I had a whole bunch of photos and an entire page of scrawled notes that I was going to put together into a most excellent and hilarious post on the birth of a frog.
Plus, he was breathing air.
He was flaunting his frogness to his tank buddy.
Then he moved into his cave.
So we fed him.
But, you guys, I have sad news. There is no easy way to say this. I came downstairs this morning and excitedly looked in the tank to see what our new friend was doing.
He was upside down on the bottom of the tank, arms and legs outstretched. It was horrible. Alex vigorously tapped on the side of the tank as if he were merely sleeping in an odd position. If you want to know how bad I feel about the poor little frog, you should notice that I didn’t take a photo. That should tell you something.
I have no idea what happened to him. Did he drown? Did he choke on his cricket? Did the stress from yesterday’s tank cleaning/feeding/photo shoot do him in?
Is it my fault?
Sam took it pretty hard. Jack and Quinn were more curious. Alex stepped up big time and used a slotted spoon to carry him to the toilet for his burial ceremony.
Of course, Alex then watched me decide to throw our newly purchased crickets away too, only to say, “Oh, so we’re going to escalate it to mass murder, huh?”
And yeah, I feel bad about the crickets too, but it’s not like I could release them into the frigid winter air and tell them to be free.
I tell ya’, the first half hour of my morning was a pretty serious drag and had a high body count.