Waaaaay back in the glorious warm days of summertime, Joshua and Emma “won” some frogs at the County Fair. Froggie #1 was weak and sickly from the beginning, and, for lack of a better term, croaked after only a few weeks of living with us.
Froggie number two was a more more hardy little fellow, and has been swimming happily around in his little cage ever since, with only Sabrina the Spider in the cage next door to keep him company.
Last night, I noticed that the frog’s cage was becoming a bit…murky. I let Emma know that it was time for a cage cleaning, which unfortunately involves boiling new froggie water on the stove for 10 minutes to remove all contaminants and then letting the water cool back down to room temperature, during which time Emma and I both completely forget about cleaning the poor little frog’s cage. Every time. Usually, someone comes along and dumps the clean froggie water down the sink before Emma gets back to it, but not this time. This time, everyone just went to bed, leaving the clean water sitting on the stove top.
This morning, Daniel woke up and decided to make a rather large batch of biscuits and gravy, a meal which only he will eat, as the rest of my children rightly consider the gravy to be disgusting. As I was in the kitchen working to prepare meals for the rest of the children while unloading and reloading the dishwasher, I saw the frog water still sitting on the stove.
“Emma, you need to come clean out your frog’s cage RIGHT NOW,” I hollered. Obediently she lifted the pan off the stovetop and plopped the frog into it, so she could rinse and scrub it’s cage. Josh and Jakob were an eager audience to the proceedings.
Suddenly, I heard the boys start to giggle. “Emma’s frog is funny!”
“Mom, I think the frog is having a seizure,” Emma said worriedly. I took a peek and sure enough, the little frog was flipped over on it’s back, twitching uncontrollably.
“Flip it over,” I hollered, reaching for the pan. The warm pan. The most decidedly no longer room temperature pan which had been sitting on the stove top while the biscuits were cooking below.
That’s right, we were making frog soup.
“Put some ice in the water!” I yelled. “No, not that much ice, take some back out!”
Em took a few cubes out, and the frog spasmed it’s way over to an ice cube. The cooler water seemed to be helping.
I went back to cleaning the kitchen, and then I heard, “Mom, I think the frog is stuck to the ice cube.”
Whether or not the poor little froggie will survive this incident remains to be seen. If any of you happen to own a little froggie of your own, please, for the love of all that is good and decent in the world, do NOT let us babysit it. We clearly aren’t capable of taking care of such a complicated animal.