Wednesday, July 06, 2011

Last Breath

One of my dwarf African frogs died this morning. I knew it was going to happen soon; it had a bacterial infection for which there’s no cure, and I could see it was getting weaker every day. I felt helpless, which is a condition I have trouble with, especially when it pertains to my pets.

Unlike my cats, I have limited interaction with the frogs who live in my 12-gallon aquarium. They are physically fragile and spend most of their lives under water, rising to the surface for air only several times a day. However, this frog in particular always waited by the side of the tank, like a dog or cat, when feeding time neared and attacked its supper with enthusiasm. I enjoyed its presence.

I thought it had died last night. I lifted the aquarium hood and reached in, scooping it up gently in my hand. I raised it above the water line and watched it for a moment. Then it surprised me by taking a breath. And then another. I continued to watch it as it clung weakly to my index finger, and the world around me disappeared as I watched this tiny creature struggle to live.

I also debated what to do. I could put it in a smaller bowl where it might reach the surface easier, but I felt it was already too weak to accomplish even a short swim. Removing it from the water was out of the question; already its skin was drying. In the end, I decided it might want to spend its last moments in its home. At least, that’s what I would want in its place. As I lowered it to the bottom of the tank, I realized it had taken its last breath on this earth perched upon my finger. I hoped I had given it a kindness. I felt privileged to have maybe given a small gift to a gentle creature I had enjoyed seeing and feeding every day. And I felt truly sad this morning when I removed its lifeless body from the tank and buried it, wrapped in a paper towel, outside beneath the plumeria.

Even the simplest creatures cling to life.