It all began this day last summer. Six tadpoles.
Two tadpoles went belly up shortly thereafter. One went missing. We never found him inside or outside of the tank. It's possible the others ate him. How do I know this? Because one tadpole actually made it to frog stage and was breathing air for one day, when he promptly "croaked" and I witnessed the last two tadpoles gnawing on his little frog's legs!
It was terrible. I felt so bad. Well, as bad as one can feel for a nameless, hand-me-down pet that you can't play with. I got his body out of there before they ate him completely. Sort of a punishment for their naughtiness, even though I'm sure this is totally normal tadpole behavior.
Tadpole #5 (now known as Hannibal) also ended up belly up. Not sure why...he seemed to be growing alright. The last one, known as Lasty, after a fierce name debate between the children, looked like he was going to make it to the air-breathing stage. I warned the kids that as soon as we saw him on the bridge, we were going to have to let him go. There was no way I was going to bring live insects into the house to feed him.
So the day came...
We released him in the pond at the entrance to Waterford Heights, a ritzy part of our neighborhood with two fountain pools, rocks and lots of nooks and shade to hide in. I told the kids we may never see him again. He might not like this pond, or he might hide from us, (or he might get eaten, or he might die of shock from the difference in water temperature).
But in that moment, when he swam out of the Tupperware and we saw his little legs flex and he darted across the water, we were in awe of his awesomeness and I was a little sad to see him go.
Good luck, Lasty.
No comments:
Post a Comment