Morning rescue

There’s a small egress in the courtyard garden, and a few days ago, Brian found about thirty tiny wood frogs hopping around inside it, unable to get out. He yelled for the boys: “Hey guys, let’s go rescue some frogs!”

The next day, the kids and I went to weed the garden. “Wow!” shouted Barrett, looking down into the egress. “Those baby frogs are back!” Apparently, not all the frogs had been rescued. 

William rushed over. “Oh boy,” he complained, unable to keep the delight out of his voice, “I guess we’re just gonna have to come out here every morning and rescue these frogs.”

It took the boys a while to catch the tiny amphibians that had evaded their rescue the day before. Every time he captured one, Barrett ran over to me. “Mom, look at this tiny one!” They were all identical, the size of a blueberry, but at each new capture I exclaimed, “Wow! Now that’s a really cute one!”

At one point, William approached me in concern. “Mom, we’re gonna have to take the house apart. The frogs are getting stuck in some tiny cracks.”

Once, during the rescue, I heard Mac’s deep voice behind me: “Fron.” He was serious, intent on the tiny frog he had pinched within in his fingers. (I’m not sure how that particular frog fared in the end.)

I overheard William saying, “Boy, their mom must be really dumb. Why would she keep laying her eggs in this hole?” 

“Oh no,” Barrett lamented a minute later. “I think this one is dead.” After a second, when the frog leapt from his open hand to safety, he exclaimed, “Wow! He wasn’t dead! He was just playing dead! Mom, these frogs love me! They love to play with me! They love to play dead. Did you know a wood frog can play dead, mom? I didn’t know that. And now I know it’s their favorite game!”