Sturgis Writers' Mill It was late autumn, and my grandson was celebrating his birthday with a family party at my home. The buffet sandwich bar sprawled across the table, along with a variety of veggies and chips. Giving the layout one final inspection before guests arrived, I noticed a tiny, broken corner of a dark corn chip on the table. A perfectionist, I reached to pluck it away. To my astonishment, the “chip” wiggled! Staring up at me, wide-eyed and undoubtedly terrified, crouched a teeny, dime-sized tree frog! I don't know who was more startled. I tried not to imagine he'd been climbing through the sandwiches or crawling around in a bowl of chips. He was cute after all, so what harm could he have done? Maybe, pee? Swiftly, I nudged the tiny frog onto a paper plate and headed for the door, assuring the little intruder, he'd soon be free. I never suspected he had other plans. Who knew a bitty frog could leap so far and immediately vanish behind a table in the hallway? He was gone! After a futile search through nearby floor plants, I decided to hunt for him later. Guests were arriving. Arthur, as I'd affectionately named the absent amphibian, was AOL for six weeks. Then, one day in December, with winter winds howling, he suddenly reappeared. Arthur was spread-eagle-suctioned on the wall, hoping to catch an unsuspecting stink bug. His size had doubled, so he was dining well. After snapping his picture, I called my critter-smart friend. If anyone could provide stray frog advice, she could. Would Arthur hibernate if I put him outdoors during winter? She explained the temperature would shock his system and he'd croak for sure, a frozen frog. A vision of poor little Arthur frozen into a frogsicle, flashed before my eyes. Never! He'd remain inside. I'd let him wander. He could be my robobug vac. I shouldn't have been surprised Arthur didn't come when called. After several weeks with no sign of him, I grabbed my computer and googled frog mating calls, turning up the volume, so Arthur […]
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