Free Range Turtle- Heather Davis
There was a snapping, non-snapping turtle loose in my house
for almost a week. My sister wouldn’t
stop by, not even for chocolate, until the savage beast was caught. I don’t
blame her.
See, my husband, in what can only be described as an effort
to take the lead in the “I love you best” contest that our daughters are
continually staging, allowed said daughters to kidnap a mean turtle from its
natural habitat. They named him
Luther. My husband assured me that this
was not a snapping turtle; he knew this since he was raised on a farm. I reminded him that he was not raised on a
turtle farm, and any turtle that inches his head out of his shell and snaps in
my general direction was, indeed, a snapping turtle. Luther was aggressive.
That night, Luther was housed in a cardboard box with a
saucer of water and enough lettuce to stock a salad bar. When we returned from school the next
afternoon, my oldest daughter reported that Luther had “soiled” his box. (Who talks like this?) She and her younger
sister transferred Luther to a shoe box with a hinged lid. They closed the lid and hustled to softball
practice.
Upon returning, the lid was open; Luther was AWOL.
Normally, I’m a pretty brave soul unless snakes are
involved. But, to have a turtle loose in
my abode almost sent me packing to the local Holiday Inn Express. My morning routine was totally altered as I’d
lean over the bed and drop magazines on the floor to see if I could get Luther
the snapping, non-snapping turtle to bite the corners off of Real Simple instead of the toes off of
me.
I also became a runner.
When I’d turn the lights off in a room, I’d run to the next well-lit
area of my home shrieking like a banshee in an effort to attempt to outrun
Luther or scare him away. It
worked. We didn’t see hide nor shell of
Luther, whom I had renamed Lucifer.
On day five, I let my guard down as I
walked from my bedroom toward the kitchen to make breakfast (and by “make
breakfast”, I mean unwrap a pop tart). I
just happened to glance down at my feet, and there stood Lucifer. I screamed; he hissed. My daughters came, and without any concern at
all for my well-being, they scooped Lucifer into their arms and coddled him. One even said, in baby talk, “Did Momma hurt
my turtle baby?”
With donut shop bribery, I was able to convince them that
Lucifer, I mean Luther, missed his family and had been trying desperately for
the past five days to get outside so he could go home. Tearfully, my daughters let him go. They promised to eat a chocolate long john
donut in his honor. Heaving big sighs, they
ceremoniously let him go in our front lawn.
Luther quickly crawled toward the street as my daughters sobbed on our
front walk.
My older daughter put her arm around her little sister and
said, “Don’t be sad.” They
simultaneously sniffed and sighed in sync with each other. “We’ll have Daddy to get us a lizard
tonight.”
“Hello? Holiday Inn Express?”
Heather Davis
over-shares the hilarity that is her life on www.Minivan-Momma.com. She invites you to stop by and stalk her.
