Punky and I were playing in the yard when a tiny tree frog hopped in front of us.
"Look at the frog!" I said in that high-pitched, over-excited mama tone...the one you use when you know your child is about to see/hear/feel/touch/taste/experience something for the very first time. I thought she'd be thrilled to see a real live frog instead of her stuffed animals and pictures in books!
Punky glanced at it for about three seconds and went back to digging in the dirt with sticks. Simply not impressed one bit...
For the next few minutes, my attention bounced back and forth between Punky and the little frog still jumping around near us. In one swift movement, before I could even utter a word, Punky spun around and stepped...right on the tiny tree frog. Squish. Splat. Yuck!
She saw the panicked look on my face and froze with her foot still firmly planted on the tiny creature. I knew I had to lift her up, but I didn't want to see the sight under her shoe. And when I did, it was worse than expected.
It wasn't dead. Smushed... Flattened... But its poor little legs were just a flailing. It was dying a slow painful death and my eyes filled with tears.
Of course Punky was oblivious to what happened, but she sensed mama was upset and leaned in to kiss me right on the cheek. She can be such a sweetheart.
I glanced around for something I could use to end its misery (I sure as hell wasn't stepping on it), but didn't see anything I thought would work. Okay...we have tons of rocks all over the yard. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. We went in the house.
Punky's dad took care of the dead frog disposal the next morning. I'm not sure how long the poor little thing suffered nor do I care to know. It was an accident...but for the time being, I don't think I'll be pointing out any more animals that are smaller than a bread box and not confined to a cage.
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