Last Christmas, my mom gave me two little water frogs that she impulse-bought at Brookestone because she was lonely--and possibly under the influence of a 12-speed reclining massage chair.
I promptly named them Hop and Scotch: Hop, because that's what frogs do and Scotch, because that's what I do. Unfortunately, one of them is dying. More unfortunately, I think Scotch is drying up.
I tried to keep Hop from eating food meant for Scotch by shoving him around the tank with a turkey baster. This didn't deter Hop but I think it may have left him slightly mentally challenged.
Hop is now swimming his way to the Amphibiolympics and Scotch, who I once took as neat, is now on the rocks.
