On my windowsill at nr. 19, in the back of the upper floor of Mr. Hubbard's watch store there is a stuffed frog. Bright yellow and black and skinnier than any frog or toad you would see in England. How this little hopper came to be there is a quite curious tale. As you may have already realized, the frog is not native to our country and is found exclusively in the Amazon region of South America. Frogs in that part of the world are both more abundant and stranger than any animal you can find in the British Isles. Some of them live high up in trees and are bright green, some have horns on their heads resembling miniature monsters described in Greek mythology.

Early one morning when I was tending to Hubbard's vivarium, a green house containing exotic plants and animals placed where once a small garden had been, I noticed the shuffling form of Mrs. Chanderloin the butcher's wife from next door. As if she was burgling her own abode she snug around making tiny screeching noises. After stooping down a number of times she spotted a small object, which she proceeded to chase towards the back of their garden where there stood a small tool shed that leaned against the back of Hubbard's vivarium. Mrs. Chanderloin despised rodents or any other vermin or animal, all of which she deemed highly disgusting and dangerous to ones health. The butcher's wife kept the store, the living quarters and even the garden meticulously clean. Her garden, having the chaotic nature that nature has, gave her constant grief and her meddling with forces she would never be able to control provided me with endless amusement as if I was watching an epic battle played out on a tiny battlefield. After a couple of minutes an upright Mrs. Chanderloin left the shed and walked back to her domicile, all the while inspecting the arrangement of small outcrops that would soon become sprawling plants once spring had set in.

Not that this behavior I just described seemed strange whatsoever, we were all used to such displays. For now I let the experience go and continued my early chores. Before the plants were properly treated there was first of all the task of finding and identifying the animal life within the glass enclosure. Even though most of them were covered in bright colors, collecting them and feeding them was not a trivial undertaking. Especially since some of them were highly poisonous. For this purpose I put on gloves and glasses every morning to protect me from the exotic dangers lurking within the miniature rain forest. Of all the wildlife present in the enclosure the frogs were the most dangerous. Hubbard once described the effect of touching the skin of a frog called Phyllobates terribilis or poison dart frog. This little creature can kill a grown man simply by touching him. Indian tribes in the Amazon region keep these frogs in a small basket they carry around them on hunting expeditions. When a Tapir or other large animal like a monkey is spotted they take out an arrow and rub the point against the frog's skin, which gives of a sticky mucus containing a poison with the generic name of: Pumiliotoxin. Once the poison enters a target's body it will die within minutes and most of the time sooner than that.

Hubbard had a fascination with these creatures and often proclaimed that a great many cures would be gotten from examining the chemical composition of the frog's slime. I asked him if that had given the poison the name Curare but this was not perceived as funny. "Curare is an alkaloid obtained from plants Jeremy. You should know this by know if any of my lectures had actually sunk in", said Hubbard. I apologized for my crude joke and promised to lookup the details later in the library. The watchmaker kept the animals in the same space as the rest of the flora and fauna, making tending to the installation a dangerous business. One would have to keep the eyes peeled for anything bright blue, red or yellow. Problem was that the plants kept in the green house displayed some of the same colors. These plants did not have that many obvious flowers but instead the leaves gave the same appearance of large multi-colored petals. Some of what I considered to be the flowers were instead traps for insects and small frogs. One of the tasks was to check and clean these large leafy beakers and fish out any animals that had made their way in there during the night. Hubbard also managed to keep a few tree frogs. If you have never seen these animals move around a tree or branch you will not believe what amazing sticking power they possess. Once one of the green tree frogs had managed to jump against one of the glass walls bordering the Chanderloin's, right when Mrs. Chanderloin was pruning one of her many varieties of Orchids. Upon seeing the little creature stuck to the glass she let out such a yelp that her husband dropped half a pig and came running out to see what had disturbed his wife so much.

If it there had not been this mutual love of Orchids, Mrs. Chanderloin would have had the city demolish Hubbard's vivarium on reasons of a danger to the community. Instead the clever clock master had invited the feeble minded women countless times to provide her with elaborate knowledge on Orchids from his library. On these occasions the butcher's wife would sit in one of the fauteuils and listen with her mouth slightly open and a glass of Port clasped between both hands.

