I haven’t been up close to a box turtle for years and years. When we were little, we’d be allowed to mark them with Mama’s nail polish, so we’d know it if we found the same one twice, after we let it go. Imagine my excitement when my husband and I saw this handsome guy halfway across our dirt road, when we were leaving the lake house today. STOP STOP STOP! I jumped out of the still-moving truck to get a good look, and to pick him up to admire him. Bill was right behind me, or at least I thought it was Bill.
It was actually 11-year-old Billy who was over my shoulder. “Can we bring him home? Can we keep him? Pleeeeease? We have a box in the truck! I’ll take care of him!”
I’ve been married to this boy for more than 30 years. And I’m here to tell you that he was perfectly serious. And I am here to tell you that we do not have a pet tortoise. Mean mommy.
Oh, and JUST NOW, RIGHT THIS MINUTE I figured out that Mama “letting” us mark our box turtles and turning them loose was her solution to not having pet turtles. Who is slower, me or the tortoise?
ginnygram 