Sitting watching the frogs this evening, the last of the Christmas cake and a milkshake in hand, I was devastated to see that one of them was hunting – and successfully catching – tadpoles. I can only assume that all of them are doing the same. Only Fluffy and Eric were out. Gollum was sitting in his cave entrance.
Fluffy caught himself at least two, possibly three tadpoles. Eric seemed to be content with insects. But now I can’t be sure. Maybe he is at it too, when I am not watching. If I lose just two or three tadpoles a night, how many will make it through to froghood? I should accept this as part of the great mandella of life of course. I wanted a frog pond with frogs, and I have one. Frogs are predators. Cannibals too it seems, although it may be the tadpoles are not the same species as the adult frogs. Does eating another species count as cannibalism? Probably not.
I had hopes of raising a brood of little frogs. Of being their St Francis – or perhaps and more likely, St Willard – and having them crawl all over me calling me Granddad and asking for stories about beautiful princesses.
I remonstrated with Fluffy of course. But he just shrugged and hopped into the hollow log to sulk.
Eric waited until I went for my camera and had disappeared by the time I returned. He is somewhere under the pool complex.