Harper spent half the afternoon in the garage playing with Spotty. We found out over dinner conversation that she let Spotty try out her bike, but apparently he didn't stay on the pedals very well, just kept flipping off. If there is such a thing as frog therapy someone better find out whether Spotty's insurance covers it. Poor frog!
Harper kept referring to the frog as, "Froggy," even though she named him, "Spotty." She informed us that Froggy was the special name only she could call him.
She put off the release as long as possible, insisting she be all ready for bed before setting him free. Harper (in her pajamas), Matt and I went out to the front yard to place Spotty's bucket on its side. We'd already made a deal with Harper that if Spotty was still there in the morning, she could keep him for a couple more days. She picked him up one last time, told him she loved him, and (shudder) gave him a kiss on the head. As soon as she set him back down he started to hop out of the bucket.
Harper cried over Spotty as she fell asleep tonight. If only this would be the worst heartbreak life has to offer her...