I’m not sure who’s more attached to this stuffed animal: the owner or the owner’s parents. Two years ago when we nearly lost Froggy, Lindsay and I were way more panicked than Silas. He sat and watched — slack-jawed — as his mom and dad tore his home apart like paranoid coke dealers searching for DEA bugs.
We were frantic, not only because of how Silas might react if Froggy went missing, but also because we love that goddamn frog. His aunt got it for him the day he was born and he hasn’t slept a night without it. For the first two years of his life, he clutched it in his armpit like a small purse. I have video of him crying while watching it go around in the washing machine after he puked on it.
There was one rule with Froggy: Never take him out of the house. It was too risky. We thought maybe Silas accidentally brought him along on a stroller ride with our babysitter, and dropped him in a puddle on the corner of 16th st. and 6th avenue. He denied it, and we believed him.
We searched everywhere, including the freezer four times. We looked in our winter boots, the storage unit, the oven. I even looked down my pants. Nothing. It wasn’t long until Lindsay and I felt as if we’d been drugged.
It was time for Silas to go to bed for the first time in his adorably short life without Froggy. Months prior, Lindsay had been smart enough to buy a back-up which we named Frogette, but she didn’t quite look or smell right. She hadn’t been broken in.
Silas got over it quickly and fell asleep clutching Froggy’s clean, fluffy, pampered — and I’m embarrassed to say this about a stuffed animal – annoying twin sister. Her pristine appearance only reminded us of how much Froggy not only looked like he lived beneath an interstate highway overpass, but also how much he was missed.
With Silas in bed, Lindsay and I were still on a mission to find the cloth frog, and thereby reinstate our sense of sanity. We failed, and went to bed.
The next morning Lindsay put up signs around the neighborhood as if we’d lost a cat or an engagement ring, or our bluegrass band was playing at the local Irish Pub. No one called and none of the local stores had seen him.
Two days later, after we’d given up on ever finding the stuffed frog, Lindsay and I had some downtime while Silas was out with his babysitter. We were sitting on the couch, probably watching something like Six Feet Under, but talking about Froggy throughout. I sighed because part of Silas’ youth was gone, and Claire was mixed up with a strange crowd from art school. I slumped down as a physical manifestation of my depression.
Then I saw it: a tiny patch of green fur on top of the cable box. I took a deep breath, and focused my eyes. It could have been a random piece of felt, or even a carpet sample. But there was no mistaking the matted texture and pale green color.
He was right there all that time, but only visible from a slovenly depressed couch dwelling position. It was my destiny to find him. I always knew in my heart that, someday, my terrible posture would provide me with an opportunity to be a hero.
We pulled him out carefully, like baby Jessica from the well. We both smelled him and hugged him and then felt a little embarrassed. Lindsay wept.
When Silas got home, he was excited that we’d found Froggy, but it wasn’t the drop-to-your-knees-I-just-won-a-new-car reaction we were looking for. He knew he hadn’t taken him out of the house, and maybe even remembered stuffing him behind the cable box. Regardless, he knew it was only a matter of time before we found him.
Jesus kid, don’t do that to your mom and dad ever again.