Frogs are fascinating. We always seemed to have a tank of them at nursery school and I remember being riveted by the whole metamorphosis from tadpole to froglet. We even went on an expedition to catch the tadpoles at a park called “The Wilds” – which is probably quite an apt name as now it’s probably one of the places you are most likely to get mugged! In typical toddler fashion I combined the name with the activity and amused my mother no end by announcing that I had been catching “wild tadpoles”. I think she had an instant mental pictures of vicious tadpoles with fangs.
My favourite frogs are poison frogs. No, sadly I don’t have a handy stock of them for use on irritating people. I just love their colours and size and the way they hop in a staccato rhythm. They remind me of the random little plastic toys with suction cups on the bottom that jump when the suction cup loses its stick. There is a great collection of them at the Central Park Zoo in New York. Everyone else probably goes there to see the polar bear or the jacuzzi loving snow monkeys.
Me? I go there for the frogs.