I would have missed this little fellow, but Buck’s sharp eyes spotted him. No frog legs for dinner around here. I sent Buck for take-out lasagna from a little neighborhood bistro called Petrellas. The tomato sauce was a little raw, the filling heavy, with an unpleasant congealed texture, and the seasonings more north Florida than south Italy, but the folks are nice, and I didn’t have to lift a finger, only a fork. It’s just one supper, and I was glad to get it.