Our son came home with a water-filled baggie. In it sat a tiny water frog.
And I cringed.
In the past, my son's brought home several baggies of water, usually from birthday parties or festivals, usually filled with goldfish. We always run down to the pet store, buy all the regalia that goes with goldfish. Pour in distilled water. Put the fish in. Then it dies. And I have a sad son.
The goldfish bowl gathers dust in the storage room until we give it a good cleaning and decide there's no use keeping it, and donate it. Silly us. We should know better.
So, here we are again. And instead of jinxing ourselves, I didn't buy a goldfish bowl. I pulled out a very lovely glass vase and . . . voila. In went the water. In went the frog. And I knew the countdown had begun.
That was a loooong time ago - as in last August. The frog's still alive and he's still in the vase. Every hour or so, he does acrobatics, zipping around like a super ball. Then he settles in again. He seems to like it because every evening he begins singing - which sounds like a mix of harmonics and a bumble bee buzzing.
How can a little critter make so much noise? The water amplifies it until it resembles a chainsaw. My son can't sleep with him in his room, so every evening, froggy goes out on the kitchen counter, which he also seems to like.
You ever get the feeling that someone is watching you? Well, when we do dinner dishes, it's true.
It's like a minature man standing there. It'd be creepy if he wasn't so cute.
Anyway, the other night, my husband, teenage daughter, and eleven-year-old son were in the kitchen when froggy began singing.
"How'd you like to be a frog?" my husband asked the kids.
"No way," our daughter answered. "It'd be so boring."
"I'd love it," our son said. "I'd get to swim around, get fed, watch everything. It'd be great!"
"No it wouldn't. You'd be dumb," our daughter answered.
"But you wouldn't know it, so you'd be perfectly happy," our son shot back.
She couldn't refute that.
So there you have it. It makes sense. I wonder if the frog thinks the same thing about us?
And I cringed.
In the past, my son's brought home several baggies of water, usually from birthday parties or festivals, usually filled with goldfish. We always run down to the pet store, buy all the regalia that goes with goldfish. Pour in distilled water. Put the fish in. Then it dies. And I have a sad son.
The goldfish bowl gathers dust in the storage room until we give it a good cleaning and decide there's no use keeping it, and donate it. Silly us. We should know better.
So, here we are again. And instead of jinxing ourselves, I didn't buy a goldfish bowl. I pulled out a very lovely glass vase and . . . voila. In went the water. In went the frog. And I knew the countdown had begun.
That was a loooong time ago - as in last August. The frog's still alive and he's still in the vase. Every hour or so, he does acrobatics, zipping around like a super ball. Then he settles in again. He seems to like it because every evening he begins singing - which sounds like a mix of harmonics and a bumble bee buzzing.
How can a little critter make so much noise? The water amplifies it until it resembles a chainsaw. My son can't sleep with him in his room, so every evening, froggy goes out on the kitchen counter, which he also seems to like.
You ever get the feeling that someone is watching you? Well, when we do dinner dishes, it's true.
It's like a minature man standing there. It'd be creepy if he wasn't so cute.
Anyway, the other night, my husband, teenage daughter, and eleven-year-old son were in the kitchen when froggy began singing.
"How'd you like to be a frog?" my husband asked the kids.
"No way," our daughter answered. "It'd be so boring."
"I'd love it," our son said. "I'd get to swim around, get fed, watch everything. It'd be great!"
"No it wouldn't. You'd be dumb," our daughter answered.
"But you wouldn't know it, so you'd be perfectly happy," our son shot back.
She couldn't refute that.
So there you have it. It makes sense. I wonder if the frog thinks the same thing about us?
Hmmm, I'm not sure I'd like to be a frog. I think I'd be too cold. But he seems happy with it. :)
ReplyDeleteI'm with you - I'd rather be smart and warm. But I'm really glad the frog's happy.
ReplyDeleteOhhh. Those frogs creep me out. I used to work in a lab filled with those frogs. They're voracious. They ate everything! They ate each other! Gah.
ReplyDeleteSorry for the confessionary comment.
It's a good thing this frog's a loner, ha ha! Did they sing at the lab?
ReplyDelete