Frog Story

We first heard him February 21st. Earlier than they usually get going. Two weeks later, silence for another two weeks. But then he was back. I’ve figured out that when it dips down below 50 F, he goes back into hibernation. Now it’s mid May, however, and he’s been gone for two weeks again. I don’t expect him back this time. He left out of frustration. After two and a half months of croaking, trying to reel in a girlfriend with zero results, he gave up. He either went in search of greener pastures, or got eaten by a bird. I’ll never know.

I hadn’t even given him a name yet. He was the most fearless one I’d ever had — rarely even bothering to jump into the water when I approached. He would just look up at me, with a dispassionate expression. As if he knew I couldn’t grab him through the grate, so why leap? A couple of times, with the grate off, I tried gently and cautiously to pick him up — but he would have none of it, so I didn’t keep trying. Here’s a picture of him. Always with at least one hand he’d be holding onto a stem of something.

Looks like the picture didn’t come over. I took a video by mistake, and it won’t come over as a picture. I’ll have to figure that out. Later.

Here in Portland we’ve been iced in for days. The frog tank outside, though thickly insulated, looks like a giant block of ice now. Here’s a little movie from last spring as a reminder of why anyone would want to do all this. It’s eighteen seconds long. It’ll melt your heart. Actually I don’t know it’s possible to post a video on this blog. I’ll check to see if it’s working and if it’s not I’ll have to figure it out and get back to you.

Here’s what it looked like last night when I got through with it. Lit by lantern from below.

First I removed the original white tarp. The iron grate lid was frozen on and I didn’t dare try to pry it off. (Aquariums — you’re not supposed to torque them in any way. That’s how they spring leaks.) So then I poured boiled water down through the grate, into the middle of the ice surface. It landed first on the plastic jug, which was frozen into the middle of the surface, and spilled down around it from there. I was careful not to pour it near the glass, but some drops that were bouncing off the jug probably did land on it. I did hear a pop or two, which makes me nervous — I hope that was the ice breaking and not the glass, or one of the silicone seams.

Anyway, this melted a fairly large area in the middle of the surface. I lost my nerve at about the same time I ran out of hot water. Heroic Linda brought out our recently retired bedspread. We put the white tarp back on first, and then the purple cloth one. Now there are several layers of material over the tank.

It’s been well below freezing all day. Right now we’re getting a heavy dose of sleet, which they’re calling an ice storm. Snow is predicted for several hours during the night. They say we’ll be encased in ice by early morning.

I’m still not sure exactly where frogs hibernate, but it can’t be underwater! I’ve read that they burrow under leaves and mud. But I don’t know how any frogs can live through this this kind of cold — how could their tissues not freeze to solid ice, and burst? But… presumably they know what to do. It snows and freezes copiously all winter up on Mt. Hood, and every spring Frog Lake is full of frogs again.

Well, here’s what it looked like today:

I can’t really tell how thick the layer of ice is, because of that snow layer on top. The snow layer is only at one end of it though, obviously because I left it uncovered.

I took this picture through the open end, showing the ice beyond it — bare, not snow-covered. It looks….. thick. Thick enough for frogs to safely ice skate on, if they did that. The empty plastic jug I put in there to absorb the pressure of the ice freezing? It doesn’t look squished at all, at least from this angle. So now I’m really worried that instead of the ice squishing the jug, it is slowly breaking the glass. To top it off (literally), tonight there’s supposed to be an “ice storm” which will leave a 3/4-inch layer of ice over everything. This is freaky weather and no one is prepared for it — that’s my big fat excuse for letting this happen. Now that there’s a solid layer of ice across the top, the ice below it will continue to freeze and having nowhere to expand to, will burst the tank open.

I can’t stand it. I’m going out there. It’s ten to nine. Why didn’t I do this earlier? I thought of it, but… it was too cold. Now it’s colder. I don’t care. I’m going out there with hot water and melt it carefully from the center out. Then I’ll remove the ice. That way, at least the ice forming will have to start all over.

It’s 21 degrees and dark. Am I flipping crazy?

Hi Everyone. Thanks so much for attending my presentation a couple of weeks ago on “Creating Habitat for the Pacific Tree Frog in Your Garden.” The post on Friends of Backyard Habitats got 597 likes and dozens of comments. Mind blown! I’ll definitely be doing it again in the early spring.

