So Tuesday night I return from my travels around midnight, and immediately take the trash to the curb. I hear a loud noise as I move the cans, but think nothing of it at the time. When I walk past it to come in the house, I notice there is a turtle on the ground. Weird, but cool.
I go to get my wife to show her the turtle, because, cool, turtle. She then points out that it is an aqueous creature, and that we live nowhere near the water, and as such the turtle is in jeopardy and can’t just be left there. This hadn’t occurred to me – like seeing Matt Laporta in the majors, the turtle really had no business being there. I figure the turtle had somehow managed to find his way behind my trash cans, and if he wants to go for a swim, he can walk the half a mile back to the creek. But apparently, I’m going to be taking a turtle for a walk tonight. Fantastic.
Now I’ve had experience with turtles before, and they aren’t the friendly huggable creatures people make them out to be. They may be slow of foot, but when motivated to bite you, they are lightning quick and surprisingly agile. I once tried to move a shockingly large box turtle out of the road in Solon only to have the bastard nearly take off a finger when his head craned back like something out of an Aliens movie. Stupid turtle, I’m trying to save your life.