Lazarus came to us in the mid-90s, taken from an abandoned bath tub on my uncle's farm, and making the journey in a large jar filled with water. The rest of his life was spent in a terranium, normally housed in the cool of our bathroom. In the early years, he would whistle when we showered, but eventually gave up when his songs went unanswered. His name came from an incident when, upon arriving home from school, I found him lying in his swimming tub, motionless. Even shaking his tub had no effect. I left a note for my mum (along the lines of "think frog might be dead?"), then went out with some friends. When I got home, my mother had left another note: "frog is fine, croak, croak" and he was. Lazarus never hibernated, and when the flies upon which we fed him disappeared with winter, I would feed him meal worms, warming him in my hands first (frogs, being ectotherms, become sluggish in the cold). I know now that you are not supposed to handle frogs due to chemicals, but Lazarus lived a full 15 years with us, gradually getting slower and less adept at hunting his living prey as he aged. I do feel a little sad for him, he spent his entire life in the terranium, never knew the love of a frog-woman, and his diet was fairly limited. I would not keep frogs inside again - now we have a pond in our garden. I released the tadpoles into it, saw some of them assume their adult forms and hope that they are still out there, somewhere, succesfully avoiding predation by cat, starling and hedgehog. At least Lazarus never had to worry about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment