod and cell phone shoved in your ear, all you’ll end up doing is scraping bird poo off of your windshield while never seeing the culprit.

The next lesson learned in the woods when stalking animals (with camera or a gun) is to understand their behavior and learn how to make them come to you.

Now I’m not one to like to douse my ankles with “doe in heat” urine and crap like that, but I’ve learned to make certain noises that will make animals react to my presence by “answering” noises that I intentionally make.

The hunters out there know what I mean.

For instance, a big stud gobbler turkey will do what is called a “shock call” when he hears an unexpected noise in his territory. Things as simple as slamming the door of a pickup truck can sometimes elicit this response.

I’ve never actually bagged a wild turkey, but it is the only animal on the planet (other than a robber or burglar threatening my life or that of those around me) that I’m still interested in actually killing, so I’ve perfected my own vocal owl call and I can use what’s called a “box call” pretty well to imitate a pretty little turkey hen chirping.

I just may do a wild turkey hunt down here on Cumberland Island in the next couple of years, but don't worry...because the turkey will most definitely be EATEN by me rather than dieing of old age or starving because the wild boars ate all the acorns that year.

The funny thing is that I never expected is to use the Turkey box call technique to actually call frogs.

Tree Frogs, that is.

OK...Now you REALLY think that I’m weird…RIGHT?

Seriously, during my evening expeditions to our swimming pool, I’ve taken to imitating the tree frogs' natural calls and mating squeeks by rubbing my wet thumb on a “pool noodle”—you know…those long, hollow, colored tubes made of foam rubber that are supposed to be used as a float.

If you'll stay really still, once you get the position on the “pool noodle” right, you can imitate the calls of the local stud male frogs.

I can actually make three or four little green amphibians come hopping up near me in a half hour.

The boys are angry and defensive of their prospective territory, and the girls are…well, shall we say…interested.

I caused quite a stir out there this morning as the sun was rising.

Please excuse me now, but I have to go smoke a cigarette.