Friday night, I walked my dogs. We ventured off road, guided by moonlight, through the woods, down the gravel path, to the sump near our house. The dew chilled my naked toes and I was glad for the last second decision to wear a fleece. The dogs sniffed the ground and pulled their leashes with inappropriate urgency on this cool and quite night. The killer instinct is hard to quell in these poodles. Perhaps they'd caught the sent of a fox, a raccoon, a rabbit, or some vile neighborhood cat unleashed and on the prowl. There by the sump, little traffic noise disrupted the night. As I walked I listened to a single spring peeper and three or four bull frogs calling. The desperate male frogs, hoping for a female, calling slowly out into the pale darkness "I...Know...its...cold...but...just..in...case...you're... there...wo...man...I...am...willing...and...able to...fer...til...ize...your...eggs."