The baby bullfrog sat very still, only his head protruding from the warm, dark water of the pond’s edge. His green skin glistened in the light of the late afternoon sun as he waited for a passing gnat or damselfly to get within range of his sticky white tongue.  If it weren’t for the almost undetectable ripples made by his rhythmic breathing, the boy probably wouldn’t have even known he was there.

Walking slowly along the pond’s edge, the boy went ahead, getting ever closer to the little frog. Before he got close enough to frighten it , however, the boy’s keen eyes discerned the amphibian, and so, as his father had taught him to do, he circled wide behind the creature and approached with the sun in front of him. By doing this he was able to get very close without his shadow scaring and sending the little creature swimming for cover in the pond weeds.  Finding himself within arm’s length of the frog, the boy slowly knelt, never taking his eyes from the green prize before him. He was very close now, and trying himself to keep as still as the frog. It was only because the frog was sure that he could not possibly be seen that his strong back legs did not immediately send him flying gracefully forward into deeper water. Instead, it sat motionless, using the camouflage that Nature had given it.

Slowly and with great care the boy stretched out his arm, keeping it low to the ground. When his cupped hand was only a few inches from the frog, the boy took a breath and then, as fast as a steel trap, the wet and wriggling creature was secure between his gentle fingers.

“Daddy! Daddy!” the boy called as he quickly ran across the field to where his father was playing catch with his little brother. “Look what I caught!” he said between breaths, holding his prize up towards his father’s admiring face. “Good job!” said his father as he knelt and drew his son’s closed hand toward him for a better look. The boy relaxed his grip and the little frog’s green head popped out between his fingers, blinking its golden eyes to keep them from drying out.

The little frog was quite frightened, and could only wonder at what would happen to him now. In that moment he wished again for the time some weeks past when he lived under the water as a tadpole. There were no birds to worry about, no raccoons, and especially no people. It wasn’t until he grew legs and crawled out of the pond to take his first breath of air that these things became his constant vigil. All he could do now, however, was hope to make his escape and leap his way back to the safety of the pond.

“Daddy, where do frogs come from?” asked the boy’s inquisitive younger brother. “Frogs are very special creatures,” the boys’ father said. “Listen….” In the distance, coming from the other side of the pond was a loud, low, rhythmic call that sounded very much like the moo of a cow. “Bwoowwww. Bwoowwww”, the call continued. From yet another part of the pond from a stand of tall cattails came the sound again, almost as if to answer the first. “That is the call of the bullfrog,” said their father, “and he is looking for a mate. Once a female finds him, they will lay eggs that look like jelly in the water’s edge. In just a few days, all of those eggs will turn into tadpoles and in just a few more days, every tadpole will grow legs and become a frog!”. Both boys looked at the little frog in wonder as they considered such amazing beginnings. The younger brother put out a finger and stroked the frog’s small green head, its eyes pulling inward at his touch. “Okay, looks like the little guy is getting kind of dry,” said the father. “Let’s take him back to his home now.”

Walking together, the three of them arrived at the pond’s edge. The eldest son knelt and, opening his outstretched hand, gave the little frog back his freedom. Letting out a single, high pitched squawk that would one day become the low call of its own father, the frog gave a long leap and dived into the shadowy waters of the pond, disappearing from the view of the smiling boys.