What will you become, little blob?
But one morning I walked out and there was this little fella perched on the rim of his habitat, looking out into the big garden full of insects that he would soon inhabit. And even though he still had a bud of a tail something about the way his fingers wrapped around the rim of the pool said tree frog to me. Gray tree frog. Whoopee!
The round sticky pads on his toes clinched it for me.
As the froglets got older they colored up a bit, too, some turning green. As I understand it gray tree frogs can change color the way anoles and chameleons can, from green to gray to almost black. Some sources have green being only a juvenile color, with adults ranging from nearly white to nearly black, but I've seen one full-grown individual that was lichen-green.
Naturally, I became enamored of them.
Once their tails were absorbed, they were ready to go. They dispersed into my nearby flower garden, a mighty jungle for a frog the size of your fingernail. I assumed they'd travel overland in rainy weather to reach larger trees, or perhaps dig in for the fall right in the flowerbed.
Whatever happened to them, they had survived because we'd bothered to save them, and that made us feel good. To think that they'd have dried up to sad black slime in the driveway, when they gave us so much happiness metamorphosing on our doorstep...I don't think I'll ever be able to walk by a drying tadpool again.
I recommend getting involved with tadpoles. With caveats, as usual, which I will explain in the next post.