My daughter recently inherited an albino frog in a fishbowl.  Through this seemingly insignificant change to our household I’ve come to a far greater understanding of how badly we, as humans, need non-humans around.  My son and daughter constantly ask me how “Blogger” (That’s his name, a childish inability to pronounce “frogger”) is doing.  They stand beside his bowl and give running commentary on everything he does.  “He’s hiding!  Now he’s swimming!  Now his head is out of the water!  He ate food!”  They ask me if he’s very bored, does he watch videos, what makes him happy.

And I explain to them that animals are not like humans.  That Blogger doesn’t think like we do.  That all he wants is to swim, and hide, and wrestly with his seaweed.  That as long as he has food and his water is kept clean, he will be a happy little frog.  And they marvel at this, they marvel at him.

I have to say that I marvel at him, as well.  His home is on the corner of the computer desk, so as I sit and work I see him out of the corner of my eye, constantly.  There is something very comforting in his solidity, his reality.  There is something about having a living creature sharing this space with me that gives me hope.  It probably seems foolish, I know.  It’s not like he’s a cat or a dog, he’s a frog the size of my thumb!  But he is real, and he does seem happy in his own way.  His first day here was not a happy one.  He hid in the rocks at the bottom of his bowl the whole day.  When he did move it was sluggish, cautious, he didn’t eat his food at all.  Now he moves around speedily, and I swear he plays.  He plays with the seaweed, he bats around tiny peices of rock.  And that gives me a great deal of joy, to know as I’m sitting here worrying there is little Blogger in his bowl, playing, not giving an ounce of attention to my problems.

Humans need animals, I think, nearly as badly as they need other humans.

I love that silly little frog.