Do you remember from your childhood the sound of frogs? Lots of frogs.

Croaking and burping unashamedly in the dark – and sometimes even in the daylight.

It is Bushwhacked’s perception, but quite possibly also the truth, that we don’t hear frogs anywhere near as frequently nor as loud as we used to.

Of course, for me, that’s probably got something to do with the fact that most of my childhood was spent on irrigated dairy farms.

You couldn’t ride your bike down the dirt dairy lane without dodging a couple of the critters.

They were pBushwhacked takes us back to our childhoods this week – and to a particularly evocative childhood noise. with golden blotches.

I can still remember the pungent earthy smell they left on your hands after you’d staged another Great Frog Race on the back lawn.

Life is more urban now and there are less places for frogs to get their things together.

Where once we had channels and open drains and standing water, now we have underground drains, sanitised water services, and no standing water in case the mozzies take over.

But, we moved house a while back and there’s a little creek about 50 metres away which runs probably three or four months a year.

One night this week I was out in the back yard while the dogs pretended to carry out their pre-bed rituals.

And it was as though suddenly my dull old ears were unplugged and the night was positively thick with frog calls.

There were all sorts, from simple croaks  and ribbits to great booming, bouncing noises.

It sounded like childhood and immediately my brain was full of flashes of memory.

Feeling their soft little rubbery feet on the back of your hands.

Feeling the spring-like power of their back legs as they leapt off back into the channel.

Of looking closely into the water and seeing tadpoles and some which had just started growing legs.

Do kids still collect tadpoles in jars? Or marvel as they transform into delicate tiny frogs? I fear not.

There was an ad on TV this week in which parents were encouraged to wipe kitchen floors with anti-bacterial (but disposable) chemical wipes in case the kids had been walking in (gasp) dirt.

Imagine what they’d make of a jar full of little frogs in the kids’ bedroom?

I called Mrs Whacked out into the darkness.

Not for the first time I must admit.

We stood there, listening, and it seemed that as we focused our hearing on their frequencies, they became louder and louder until they almost dominated the night.

Heck, for a moment we could hardly hear the local hoons doing circle work a couple of blocks away.

It turned out Mrs Whacked also had a childhood joyfully filled with frogs, dogs and pets of all description.

She had also pondered on why they’d been so silent in her life.

She started to say something, and I knew exactly what it was, because we’d just had the same idea stream: “You know, what I heard just after dawn this morning? Kookaburras.”

But that’s another story.