Life-Long Interests: Turtles

I can’t remember if my affection for turtles began with my childhood pets or the Teenage Mutant Ninja variety.  Maybe I discovered both around the same time and my love of each fed into one another. Either way, I enjoy a good turtle.

My dad tells the story of our next-door neighbor overhearing me in the backyard talking about Donatello and Michelangelo, and later telling my father about how I was such a gifted young lad due to my vast knowledge of Renaissance artists. I think it must have pained Dad to break it to him that I was just playing Ninja Turtles and in fact had no idea who those artists were. Looking back, if I were Dad, I would have faked it and said, “Yes, my son is a genius. Thank you for noticing.”

Anyway, I loved Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  I would pore over my comic books of them, draw pictures of them, and pretend to be them. Like everyone else, Michelangelo was my favorite because he was, obviously, a party dude. Or so the theme song told me.

However, I took to a liking of turtles beyond the pop culture realm when I was given a box turtle that a family member had found wandering aimlessly through their neighborhood.  I loved all animals, but this little guy was so unique and new to me.  I loved the symmetrical designs on his shell, his weird little beady eyes, and the smooth but scaly skin. Of course, the trait I appreciated most of all was the hilarious way he would force all of his body up inside that shell when he scared, confused, or just plain cranky. I named him Peeker, because I liked the way he would peek out at me. Let’s not laugh at a 5-year-old’s choice of a name for his pet reptile. Peeker is just as good a name for a turtle as any I can now think of.

And then another turtle was found and given to me. I named him David, which is a much more proper name for a gentleman turtle. Now I had a pair of wicked cool pet box turtles. All I needed then were two more just like them, and canister of mutagenic ooze, and a sensei rat to instruct them in the ancient path of the martial arts. I didn’t just have a couple of pets; I had a collection.

The turtles new home became a small pen in the garden outside. My mom painted the turtles’ shells so I could be sure to tell them apart. After all, what could be worse for a domesticated turtle than to suffer the indignity of an identity crisis? The two turtles seemed to get along fine. They laid around in the dirt and shared lettuce. If they ever fought, I didn’t know about it. Life was pretty good for them. But it was about to get more interesting.

Another turtle was found and added to the pack. And yet, this one was different. It was a little bit bigger, broader, and dare I say curvier. That’s because this one was a “she.” Naturally, her shell was then denoted with pink acrylic and she was named Shelley. And David and Peeker discovered new recreational activities that would surely give reason to make their Teenage Mutant counterparts blush. Little turtle eggs were soon discovered.

After the baby turtles hatched, they would often escape the confines of the pen that the human oppressors had forced upon them and we would find the adolescent reptiles all around the yard.  I was in turtle heaven (which incidentally is much better than lizard or frog heaven, because turtles aren’t fast so you can always catch them, hold them, and force them to love you.)

I can’t recall the exact reason why, but eventually the turtle farm seemed to become too much for my parents to handle, and they convinced me that the turtles would be happier in the wild. I still remember the car ride out to an open meadow, tapping my little buddies on their shells and telling them goodbye.  When I placed them down in the field, they happily scurried forward into their new destiny at quite a keen pace. And that was the end of my pet turtles.

Throughout my life, I’ve always held onto this affection for turtles, maybe just because the thought of those pets brings me happy memories. I’ve even tried to find box turtles at various pet stores, but apparently no place carries them anymore.  They only ever have those snooty water turtles with the red stripes on their necks, but who wants one of those? I’ve stopped several times on the side of the road whenever I think that I have spotted a box turtle, but I’ve never been able to procure another specimen. But I guess it’s just as well. I live in an apartment now with my wife and two cats. We don’t really have room for a turtle terrarium. I guess I’ll just have to be happy with the memories of those little guys I used to play with in the back yard.