Russel wanted to figure out what a frog was.
He pinned it on his table and slowly and carefully dissected it piece after piece. He was always interested in frogs, even as a child. He loved watching them jump, grow from tadpoles, and sing in the night. He was kind of a lonely child but the frogs kept him company. His father was always busy somewhere else. Somewhere else was always another place that the boy wasn't. He started to think that maybe this somewhere else must be a very interesting place. Why didn't he go there? He figured he was not somewhere so he must be nowhere.
Each part was carefully handled measured and labeled. The frogs though seemed very happy to be where they were. They could jump pretty far but they stayed in that same place, the small creek near his home. They would be born there, live there, have children there and die there. They never stopped singing and jumping. There didn't seem to be any reason to leave so this must be a kind of somewhere.
His face started getting worried as he pulled apart the pieces and couldn't find the part that was the frog. His father one day never came back from somewhere. It was explained to Russell but it didn't seem to make sense. And he knew the reason anyways, it was years in the making; his father was Somewhere and it was better than here.
After hundreds of frogs he looked at his table slowly collapsed into his chair. Everywhere there were parts of frogs, and not one single part was a frog. Russell opened a bottle of whiskey.