Can any frog expert or naturalist out there help me with an ID?
Monday, August 21, 2006
HELP ME WITH AN ID HERE
Now that I've looked through my book on North American wildlife I'm less sure that my frog in the umbrella is a Northern Cricket Frog. I think it is, but the description of the Green Treefrog worries me.
Can any frog expert or naturalist out there help me with an ID?
Can any frog expert or naturalist out there help me with an ID?
AND THEN THERE WAS ONE
I don’t know what happened to the frog I scared the shit out of, but it appears he has decided to relocate to another part of the property. Yesterday (Thursday) afternoon there was only one frog in the umbrella and I have to assume it was the one who didn’t jump down to the deck—a significant leap, by the way.
In fact, last night there were no frogs left that I could see, so I closed the umbrella and put the bungee cord around it. I couldn’t know if this was a permanent condition, but I was hoping one or both would come back. Cleaning a little frog shit off the tabletop seemed like a small price to pay for having them as companions.
This afternoon I took the bungee cord off and lifted up a panel of the umbrella to see what I could see, and there was one frog, looking not unhappy. It was weird, though, because he seemed to be almost all tan and had little if any green on him. I’d seen this before and it might be that they can change color a bit when they want or need to.
I didn’t want to crank the umbrella up and disturb him, but I looked around as best I could and didn’t see another frog anywhere. So maybe the other guy did decide he’d rather live somewhere a guy didn’t shine a flashlight in his eyes and scare him into making a seven foot jump into the darkness. He might have hurt himself making that leap—I can’t be sure one way or the other. I saw no evidence of him on the deck, so if he died, he didn’t die where he landed. I hope he’d okay, but I’d give odds he won’t be back in the umbrella.
I’ve done a lot of damage to my local wildlife this week. None of it was intentional, but you know the old saying about good intentions. Seems it often happens that way when humans interact with wild things. We don’t mean to do them harm, but we end up doing it in spite of ourselves.
08/18/06
In fact, last night there were no frogs left that I could see, so I closed the umbrella and put the bungee cord around it. I couldn’t know if this was a permanent condition, but I was hoping one or both would come back. Cleaning a little frog shit off the tabletop seemed like a small price to pay for having them as companions.
This afternoon I took the bungee cord off and lifted up a panel of the umbrella to see what I could see, and there was one frog, looking not unhappy. It was weird, though, because he seemed to be almost all tan and had little if any green on him. I’d seen this before and it might be that they can change color a bit when they want or need to.
I didn’t want to crank the umbrella up and disturb him, but I looked around as best I could and didn’t see another frog anywhere. So maybe the other guy did decide he’d rather live somewhere a guy didn’t shine a flashlight in his eyes and scare him into making a seven foot jump into the darkness. He might have hurt himself making that leap—I can’t be sure one way or the other. I saw no evidence of him on the deck, so if he died, he didn’t die where he landed. I hope he’d okay, but I’d give odds he won’t be back in the umbrella.
I’ve done a lot of damage to my local wildlife this week. None of it was intentional, but you know the old saying about good intentions. Seems it often happens that way when humans interact with wild things. We don’t mean to do them harm, but we end up doing it in spite of ourselves.
08/18/06
LIFE & DEATH IN THE BACKYARD
You can get yourself into trouble sometimes if you believe your own hot air (politicians, take note). I had just finished writing about how mating season was mostly over for the birds, so I decided to clean out my bluebird houses.
The first one has had any number of sparrow families nest in it this year and it was filled nearly to the top with nesting material. Feathers from God only knows how many species of birds, leaves, straw, grass, pieces of plastic bags—you name it. I suspect each successive family didn’t bother to clean up what the last outfit had left, they just built on top of what was already there.
The second house was just as full of stuff, but this time there were eggs mixed in with it. Four small buff eggs with brown spots. Oops. Sorry folks, but it was time to clean house.
The last house was absolutely packed full of stuff. And it was packed in hard, so I had to really yank it to get it out. Well…when I yanked I got more than nest. Three little chicks tumbled to the ground, too.
Oh shit. Not what I wanted to have happen. My black Lab got all excited and by the time I shooed her away, two of them took off into the weeds. The last one I grabbed quickly and stuffed it and the nest back into the box as best I could.
I had a pretty good idea of where the other two had gone, but the weeds were thick and high. So I pointed the dog to where I knew bird number two had gone in and told her to find the bird. She’s not trained as a bird dog, but she has a pretty good nose and damned if she didn’t find it. I could hear it peeping as she nosed around in the weeds. But she got a little too excited and stepped on the damned thing before I could grab it, so we had little tragedy. I grabbed the dead bird and threw it into the cat o’ nine tails before the dog decided she had to eat it.
