We stopped for gas at BJs this morning and James said, "Look at the frog on the trash basket."

Sure enough, there was a little tree frog clinging to the side. I wondered what on earth he was doing there; James figured he probably had come there during the night to collect the bugs attracted to the fluorescent lights. The BJs lot sits on a hill bordered at that end by a stand of trees.

I'm not much of a frog person, but I did remember that their skin is supposed to be kept moist. It was getting hot and he was in the sun and would have to cross hot concrete to get back to the trees. But I have the usual girlish prejudice to touching frogs, so I got a small piece of paper, and touched it lightly with a corner just to determine if it was still alive.

It hopped straight on my right forearm. Okay, I squealed—then smiled at it, bemused. Its feet felt like those jellied rubber toys in spider shapes they have in dime stores around Hallowe'en. I walked to the edge of the grass and it turned to look at me as if it couldn't figure out this method of locomotion. Then I extended my arm downward and it hopped back into the grass.

Labels: animals

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 1:15:00 PM

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