Meanwhile, in case you missed it, there’s this blogger I know of: Me. I will be dribbling out all the information right here — and by dribbling, I mean gradually, bit by bit, so that you can take it in over time for better digestion. In addition, you can send in your questions. I strive to keep my posts brief, frequent, and witty. One pithy tip per post, so that you don’t feel overloaded. 

Here’s today’s:

I have so much to catch you up on. In case you haven’t noticed, we just had a snowstorm. Since I knew it was coming, I took the water level in my frog tank down to about a fourth and wrapped the whole tank in a tarp — hoping to protect it from freezing. 

I left one end open because every spring when I’m taking out most of the muck, I find a new froggie under the water, in that same corner. I don’t think they hibernate underwater, but apparently they come for a swim now and then. I didn’t want to accidentally trap someone in there for weeks till I take this tarp off.

It never gets this cold here in Portland Oregon, especially for this long. But now it has. In the last couple of days we’ve seen 16 degrees F. I’m not going out there. But from my window I can clearly see a layer of ice at the water’s surface. It’ll be a miracle if the tank doesn’t incur a leak or crack from the force of the expanding ice. 

What MIGHT save it is that I put an empty gallon jug in there. I did this last time it froze and it worked. The empty bottle, capped, gets squished in as ice forms — thereby giving the ice something to do besides expand outward and crack the glass of the tank, or bust the silicone seams at the corners. My own idea. I felt like a genius. This time it’s a lot colder. If it doesn’t work, I’ll feel like a dope.

That’s right, I have only two froglets left to transfer to the Big Tank outside. One will be ready tonight, the other will need a couple more days. How do I know this? 

I assume that the minute a froglet indicates that it has figured out how to breathe air, that is the moment. It can still swim, it can still breathe underwater, but it’s spending enough time above water that you know it can breathe there too. That’s why they’re called amphibians — so named after the military vehicles that can operate both at sea and on land. (Just kidding – that’s completely backwards.) 

I’ve kept each one until it had fully developed arms and legs and was ready to hop around and catch bugs on its own. I’ve freed them while they still had some tail left, so they could still get nutrients from that while honing their hunting skills. 

I know when they’re ready because they come up out of the water. First they’re hanging out on the glass, at first partially submerged. Then suddenly they’re spending more time out of the water than in it. They sit on the floating wooden plank, look wistfully out the window beyond the glass, and seem sad or depressed that they can’t get out there.

All these last changes take place within a twenty-four hour period. Then when I take them outside, after a few moments of trepidation they erupt in joy, and spring merrily away, like…… well, like frogs. (Do you like that simile? Clever, not?)

Next: Why did I do this in the first place? Why did I choose to Hand Raise these froglets in a special nursery on the mantle in my living room? Why did I presume that these wild creatures of nature needed help from a a member of the bumbling human race? Check back with me soon.

Since my last post, we’ve transferred another four or five froglets to the Big Tank outside. One a day, or every couple of days. I only have four more to go.

Before I adopted the use of the indoor Tiny Tank (only about a month ago), I never used to have to worry about the perfect timing for this transfer. When raised outdoors where they belong, the froglets know when they’re ready to emerge from the water. And by “emerge” I don’t mean forever. They still need water. But they can now breathe above it. So they can come and go at will, which they do.

They sit on the lily pads to catch bugs or tan in the sun, and they dive under the water for a swim. They are free to leave the tank altogether at any time. 

There is an iron grill over the tank to keep out the raccoons and other predators, but the holes in it are big enough for any tree frog to pass through.If you recall, I had to set up an indoor tadpole nursery due to a disturbing mystery that was dwindling their population in the Big Tank outdoors. Hence the Tiny Tank in the living room. I will get back to that mystery very soon. 

But first, you’re probably wondering how I know precisely when a froglet is ready to be transferred. I will address that important question in my next post.

When Linda went back inside, a spot on the living room rug caught her eye. It hopped, and then she remembered the froglet that had jumped from the tank to who-knew-where. It jumped again. She grabbed the net, while it jumped yet again, and she lost sight of it. Following its general direction, she located it under the couch. It had hopped all the way to the wall behind it. She reached under, trying to net it, but it wouldn’t budge from the baseboard molding and she feared squishing it. Throughout the pursuit, she kept calling my name, to no avail. 

