Considering how few predators of the rather large water birds we have around here, the aviators have their way along the waterline, feeding on whatever it is they want. This week I watched my second frog get snared by a heron, tossed to the ground, pierced through the chest and then inhaled after a sweeping toss into the air. Our little leaper didn't have a prayer of survival. [photo is one of the predatory clan but not the actual perpetrator]
Frogs, while thrilled at the abundance of tasty insects along the pond's edge, must keep their bulbous eyes looking everywhere, because if it's not a bird it'll be an alligator. And if the no-ass amphibians want to try their luck away from the water, well, how many squashed frogs have you seen along the roads of South Florida? Too numerous to count.
And if you're a frog who survives all that, there are humans who are after you — relentless in their hunt for the precious little legs, bound for some skillet or possible bait hook.
So as this Thanksgiving passed I found one other reason to be happy to have what I have and thankful for what I am not — a small amphibian with tasty legs.
Let the celebration continue.
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