The soldier and I were reminiscing over some of the people we knew when we were kids.   He has one friend who got out of the military and stayed in the desert, they have remained friends over the years. This guy has been to my blog and we are planning to visit him eventually.

“Yeah, I always liked him even though he’s a Yankee,” the soldier said.  “Damned Yankee. So one time I told him, yeah in the south we like to have frog races. Frog races, he said.  He was all interested.  Said he’d like to have to a frog race so I told him, okay, I’ll bring the frogs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so you know all those dried frogs you see lying around?”

“God, yes.”

It only rains for about 30 days a year in the desert, it’s called the monsoon season. During this time there are these huge noisy, poisonous- to dogs, toads everywhere. I mean you see them by the hundreds and the noise they make in numbers is supernatural.

But then the rain quits, everything dries up including the frogs whose bodies are left lying all over the place…

“Well I got a couple of them, brought them on the base. I showed up at the race, pulled them from my pocket, set them on the ground right next to each other and started yelling, Go! Go! Go!”

I roared.

“Yeah, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t to figure it out.”

I snorted. “You have been a bastard awhile, haven’t you?”

“Yes, P. Yes I have.”

And the astrology?

Well this is how those comfortable with death, (8th house etc.) play.