I grew up in a small town by the abandoned railway tracks near the lake. The ditches next to the tracks were perfect for catching frogs and tadpoles. I had many stinky mason jars filled with them. Probably only one out of every 15 tadpoles turned into a frog. And out of those frogs, probably only one in five lived. That might even be a generous estimate.
However, I was more interested in newts. Fire bellied newts actually. They were brown with orange tummies and could easily be found on the road, sometimes mushed by the few cars on our street. One October I filled a jack o' lantern trick or treat bucket with 98 live ones. Most of them baby newts. My mom made me keep them in the garage with a lid. She hated all the slimy slithery things I brought home and demanded I let them go in the morning.
I didn't dare tell her that 96 of the 98 newts escaped in the garage that evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment