I really should write about the brouhaha developing at Bishop Estate but, frankly, it's Friday when I'm writing this and I don't have the energy. Those bufos really know how to hop
It takes a lot of energy to write anything about Bishop Estate, especially anything even vaguely controversial. You have to gird yourself for the inevitable call from Elisa Yadao, the giant charity's public affairs person. I like Elisa. Sometimes I almost feel sorry for her being the official flack for five different high-paid bosses. Then I think of how much money she must be raking in and I get over it.
The latest pilikia apparently involves trustee Lokelani Lindsey's "micro-management" of Kamehameha Schools. It sounds juicy. But it's Friday. So, sorry, Elisa, I'll get back to you on this.
What I really wanted to write about today are bufos. Granted, they aren't nearly as controversial or highly-paid as Bishop Estate trustees. But they are out en masse this time of year, bufos are.
I came across vast numbers of them recently at the Bayview Golf Course. Most of the golf course was underwater due to rain. This is bad for golfers but great for bufos.
The peculiar thing about these bufos was the way they were paired up. My golfing buddies and I came across a pond that had formed in the middle of a fairway containing a considerable number of them. On the back of each large bufo was a small bufo. I mean there was not a solitary large bufo without a corresponding smaller one on its back.
We assumed that the smaller bufo was the offspring of the large one, being carted about by their mothers the way various species do. Kangaroos carry their young in pouches. Baby koala cling to their mommies' necks. And so on.
THEN one of my golfer buddies remarked that, say, don't frogs usually lay lots of eggs? And don't those eggs generally hatch into lots of polliwogs? And don't those tadpoles lose their tails, grow feet and become little frogs? And if that is true, wouldn't each mother bufo have simply heaps of offspring?
My golfing buddies and I aren't idiots, you know. We all graduated from college. But sometimes, your brain just isn't working at its highest RPMs.
So one of my golfing buddies whose brain was working a little better than the rest asked, "How does the mother bufo pick which baby bufo she's going to let ride around on her back? I mean, do they take turns? Or does she have a favorite?"
This question sort of opened the door for us, Marlin Perkin-wise. It suddenly became clear that it would not make sense for a mother bufo to pick just one child from her litter to allow to ride on her back. No, our original thesis must be wrong. These weren't young froggies riding happily on the backs of their mommies. These had to be, ergo, other frogs riding on the backs of larger bufos. Between the four of us, we decided that the riders were, most likely, male frogs. And so, it didn't take a great leap of deduction to figure out that the male frogs simply weren't along for the ride, so to speak, but had an ulterior motive.
Suddenly, the entire vista of bufos took on a different meaning. These bufos were, basically, "doing it." They were doing it all over the place.
We stood around one particular couple, holding our 9-irons, marveling at the single-minded purpose of the bufos. A large female might hop or jump through the water or around the trees and the male bufo simply stayed aboard. I'm no naturalist, but I have to say, it really looked like great fun.
So, that's it. I know, it's not as interesting as an expose on Bishop Estate. But I figured a few of you might like hearing about bufos romping on a golf course. Elisa, feel free to call anyway.