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September 17, 2006

Several weeks ago, I stepped on a frog that was taking refuge from a rainstorm on our back steps. I squashed it flat, feeling every bone crunch, every organ squish. It was gross, it was miserable, it was sad. I felt terrible and have been haunted by that little green frog’s ghost ever since. Then last night, while walking the dog after sundown, I came within a quarter inch of squishing another one. He and I both lept away from each other at the last possible moment. I have started feeling I am a curse to the world of frogs. Then this morning, there was a turning point. Kyle opened the trunk of my car in the grocery store parking lot and discovered a stowaway. This little green frog came from God only knows where, but he was in a very precarious spot – certain to be squashed if we lowered the trunk lid, certain to starve to death if we locked him back in the trunk. Kyle backed away, wanting nothing to do with our hitchhiker, but I knew this was my shot at redemption for my previous frog-slaughter. I gently coaxed him onto a road atlas and carried him across the parking lot to free him in a smallish patch of grass and trees. I hope that frogs leave me alone for the rest of the summer.


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