Raining almost without cease all day, & decidedly cold. Tadpoles I brought home are already more or less formed & working their way out of the spawn.
15 eggs.
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George~~
Is it your goal to raise frogs; are you an Entrepreneurial Frog Farmer?
Also:
Please tell me your adoptive tadpoles are not in the vat with the Submerged Eggs.
[blink]
From my precarious vantage point here in The Wormhole:
Eric is standing on his porch, stroking his chin and deciding that it is cold.
He then bolts back inside to bend over the vat of Tadpoles and Submerged Eggs with his hands on his knees. He speaks in a whisper [to avoid startling], “…..out of the spawn.”
He then tip-toes with a quickness to the other room to upload a short post to his blog.
Those taddies could be in a bucket or an old dustbin – I seem to remember my brother keeping specimens of pond life in a dustbin. Orwell has not mentioned having a pond in the garden, few people did in those days.
“Send in a stealth recon team under darkest night. I want hi-res video of the tadpoles ASAP.”
“They left 30 minutes ago in a gun ship.”
[blink]
Meanwhile, the other Eric reports from Colchester:
Mr. Rudsdale concludes his post with a surreal snapshot of an expendable graveyard that made me pause, sigh and click the Submit button.