I dug around in the weeds where I had seen the third chick enter, but couldn’t find it, so I went back in the house feeling bad about the whole episode.
A couple hours later we were out picking tomatoes in the garden and I decided to try again to find the last chick. I set the dog where I thought it might be and damned if she didn’t find it right away. It took some time to dig down through the brush to find it, but I finally grabbed it and popped it into the hole in the box where I had previously deposited its nestmate.
I don’t know if they’ll live or die, but putting them back in the nest was the only real option I had. I may check on them in the next day or two, or I may just leave well enough alone. I’ve done enough damage to my birds for one week.
08/15/06
The first one has had any number of sparrow families nest in it this year and it was filled nearly to the top with nesting material. Feathers from God only knows how many species of birds, leaves, straw, grass, pieces of plastic bags—you name it. I suspect each successive family didn’t bother to clean up what the last outfit had left, they just built on top of what was already there.
The second house was just as full of stuff, but this time there were eggs mixed in with it. Four small buff eggs with brown spots. Oops. Sorry folks, but it was time to clean house.
The last house was absolutely packed full of stuff. And it was packed in hard, so I had to really yank it to get it out. Well…when I yanked I got more than nest. Three little chicks tumbled to the ground, too.
Oh shit. Not what I wanted to have happen. My black Lab got all excited and by the time I shooed her away, two of them took off into the weeds. The last one I grabbed quickly and stuffed it and the nest back into the box as best I could.
I had a pretty good idea of where the other two had gone, but the weeds were thick and high. So I pointed the dog to where I knew bird number two had gone in and told her to find the bird. She’s not trained as a bird dog, but she has a pretty good nose and damned if she didn’t find it. I could hear it peeping as she nosed around in the weeds. But she got a little too excited and stepped on the damned thing before I could grab it, so we had little tragedy. I grabbed the dead bird and threw it into the cat o’ nine tails before the dog decided she had to eat it.
I dug around in the weeds where I had seen the third chick enter, but couldn’t find it, so I went back in the house feeling bad about the whole episode.
A couple hours later we were out picking tomatoes in the garden and I decided to try again to find the last chick. I set the dog where I thought it might be and damned if she didn’t find it right away. It took some time to dig down through the brush to find it, but I finally grabbed it and popped it into the hole in the box where I had previously deposited its nestmate.
I don’t know if they’ll live or die, but putting them back in the nest was the only real option I had. I may check on them in the next day or two, or I may just leave well enough alone. I’ve done enough damage to my birds for one week.
08/15/06
CICADA SONGS
You can tell summer is on the wane these August afternoons by what you hear—and what you don’t hear.
Gone for the most part is birdsong. Mating season has largely come and gone, so there’s no reason to be singing for a mate now. You still hear some calls and twitters, but the melodies of spring are long gone.
On most afternoons, the dominant sound is the clatter of cicadas. Their time on this Earth as adults is short to begin with and by now it’s much shorter still. But they do not go quietly. They let us loudly know of their presence before leaving the stage.
➢ Eight buzzards—yes, I know they’re correctly called vultures—are circling about a half-mile away, rising the late afternoon thermals. Must be something BIG and dead there.
➢ Big day for big butterflies today—Black Swallowtail, Tiger Swallowtail and a Monarch.
N.B. The frogs are still there, nearly six hours after I left them. One has a big turd hanging out his ass. I shined a flashlight on him and he jumped. The frog went one way and the turd went another. Guess you could say I scared the shit out of him.
08/15/06
Gone for the most part is birdsong. Mating season has largely come and gone, so there’s no reason to be singing for a mate now. You still hear some calls and twitters, but the melodies of spring are long gone.
On most afternoons, the dominant sound is the clatter of cicadas. Their time on this Earth as adults is short to begin with and by now it’s much shorter still. But they do not go quietly. They let us loudly know of their presence before leaving the stage.
➢ Eight buzzards—yes, I know they’re correctly called vultures—are circling about a half-mile away, rising the late afternoon thermals. Must be something BIG and dead there.
➢ Big day for big butterflies today—Black Swallowtail, Tiger Swallowtail and a Monarch.
N.B. The frogs are still there, nearly six hours after I left them. One has a big turd hanging out his ass. I shined a flashlight on him and he jumped. The frog went one way and the turd went another. Guess you could say I scared the shit out of him.
08/15/06
TWO FROGS IN THE UMBRELLA
The umbrella stayed down until Sunday, when we wanted to put tung oil on the patio table and chairs to keep the wood well preserved and good looking. So after I wiped the table with mineral spirits to clean the surface, I opened the umbrella up to shade the table.
A frog fell out of the umbrella onto the table as soon as I started cranking and I figured that was the one I had seen on Friday evening. But when I got the umbrella fully open, I noticed a second frog on the metal collar that connects the struts of the umbrella and rides up and down on the pole. So now there were two frogs living in the umbrella. A regular frog family in there. Or at least there had been until I rather rudely dislodged one from his perch.
