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Remembering Frogger-Doo

  He came to live with us at Christmas time one year. Our Andrew was young--perhaps third grade?--and, oddly, he didn't have a lot on his wish list that year. We had the idea that a small, private pet might be a good idea. So off Honna and I went to Martin's, this gihugic pet store in the next town. We were thinking guinea pig or perhaps hamster. We weren't sure. We wandered into the reptiles and amphibians department and saw this very attractive little frog, perched on a log in his aquarium and reaching out with his fingered hands to grab and consume a cricket. We were done for. Guinea pigs didn't stand a chance. Andrew was delighted beyond my anticipation. "I got a frog! I got a frog !" he exclaimed. And our new family member was christened Frogger-Doo. And so began our weekly trips to Martin's to purchase crickets (a dozen at a time in a plastic bag) and every-other-week a teensy-weensy baby mouse, either a "pinky" (a newborn) or a "fuzz

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