When I returned home from an early morning walk, it was still cool, and I got the urge to start cleaning up the "leftovers" from processing the firewood delivered in June. I thought it was time to replace the chopping block I've used for three years. When I tipped it over, I saw a pathetic little blob squirming in the sawdust and chips (above). In the shade and covered with these particles, I had to quickly review in my mind al the possibilities before picking it up.
Turns out it was a seriously dehydrated Chorus Frog, formerly known as
Hyla regilla but now known as
Pseudacris regilla. the Pacific Chorus Frog. What to do? When I looked this creature in the eye, I felt I needed to save it. But what did that mean? The odds of its surviving the summer were next to zero, even if I had not tipped over the chopping block. The odds of surviving a winter were even closer to zero. Yet, the urge to save it was there, and remains.
As the sawdust and wood chips gradually fell away, and he/she didn't attempt to jump out of my hand, the eye contact made me reminisce on the hundreds, of not thousands, of encounters I've had with this species when it was healthy and enjoying Spring, like the one below I photographed in May. May 27, to be precise.
My scientific knowledge and the logical (mostly) mind I have said that every female lays literally thousands of eggs per season, and if more than two of those survive the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, we would be overwhelmed with frogs in a short time. This scenario is obviously impossible for any reasons. So why did I entertain the idea of saving this one frog? I found a damp place nearby, a place that had some possibility of remaining damp until the fall rains began and this frog would have a change to bury deeper in moist soil that might not freeze over the winter. Very poor odds, but relating to the frog in this way is how I save myself.
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