Two days after I saw the butcher's wife make those odd maneuvers across the backyard, I found myself on an early morning in the greenhouse trying to find Nigel. Nigel is one of the more nervous Amazon frogs and has a habit of jumping around, sometimes nearly missing my face. Nigel has what could only be called a psychotic disposition and has the illusion he is a tree frog. On some days he would get high into the glass structure and cling from tiny branches, waving dangerously about. This particular morning Nigel could not be found anywhere. I opened every Venus Fly Trap, turned over every large leaf and even shouted 'Nigel!' out loud as if frogs have ears. Now in a slight panic I started spraying the plants with water. If I could not find some of the frogs then watering the plants made them slip from the vines and leafs onto the green house floor. Not even intense watering would make Nigel appear and the dreaded thought occurred that the frog might not be in the enclosure anymore. Just when I had given up hope and was leaning against the trunk of one of the larger trees in the center of the structure I noticed something yellow out of the corner of my eye. Stuck against the glass panel bordering Chanderloin's garden was Nigel now slowly sliding down from all the moisture that had built up. I can not describe what a relief it was to see that tiny animal on that window.

There was something odd about Nigel however and it did not sink in immediately what it was: Nigel was not stuck on our side of the window. With a jump I started for the back entrance and before I reached the door I could just see Nigel leap with a huge jump into the hedge of our neighbor's garden. Luckily the hedge on the far backside of the butcher's was not very high and I could easily climb over it without being noticed. At first I checked the hedge immediately bordering our garden, hoping that the frog had become stuck and was still lodged in there somewhere. Crouched down I inspected the bushes from one side to another with no luck. My search efforts must have been a bit more vigorous than I had wanted because when I reached the end of the hedge closest to the house I found myself staring at an angry butcher and his wife. "What in the bloody world are you doing in my garden Jeremy?", the large man asked. "He is steeling our orchids John!", piped up his wife. "No I'm not !", I shouted back, "I lost something. This won't take long, I promise." "And what exactly are you trying to find?", the butcher asked, still with thunder in his eyes. "It's a frog sir, just a small frog", I answered, trying to downplay the severity of the situation. "It's one of them toads!", yelled Mrs. Chanderloin. "It is not a toad it's a frog", not a very smart thing to say in light of the situation and I made a promise to myself to think before I said something next time. "If you do not find that animal soon I will have to talk with Hubbard about this frog business", came the voice of Mr. Chanderloin. As I was trying to come up with a suitable and soothing answer Mrs. Chanderloin said in a muted voice: "John what is that?" I spun around and saw to my astonishment a small hedgehog trampling across the garden towards the shed with a sprawled out yellow frog on its back. As fast as I could I chased the hog before it could reach the shack and with less than a feet to spare clasped my gloved hands over the yellow target. With one move I removed the frog, stuffed it in my pocket and put the hedgehog down. Trying to be as calm as if nothing had ever happened, I made my way back to the two puzzled people staring at me as if I had just escaped from an insane asylum. "Why were you chasing that poor animal Jeremy?", asked John Chanderloin. "I'm so sorry", I answered, "I mistook the hedgehog for our missing frog." Now that the frog was found I was slowly recovering my wits and realized the two had apparently not seen the frog but just the hedgehog and most likely thought it had some leafs stuck to its back. "Ah there it is", I said as I pointed to a green tree frog stuck to the glass in Hubbard's vivarium, "Sorry to have bothered you. My mistake". "Don't let this happen again Jeremy and better make sure you have those blasted animals locked up in there. Who knows what dangers you and Hubbard have hidden away in that greenhouse!"

With my heart beating a few beats slower I returned to our backyard. Through the windows I could see Mrs. Chanderloin investigating the shed and garden for hedgehogs. "Must have gone outside Miriam", I heard Mr. Chanderloin say. "Don't worry they won't be back". Slowly I reached into my pocked with my gloves still on and pulled out Nigel. No matter how poisonous he may have been he was no match for England's prickly critters. After the jacket was burnt just in case I put Nigel in a little box to show Hubbard. He was not please indeed and started a tirade about how difficult it would be to get another one. "Can I have him stuffed sir?", I asked, "I will make sure the taxidermist won't be killed, I'll make sure he wears gloves and scrubs him first". Ever since Nigel has been sitting my my window looking out over the garden. One day I hope to see frogs like him in the wild. For now Hubbard's green house is where such expeditions will have to take place.