Frog Blog

As of yesterday the boys have a pet frog. Or toad. No one really knows for sure – it’s like trying to tell the difference between a pet crocodile and pet alligator. Fortunately we don’t have one of those. But only because it’s frogs not alligators that lurk in our backyard.

It’s actually a pretty substantial frog. I’ve seen tiny ones hopping around but this guy is about the size of a racquetball. They set up a whole terrarium with dirt, mud, water, and moss. So it’s a pretty nice condo that would fetch a fortune on the Upper East Side.

They’ve named it Clem after our late fish (the one that bought the farm — or fish tank as the case may be — on the 4th of July this year). Not the most original name but, hey, at least they didn’t name it after me.

What does it eat you ask? So did they. As if I regularly go out and frolic with frogs. Luckily they knew where to go for the answer. The same place they go whenever dad has no clue about things like why the sky is blue: to Google. Apparently either frogs or toads eat worms. And since they didn’t know which one it was they thought of a good way to find out. Stick a worm in there and see if it ate it. If it did it was a toad (or frog). And if it didn’t it would be a hungry frog (or toad).

So not only did I find a worm for them last night, I was elected to feed Clem breakfast this morning. It’s not good to start your day by picking up a squirmy worm before your morning cup of coffee. But that was the extent of my morning devotion today. The sacrificial worm was fed to the gods to appease the deity in the terrarium. At least that’s the way it felt.

We’ll see if Clem (or Clemmy as Zack calls it to distinguish it from the late fish) makes it to St. Francis day. I may have to set him free.


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