Have you ever watched a tree frog hunt its dinner while you rested in your living room? Until a few weeks ago, I would have had to say no.
I’ve been told this is a common event around here. Now, each night, we watch Bob the Frog (or one of his brethren whom Elle spends her days catching) uses his sticky tree frog pads to shimmy up our giant picture window. When the moths attracted to the glow of our lamps (mom, dad, we found the box with the light bulbs!) come within range, Bob begins stalking. More often than not, he misses.
We spend our evenings rooting for the under dog.
By day, the kids are always involved in creature care. They feed the cat, add ice to the puppy’s water dish, and capture small armies of insects to feed, ogle, and release. Ever since the county fair, the girls have been intent on showing our chickens unext year. With just a little persistence, they’ve tamed (or scared into submission) our wild Delaware Blue Hen and the new Silkies. We’re pretty sure the rooster was tame before he joined our flock. He seems happiest hunting for crumbs under our deck.
We’ve been reading the book The Raft lately, and between our own animals and the wild life we’ve spotted, it does feel like we’ve emerged from the business of packing/unpacking into that child’s summer.