.
"I've always wanted a turtle."
I told this to my man and, next thing I knew, a teeny box turtle had "accidentally" crawled into a bucket for me.
Missouri is a land of crunched summer turtles that dare to play chicken with shiny four-wheeled giants-of-death. I saved one once--jumped out of my car and placed the four-legged rock on the grass. My friend, Seth, had the courtesy of informing me that, "...in the time it took you to save that one turtle, five others got killed and crunched somewhere else."
Thanks, Seth.
Due to confusion (or lack of interest) in my new turtle's gender, Daylen and I christened it "Heeshee" (didn't know if it was a "he" or a "she"). Heeshee sat in the bucket like a grouchy paperweight, munching the grape tomatoes when no one was looking. After lugging a fishtank from the attic, we brought Heeshee to his new home. He spent the first night crawling toward the tank's glass corners and just staring out at my messy living room.
I pulled out an old toothbrush and scrubbed Heeshee squeaky-clean. His grouchiness washed down the drain with the greenish-brown soapsuds and he squirmed in my hand, examining the pearly bathroom setting. Only the sharp, nagging word "salmonella" stopped me from planting a kiss on his curious head.
Determined to be a faithful pet-keeper, I looked up all there is to know about caring for box turtles. Rule number 1, don't keep it in a tank.
Drat.
I moved him up to my second-story porch garden. His minuscule stature could never scale to the surrounding walls of the planter, so I plopped him among the lily and daisy jungle. One turtle-sized pool, a pile of turle-ish food, and five decorative rocks later, I bid Heeshee goodnight. I drifted to sleep, free of guilt and dreaming of Heeshee skipping and tromping through his new homelike environment.
Morning found him wandering among the greens. Early afternoon found him floating sleepily in his pool. Late afternoon didn't find him.
I returned from class and my motherly turtle-instinct screeched in alarm. I searched the planter like a seasoned Safarimonger (it should be a word), scoured the porch with Sherlock Holmes scrutiny, and yet...no Heeshee. Only one conclusion existed: He climbed out of the 2-foot high planter, leaped off the second-story porch, and frolicked away.
Heeshee, the mountain-climbing, free-falling, dare-turtle.
A couple hours later, every afternoon gardener and neighborhood child knew Heeshee was missing. They presented me with toads, snakes, a monstrous box-turtle (I wondered if he'd eaten Heeshee), and one kid kindly suggested that, "Maybe Heeshee got picked up by a hawk."
Nice kid.
After a good hour of searching, I resorted to just hoping that Heeshee stays safe and enjoys his independence. The apartment porch is much more lonely and sniffly (especially the planter). I am, too.
Heeshee...you were a good and brave turtle. May your daring feats inspire and encourage the rest of the car-crunched turtle world.
"I've always wanted a turtle."
I told this to my man and, next thing I knew, a teeny box turtle had "accidentally" crawled into a bucket for me.
Missouri is a land of crunched summer turtles that dare to play chicken with shiny four-wheeled giants-of-death. I saved one once--jumped out of my car and placed the four-legged rock on the grass. My friend, Seth, had the courtesy of informing me that, "...in the time it took you to save that one turtle, five others got killed and crunched somewhere else."
Thanks, Seth.
Due to confusion (or lack of interest) in my new turtle's gender, Daylen and I christened it "Heeshee" (didn't know if it was a "he" or a "she"). Heeshee sat in the bucket like a grouchy paperweight, munching the grape tomatoes when no one was looking. After lugging a fishtank from the attic, we brought Heeshee to his new home. He spent the first night crawling toward the tank's glass corners and just staring out at my messy living room.
I pulled out an old toothbrush and scrubbed Heeshee squeaky-clean. His grouchiness washed down the drain with the greenish-brown soapsuds and he squirmed in my hand, examining the pearly bathroom setting. Only the sharp, nagging word "salmonella" stopped me from planting a kiss on his curious head.
Determined to be a faithful pet-keeper, I looked up all there is to know about caring for box turtles. Rule number 1, don't keep it in a tank.
Drat.
I moved him up to my second-story porch garden. His minuscule stature could never scale to the surrounding walls of the planter, so I plopped him among the lily and daisy jungle. One turtle-sized pool, a pile of turle-ish food, and five decorative rocks later, I bid Heeshee goodnight. I drifted to sleep, free of guilt and dreaming of Heeshee skipping and tromping through his new homelike environment.
Morning found him wandering among the greens. Early afternoon found him floating sleepily in his pool. Late afternoon didn't find him.
I returned from class and my motherly turtle-instinct screeched in alarm. I searched the planter like a seasoned Safarimonger (it should be a word), scoured the porch with Sherlock Holmes scrutiny, and yet...no Heeshee. Only one conclusion existed: He climbed out of the 2-foot high planter, leaped off the second-story porch, and frolicked away.
Heeshee, the mountain-climbing, free-falling, dare-turtle.
A couple hours later, every afternoon gardener and neighborhood child knew Heeshee was missing. They presented me with toads, snakes, a monstrous box-turtle (I wondered if he'd eaten Heeshee), and one kid kindly suggested that, "Maybe Heeshee got picked up by a hawk."
Nice kid.
After a good hour of searching, I resorted to just hoping that Heeshee stays safe and enjoys his independence. The apartment porch is much more lonely and sniffly (especially the planter). I am, too.
Heeshee...you were a good and brave turtle. May your daring feats inspire and encourage the rest of the car-crunched turtle world.
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