Deep in the heart of an ancient forest, where the trees whispered secrets to the wind, lay a pond known as Willow Creek. It was a magical place, lined with soft moss and dotted with lily pads that looked like green velvet plates. The water was so clear you could see the pebbles at the bottom, polished smooth by the current.
Living here was a large community of frogs. They were a happy bunch, spending their mornings catching delicious flies and their evenings singing a croaking chorus that echoed through the trees. Among them lived a family led by a wise, old frog named Barnaby. Barnaby was known for his speckled green back and the wisdom in his golden eyes.
But Barnaby had a grandson named Tibbit. Tibbit was small, even for a frog. While his siblings were strong swimmers and high jumpers, Tibbit often struggled to keep up. He hated being small. He hated how the dragonflies zoomed past him and how the tall cattails blocked his view. Tibbit didn’t want to be a small frog; he wanted to be a giant. He wanted the forest to shake when he hopped.
One particularly humid afternoon, the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and honeysuckle. The frogs were napping in the shade of a large fern. Suddenly, the peaceful silence was broken.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
At first, it felt like a gentle vibration, a hum in the water. But soon, the ripples grew larger, slapping against the banks. The lily pads began to bob violently.
“Earthquake!” cried a young frog.
“Hide!” shouted another.
The frogs scrambled for the mud. Tibbit, however, was curious. He hid behind a thick reed, peeking out with one bulging eye. From the dense thicket of the forest, a colossal creature emerged.
It was an Ox. This beast was a monster of size, with a coat the color of dried autumn leaves. His hooves were as large as dinner plates, and when he stepped, the ground sank. He lowered his massive head to drink, and as he did, his shadow stretched out over the entire pond, turning day into twilight.
Tibbit trembled. He had never seen anything so powerful. The Ox drank for a long time, the water loud as it rushed down his throat. Then, with a snort that blew dust into the air, the Ox turned and plodded back into the woods, the ground shaking with every step.
When the sunlight returned and the ripples settled, the frogs slowly emerged from the mud. They looked at one another, wide-eyed.
“Did you see those horns?” whispered one. “I thought the sky was falling,” said another.
Old Barnaby hopped onto a large rock to calm his family. “It was only an Ox, my little ones,” he said soothingly. “He is a giant of the land, and we are creatures of the water. He meant us no harm; he was only thirsty.”
Tibbit, feeling the need to prove his bravery, puffed out his chest slightly. “Hmph,” he scoffed. “He wasn’t that big.”
The pond went silent. Every frog turned to look at Tibbit.
“Not that big?” Barnaby asked, one eyebrow raised. “Tibbit, that creature was a thousand times our size. If he had stepped on us, we would be gone.”
“He was big,” Tibbit admitted, crossing his arms, “but not huge. He wasn’t a monster. Actually, I bet I could be just as big as him.”
A few of the younger frogs giggled, but Tibbit ignored them. He felt a spark of determination in his chest. He was tired of being the smallest. He wanted to show them all.
“Watch this,” Tibbit announced.
He planted his webbed feet firmly on the mud. He took a deep breath, swallowing air until his belly rounded out like a tiny balloon. He stretched his skin as far as it would go. He looked like a ripe grape.
“There!” Tibbit grunted, his voice sounding squeaky. “Am I as big as the Ox now?”
” no, Tibbit,” laughed his sister. “You are just a fat little frog. You aren’t even as big as a turtle.”
Tibbit was annoyed. He let the air out and tried again. This time, he sucked in air until he thought his lungs might burst. His sides bulged, his legs stuck out awkwardly, and his eyes looked like tiny beads on a melon.
“How about now?” he wheezed. ” surely I am bigger than the Ox!”
Barnaby swam over, his face full of concern. “Tibbit, please stop,” he said gently. “You are a frog. You are built to leap and swim and hide. You are not built to be an Ox. Why do you wish to be something you are not?”
“Because everyone respects the Ox!” Tibbit shouted, his face turning red. “No one respects the tiny frog! I will be the king of the pond! I will be the biggest thing in the forest!”
Tibbit refused to listen to reason. He had a vision in his mind of himself towering over the cattails, casting a shadow like the Ox. He wanted that power.
He glared at his family, his eyes bulging with effort. “You just wait. I will show you!”
He inhaled again. Whoosh.
His skin grew tight, shiny and thin. It made a creaking sound, like old leather stretching. He was now twice the size of any normal frog. He looked grotesque and uncomfortable, his mouth stuck open in a permanent gasp.
“Am I big yet?” he struggled to say.
“You are very large, Tibbit,” said Barnaby, his voice trembling with fear now. “You are the biggest frog I have ever seen. Please, child, stop. You are frightening us.”
“Not… big… enough!” Tibbit gasped.
He could feel the pressure building inside him. It hurt. His ribs ached, and his skin felt like it might tear. But the image of the giant Ox danced in his head. He couldn’t quit now. If he quit, he would just be small Tibbit again. If he won, he would be a legend.
With one final, desperate surge of effort, Tibbit gulped down the biggest breath of air his body could handle. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed.
He swelled wider and wider. He eclipsed the lily pad he stood on. He became a taut, round sphere, barely recognizable as a frog.
“Tibbit, stop!” screamed his mother. “You will hurt yourself!”
But it was too late. Tibbit’s skin had reached its limit. It could stretch no further. There was a sound like a sudden snap of a rubber band, loud and sharp in the quiet forest.
POP!
The air rushed out all at once. Poor Tibbit had puffed himself up so much trying to be the giant that he wasn’t, that he burst right there on the bank.
The pond fell into a mournful silence. The dragonflies stopped buzzing. The wind died down.
The other frogs gathered around, their hearts heavy with sadness. There was nothing left but the memory of their brother.
Old Barnaby looked at the ripples settling in the water where Tibbit had been. He turned to the gathered family, his voice low and thick with grief.
“My children,” Barnaby croaked softly. “Look at what happens when we envy others. Tibbit was a perfect frog. He could swim faster than any of us when he tried, and he had a heart that was brave. But he could not see his own worth because he was too busy looking at the Ox.”
The frogs bowed their heads.
“We must learn from this,” Barnaby continued. “Do not destroy yourself trying to be what you are not. Be the best frog you can be. Leap high, sing loud, and be proud of the smallness that makes you quick and free.”
From that day on, the frogs of Willow Creek never boasted about being giants. They enjoyed their swims, they cherished their speed, and they lived happily, content to be exactly who they were meant to be.