They are waiting to become frogs. Except they don't know it yet. They probably never will. The change will be so gradual they won't even sense they are changing at all.
Metamorph-osis is the vocabulary word for it, but they don't need to know that, either, to pull off the miracle they were born to complete. A tail will shrink. Legs will grow and they will go from breathing water to air, never cognizant of any of it because it is just what they are. What they were made to be. Frogs.
Or tadpoles. Or polliwogs. Depending on whom you ask and when.
Right now they are definitely tadpoles, but they are growing - I'd swear there's a noticeable difference in them every day. Such is the life of an amphibian - going from minuscule organism to big-legged and froggish (or perhaps they are toads) in the course of 12 to 16 weeks. That's no small feat.
I didn't know we'd be parents to tadpoles/frogs. (Although, every mom, if she is honest, expects such a reality.) The adventure started when son Number Three sent a cryptic text message, "Bring a plastic bowl with a lid to school." Call me psychic, or just seasoned in the critter department, but I suspected tadpoles were in our future. I wasn't wrong.
He got them from science class. Where else would they be? Over the years I've found science teachers are more than generous about sharing "pets" with families. Particularly during the summer months. Thanks to my kids, we often seem to be that family.
They were tiny at first. Nearly dead, I think, from the sloshing they took during my son's walk home from school. We set them on the kitchen table and let the water settle before setting up the habitat. As a mom with decades on the job, I am experienced with habitats. You can't set up any old bowl with any old water and expect tadpoles (or bullheads or minnows or tree frogs or salamanders or caterpillars) to flourish.
We found a large container and added rocks and plastic plants (left over from previous fish aquarium days). And water, but not straight from the tap. Never do that. We learned this lesson the hard way during the early years of the new millennium; tadpoles and tap water do not mix.
We've had our little guys for a couple of weeks. I am happy to report they are not dead, which, honestly, is our typical experience with tadpoles. They are easy to kill, even with a proper habitat, water and TLC. Especially in a household with two cats.
Our felines are mesmerized with the tadpole bowl. They enjoy licking the water. We're afraid they are actually more interested in licking a tadpole so we cover the bowl with a makeshift lid, which resembles a book because that's what it is. Our habitat didn't come equipped with a cover.
We are feeding them fish food. The Internet says they can also consume tiny pieces of lettuce and leaves. In their natural environment, they would eat algae. Maybe our plastic plants have a layer of algae. We should be so lucky. Whatever we are doing, it seems to be working. Not only are they not dead, they swim energetically around their bowl - when they aren't hiding from the cats.
Soon their tiny legs will pop out and propel them into the morphling stage. (Another vocabulary word.) Their lungs will develop and we'll drain some water from the bowl and give them more rocks for climbing. And we'll obviously have to find a more fitting cover. During this stage they won't need food because they get nourishment from their shrinking tails. The life is of a frog is one miracle after another. Ribbit.
School's out. We've got tadpoles waiting to become frogs. Looks like we (mostly me) have a new summer project. Which leads to the obvious question: if they do turn into frogs, will I be eligible for some sort of middle school science extra credit?
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
Metamorph-osis is the vocabulary word for it, but they don't need to know that, either, to pull off the miracle they were born to complete. A tail will shrink. Legs will grow and they will go from breathing water to air, never cognizant of any of it because it is just what they are. What they were made to be. Frogs.
Or tadpoles. Or polliwogs. Depending on whom you ask and when.
Right now they are definitely tadpoles, but they are growing - I'd swear there's a noticeable difference in them every day. Such is the life of an amphibian - going from minuscule organism to big-legged and froggish (or perhaps they are toads) in the course of 12 to 16 weeks. That's no small feat.
I didn't know we'd be parents to tadpoles/frogs. (Although, every mom, if she is honest, expects such a reality.) The adventure started when son Number Three sent a cryptic text message, "Bring a plastic bowl with a lid to school." Call me psychic, or just seasoned in the critter department, but I suspected tadpoles were in our future. I wasn't wrong.
He got them from science class. Where else would they be? Over the years I've found science teachers are more than generous about sharing "pets" with families. Particularly during the summer months. Thanks to my kids, we often seem to be that family.
They were tiny at first. Nearly dead, I think, from the sloshing they took during my son's walk home from school. We set them on the kitchen table and let the water settle before setting up the habitat. As a mom with decades on the job, I am experienced with habitats. You can't set up any old bowl with any old water and expect tadpoles (or bullheads or minnows or tree frogs or salamanders or caterpillars) to flourish.
We found a large container and added rocks and plastic plants (left over from previous fish aquarium days). And water, but not straight from the tap. Never do that. We learned this lesson the hard way during the early years of the new millennium; tadpoles and tap water do not mix.
We've had our little guys for a couple of weeks. I am happy to report they are not dead, which, honestly, is our typical experience with tadpoles. They are easy to kill, even with a proper habitat, water and TLC. Especially in a household with two cats.
Our felines are mesmerized with the tadpole bowl. They enjoy licking the water. We're afraid they are actually more interested in licking a tadpole so we cover the bowl with a makeshift lid, which resembles a book because that's what it is. Our habitat didn't come equipped with a cover.
We are feeding them fish food. The Internet says they can also consume tiny pieces of lettuce and leaves. In their natural environment, they would eat algae. Maybe our plastic plants have a layer of algae. We should be so lucky. Whatever we are doing, it seems to be working. Not only are they not dead, they swim energetically around their bowl - when they aren't hiding from the cats.
Soon their tiny legs will pop out and propel them into the morphling stage. (Another vocabulary word.) Their lungs will develop and we'll drain some water from the bowl and give them more rocks for climbing. And we'll obviously have to find a more fitting cover. During this stage they won't need food because they get nourishment from their shrinking tails. The life is of a frog is one miracle after another. Ribbit.
School's out. We've got tadpoles waiting to become frogs. Looks like we (mostly me) have a new summer project. Which leads to the obvious question: if they do turn into frogs, will I be eligible for some sort of middle school science extra credit?
- Jill Pertler's column appears every Thursday in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
