Lost Dog, Last Tadpole.

This morning at the unbelievable hour of 0730, I took Jack for a walk in one of the parks. He was very excited and dead keen to do some exploring and stick chasing.  After he exhausted me I sat down for a breather and he snuffled off into the undergrowth.  A dog barked nearby and he started toward the sound. I called him back and he came cheerfully, exploring the vicinity. I sank into a reverie and when I looked around again he was gone.  He did not come when I called.  This suggested he must be out of earshot, because he has always responded promptly.  I looked over near where the barking had come from, then started circling wider, calling him.  Nothing. I was worried that he may have been bitten by a snake. Then I thought perhaps he caught scent of his owner or of her car just up the road. So I checked up there.  No.  I wondered if he suddenly took it to mind to head for home, wherever that is.   I enlisted the aid of Carl and Steph and we quartered the town searching.  Nothing.

Finally, tired of searching, I went back to where I saw him last, and sat where I had sat previously.  Far away across the park and down Claude street I saw a brown dog pissing on the tyre of a car parked across the footpath.  Could that be him?  Yep.  a few moments later I drove up and called him into the car.  He came cheerfully.  Next time we use a lead.

That could have been embarrassing.

Back at the ranch, I gave him breakfast and sat with a coffee by the pond.  Bay the froglet climbed out of the pool and hopped over the rosemary. She vanished at the rear.

No, she didn’t.  There she is perched up high in the bay tree.  Curious, I disassembled the froggy apartments behind the bay pot, and found a small yellow-green replica of Bay.  Clearly the same species as Bay, and different from the darker patterned olive green froglets.  This must be the very last of the tadpoles, which I had spotted last about a week ago, when I repotted some of the water plants.  A slight pointy vestigial tail suggested I could be right.

It was not interested in being picked up, and escaped into one of the pvc pipe tunnel apartments under the pond.  I named it Omega.  The last to metamorphose. 

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About Alan

Settling into my 7th decade and still determined not to grow up too soon.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Depression, Dogs, frogs, Health and wellness, Hobbies, Life, don't talk to me about life!, Nature, Pets and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Lost Dog, Last Tadpole.

  1. Pingback: Denouement | Flitting Amongst The Swanplants

  2. Alan says:

    Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!

    Like

  3. Pilgrim33 says:

    So one should be named Charlton.

    Like

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