After the homework was done, the turtle and its habitat were moved to the breakfast table. We all went about our evening preparations for bedtime. Fifteen minutes later, I stopped by the table to look at the turtle. I could not see a turtle. I called to the family to come help me find the turtle. Husband and daughters came quickly. They confirmed that, indeed, no turtle was visible. Cries of consternation and worry abounded. Would the turtle dry up and die before we found it?
We stood still for fear of trampling the turtle, and looked around. How far could a turtle go in 15 minutes? Older daughter said we should look for wet spots. Bending close to the table and looking sideways, I detected about six inches from the side of the plastic container a round water spot the size of a quarter surrounded by several little drops of water. Turtle prints: round underside plus feet! About an inch away was another turtle print, with a little less water. It seemed that we had found the trail. Our older daughter looked in a logical line from the smaller print, and let out a victory "Aha!" The turtle was sitting in a hollow of a plastic storage bag that was sitting on a chair beside the table.
Turtle was returned to its habitat while we hastily prepped a new one with higher sides. Older daughter texted a friend and asked her to look for her family's discarded aquarium and bring to us the following day. More water was requested by the younger daughter, and we realized that perhaps our salt-softened water might not be good for a fresh water turtle. My dad, who had kidney problems, would always get distilled water to drink when visiting us to avoid the salt. So new water was taken from the outside hose, heated a bit on the stove, and added to the new container. A few more rocks were gathered from outside to provide a higher resting spot in the higher water. Younger daughter placed the turtle into the escape-risk-reduced container. We surveyed the scene, watching as it swam vigorously to the side and tried to climb up. It could not climb up in this one. Whew! A makeshift screen was placed over the new habitat as extra insurance.
What a scare! We reflected on the responsibility of taking in a wild animal, small and vulnerable, out of its element, and trying to make it live in our home. Did we have a right? Should we set it free? We laughed together about the Olympic Athlete Turtle Stunt, glad that we would not be finding a dried out turtle in our home. We would have felt guilty and quite sad to have brought it in from the dry hard street, saving it from being crushed by cars, only to ultimately be responsible for its death by dessication in our home, however welcoming we had tried to be. Everyone headed for bed. And the next morning, the turtle was still there, the first thing we all looked for upon rising and heading into the kitchen.
Driving later that morning, I turned on the radio, and was very amused to find out that the song playing was by a bluegrass band called Trampled by Turtles. It occurred to me that rather than us trampling upon the turtle, this little delicate animal being, our hearts were being trampled upon by it. I am sure our hearts are covered with little wet turtle prints now. May the experience make us kinder than ever.
We stood still for fear of trampling the turtle, and looked around. How far could a turtle go in 15 minutes? Older daughter said we should look for wet spots. Bending close to the table and looking sideways, I detected about six inches from the side of the plastic container a round water spot the size of a quarter surrounded by several little drops of water. Turtle prints: round underside plus feet! About an inch away was another turtle print, with a little less water. It seemed that we had found the trail. Our older daughter looked in a logical line from the smaller print, and let out a victory "Aha!" The turtle was sitting in a hollow of a plastic storage bag that was sitting on a chair beside the table.
Turtle was returned to its habitat while we hastily prepped a new one with higher sides. Older daughter texted a friend and asked her to look for her family's discarded aquarium and bring to us the following day. More water was requested by the younger daughter, and we realized that perhaps our salt-softened water might not be good for a fresh water turtle. My dad, who had kidney problems, would always get distilled water to drink when visiting us to avoid the salt. So new water was taken from the outside hose, heated a bit on the stove, and added to the new container. A few more rocks were gathered from outside to provide a higher resting spot in the higher water. Younger daughter placed the turtle into the escape-risk-reduced container. We surveyed the scene, watching as it swam vigorously to the side and tried to climb up. It could not climb up in this one. Whew! A makeshift screen was placed over the new habitat as extra insurance.
What a scare! We reflected on the responsibility of taking in a wild animal, small and vulnerable, out of its element, and trying to make it live in our home. Did we have a right? Should we set it free? We laughed together about the Olympic Athlete Turtle Stunt, glad that we would not be finding a dried out turtle in our home. We would have felt guilty and quite sad to have brought it in from the dry hard street, saving it from being crushed by cars, only to ultimately be responsible for its death by dessication in our home, however welcoming we had tried to be. Everyone headed for bed. And the next morning, the turtle was still there, the first thing we all looked for upon rising and heading into the kitchen.
Driving later that morning, I turned on the radio, and was very amused to find out that the song playing was by a bluegrass band called Trampled by Turtles. It occurred to me that rather than us trampling upon the turtle, this little delicate animal being, our hearts were being trampled upon by it. I am sure our hearts are covered with little wet turtle prints now. May the experience make us kinder than ever.
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