T. et al:

Sitting at my desk just one county away from Calaveras, I take a cue from my
neighbors and ask, what KIND of frog do they plan to inscribe on the bricks?
In Calaveras, there's a proto-Disney country fair, complete with
frog-jumping contest, and the locals, who want to be able to just go out in
the nearby vernal pools to ketch their frogs, get their knickers in twists
over whether it's kosher to use African frogs, or if that's cheating.  Seems
to me, the point IS to cheat, but they don't ask my opinion, and I don't
offer it.  Seems, though, that the native red-legged frog is just about
extinct, out-competed by non-native frogs and poisoned by agri-business.  I
observe a depressing human analogy there, too.

But my point is, once you travel down the road of authenticity in your
fakes, things quickly get "rale, low down wolf mean" to quote one of Twain's
favorite authors.

Gregg