I tried to catch the little guy on the table so I could return him to his pal, but he would have none of it. The first hop was off the table onto the deck, where we repeated our little pantomime and he ended up in the bed around the deck with the Rose of Sharon bushes. Okay, fine, be that way. You found your way up into the umbrella once, so now we’ll see if you can repeat that performance.
Today (Tuesday) I wanted to put a second coat of tung oil on the table and chairs, so once more I opened the umbrella (I had to close it Monday because a line of thunderstorms was approaching). This time there were two frogs on the umbrella collar and both held on bravely as I raided them up with the umbrella.
They didn’t stay on the collar long, though. Both crawled out onto the aluminum struts of the umbrella and watched me do my work. They’re probably still there, though I am not.
It’s interesting how they made a home out of the inside of a patio umbrella. Certainly it provides good protection from predators, which must be numerous considering their size. Can’t be much food in there for them, so maybe they come out at night and hunt insects or whatever it is they eat. Whatever they do, they must know their way to and fro, because the frog I inadvertently chased into the garden is back. I can’t prove it’s him, but it must be.
08/15/06
A frog fell out of the umbrella onto the table as soon as I started cranking and I figured that was the one I had seen on Friday evening. But when I got the umbrella fully open, I noticed a second frog on the metal collar that connects the struts of the umbrella and rides up and down on the pole. So now there were two frogs living in the umbrella. A regular frog family in there. Or at least there had been until I rather rudely dislodged one from his perch.
I tried to catch the little guy on the table so I could return him to his pal, but he would have none of it. The first hop was off the table onto the deck, where we repeated our little pantomime and he ended up in the bed around the deck with the Rose of Sharon bushes. Okay, fine, be that way. You found your way up into the umbrella once, so now we’ll see if you can repeat that performance.
Today (Tuesday) I wanted to put a second coat of tung oil on the table and chairs, so once more I opened the umbrella (I had to close it Monday because a line of thunderstorms was approaching). This time there were two frogs on the umbrella collar and both held on bravely as I raided them up with the umbrella.
They didn’t stay on the collar long, though. Both crawled out onto the aluminum struts of the umbrella and watched me do my work. They’re probably still there, though I am not.
It’s interesting how they made a home out of the inside of a patio umbrella. Certainly it provides good protection from predators, which must be numerous considering their size. Can’t be much food in there for them, so maybe they come out at night and hunt insects or whatever it is they eat. Whatever they do, they must know their way to and fro, because the frog I inadvertently chased into the garden is back. I can’t prove it’s him, but it must be.
08/15/06
THE FROG IN THE UMBRELLA
It’s been so hot and nasty this summer that we’ve spent almost zero time on the deck. Just too damned uncomfortable out there. So the umbrella over the table has been cranked down and buttoned up for months.
But in the last week or so the heat has moderated and we’ve had a string of bluebird days with low humidity, reasonable temps and a fresh breeze. Nice enough, in fact, to eat dinner on the deck Friday night.
Before firing up the grill to burn some burgers, I took the bungee cord off the umbrella and cranked it up to give us some additional shade. As I was finishing up the chore, I happened to look at the crank handle and there sat a tiny frog, scrunched up between the inside of the crank and the pole.
When I say tiny, I mean downright miniscule. Tiniest frog I’ve ever seen…maybe twice the size of my thumbnail. An inch long at most. He—or she or it—was light brown and green. At first I thought it was a toad, but a little poking around on the Internet showed it was a Northern Cricket Frog.
Not wanting to disturb our little lodger any more than I had already, I left the umbrella up when we were done eating. Seemed like the least I could do for our guest.
By dusk there was no sign of the frog anymore, so I cranked the umbrella back down.
08/13/06
But in the last week or so the heat has moderated and we’ve had a string of bluebird days with low humidity, reasonable temps and a fresh breeze. Nice enough, in fact, to eat dinner on the deck Friday night.
Before firing up the grill to burn some burgers, I took the bungee cord off the umbrella and cranked it up to give us some additional shade. As I was finishing up the chore, I happened to look at the crank handle and there sat a tiny frog, scrunched up between the inside of the crank and the pole.
When I say tiny, I mean downright miniscule. Tiniest frog I’ve ever seen…maybe twice the size of my thumbnail. An inch long at most. He—or she or it—was light brown and green. At first I thought it was a toad, but a little poking around on the Internet showed it was a Northern Cricket Frog.
Not wanting to disturb our little lodger any more than I had already, I left the umbrella up when we were done eating. Seemed like the least I could do for our guest.
By dusk there was no sign of the frog anymore, so I cranked the umbrella back down.
08/13/06
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