Finally I went, in and realizing immediately what was going on, I grabbed the smaller net, pulled the couch away from the wall, and dangled my entire torso over the back of it, hoping it wouldn’t topple. (Don’t settle for a cheap couch, in case this happens to you. You need something that’ll hold your weight in an emergency.) I couldn’t grab it with the net, but managed to coax it into Linda’s net. Into the transport box it went, which I had just brought back from outside. 

We put it out there like we had with the others. Again the other froglets showed up, approaching, but keeping their distance. This one stayed in the open transport box for much longer than they had, clearly traumatized by preceding events. It seemed to know it was in a safe place, and was probably waiting for us to leave.

After several weeks of indifference, the cat has just recently taken an interest in the Tiny Tank, having noticed that it contains wiggly things. 

Did I not imply last post that we strive to be a drama-free household? Well, I’m afraid the hypothetical situation described there, the one to be avoided, is exactly what played out in our living room yesterday.

I could see in the Tiny Tank that yet another froglet was completely formed and ready to move outside into the bug world. In fact, I could see two. I noticed both of them in the late evening, and since it was already dark. I decided they could wait till morning so that we wouldn’t have to mess around with flashlights. They each had enough of a tail left to nourish them through the night. 

When I checked in the morning, though, I could only see one. There it was, waiting patiently on the little floating plank, looking wistfully out the window at the great outdoors, wondering how to get out there. Linda stood by with an extra net in case of a surprise leap, while I opened the lid and easily coaxed the creature into my smaller net. 

Just then: BOING! Another froglet jumped out of the water, from the right to the left, just as I was scooping up this one. Into the transport box, on with the lid! A thorough search around the area assured us that the wayward froglet must’ve landed back into the water, at the left end. Not seeing it there right away, we concluded it must be hiding in the hornwort. We’d get back to that little one after we freed this cutie.

Once outside, I delayed and dawdled because… because I’m me, and I don’t do anything swiftly. And because as usual I became entranced with watching the scene play out. Two of the froglets freed so far (not just the one, like the previous day) showed up to greet this one. 

Linda went back inside to get on with her day. But I couldn’t tear myself away from watching them. They approached each other timidly, getting closer but not closer than six or seven inches — as if to say, “Yep, this is frogland. It’s us, your mates from the indoor tank. We’re here, you’re in the right place. But let’s not be too chummy just yet.”

In the distance the motors of the Friday landscaping services began humming. I thought I heard someone faintly call my name… and then again….but no. Who would be calling me? One of the neighbor kids? One of the neighbors? But how would they even know I was back here in the garden? I dismissed it as mere hallucination. 

But wait! There it was again! Was that my name? Or just something that vaguely sounded like my name? Who would it be? 

How about Linda? Why would I not FIRST think of Linda? Instead of some random neighbor who wouldn’t even know I was outside?

I went inside to find her wedged under the sofa, reaching with a net in one hand while holding a flashlight in the other. Her voice had just barely made it out from under the couch, through the open window, and to my dimwitted ear, as I’d sat on a stool intently focused on the froglets in front of me.

To be continued.

Since that last frog release, I have released two more froglets to the wild. That last one was willing, but these others have been trickier to catch. It’s a little hairy, because I absolutely cannot let them escape inside the house – they can jump far, and hide well, and would starve to death sooner than admit that they goofed and find their way back to the Tiny Tank. I don’t know if their leaping range is significantly hampered by their tail.

When it’s time to catch one, I have Linda standing by for an extra pair of eyes and hands in case of an escape. Linda hates drama – another reason I can’t let that happen. We can’t have a scene in the living room where two humans are shouting orders and jumping around on the furniture with a miniature net and a bucket, trying to catch something the size of an almond that’s acting like a rubber band. Mayhem of that sort could endanger my popularity in the household.

Not only can they jump and hide, with the little suction cups on the ends of their toes, tree frogs can attach to vertical surfaces – like trees (and walls) and such. Hence the name TREE frog. They can get up there — making every single inch of the house a potential hiding place.

Look at little Greenie here, all ready to climb right out of the transport box and into the Big Tank and on to the Big Green Beyond. They’re a lot like people. Some are timid and cautious, anxious about what might be out there; others want to leap out into danger, just anything to get out of the doldrums.