Nature Does Not Hurry, That's For Sure

This morning I had just let the dog out, and while I was serving Hank his breakfast, Percy started barking in the backyard. I would say "barking like crazy," except that anyone who knows this dog or beagles as a breed is aware that "barking like crazy" is standard beagle operating procedure. This barking went up to eleven. Like, from how it sounded, I thought she was barking at the second coming of Jesus. Or maybe at a shark riding on an elephant's back.

So yelling rude things out the door didn't get her to be quiet, but it got Hank to ask, "Mama, did you say 'stupid dumb?'" Whoops. So I put on my sandals and went out to investigate. Bark bark bark. I could see nothing. Percy glanced at me over her shoulder like, "I am SO glad you're here." Bark bark. I stared and stared into the woods, looking for a deer, coyote, rabbit, Sasquatch, anything. Nothing. The hair stood up on Percy's back, and she actually inched sideways and stood behind a tree, stretching her neck around to howl, howl so loud it broke the world.

Finally, following her gaze, I saw the horror.



Percy looked disgusted with me when I leaned down and picked up the turtle. I carried it up the hill and put it down close to the back porch, then I called for Hank to come see it. The dog was shut up on the porch by the baby gate, while Hank and I sat down about six feet away on the porch steps to look at the turtle. It had pulled its head and legs into its shell, but I figured that if we waited a minute he would come out again. So we waited.

And waited. The turtle did nothing. I wondered if it was completely shellshocked from the barking and the being picked up. I don't know how sensitive turtles are to trauma. So we sat. I had told Hank it was a Box Turtle, so he kept saying "Open your lid! Open your lid!" We waited, enjoying the breeze. The turtle sat, possibly enjoying the breeze. Percy scratched and whimpered softly, right on the other side of the baby gate.

A robin fussed at us from the dogwood tree, and I remembered that there is a robin's nest in the big camelia bush right by our porch. I had noticed it a couple of days ago. So by putting the turtle down and settling on the steps, we had startled the mother bird off of her nest. I said, "I'm sorry, as soon as this turtle comes out of his shell and walks for Hank, we'll be out of your way." She jumped down and started pacing in the mulch. I would have picked up the turtle and moved us all somewhere else, but I didn't want to restart the turtle clock.

The earth turned, Percy fretted, we sat. Hank said he was thirsty. I stepped over the baby gate and got some juice for him and a cup of coffee for myself. The bottom part of the turtle's shell looked like it had opened a millimeter, but it may have been a shadow. Hank mused, "Where is that turtle's mama?" I said, "Well, maybe that is the mama." He got a look on his face like, "Mom, in order for me to find that turtle relatable, it needs to be the baby, not the mama. Nothing worthy of narrating happens to mamas." So I said, "Or maybe he's on his way home to his mama." Interest renewed.

Turtle status: unchanged. I started to feel like we were upsetting an entire backyard ecosystem. Distressed mother robin, schizo-paranoid beagle, paralyzed/stubborn/snoozing turtle, inadequately SPF'd Hank, and me, in pajamas and pink snakeskin Birkenstocks. It was a majestic natural tableau. Remember that "Planet Earth" series? It was kind of like a scene from that. But with more tension. Something had to give. Hank broke the standoff by saying he needed to use the potty. I thought, "Okay, it's like in a restaurant. While you're in the bathroom, your food arrives. If we go inside, this turtle will just burst into activity."

And he did, sorta. When we came back out, he'd poked his head out that little bit, and we were able to go up to him and look at him, and I took his picture. Then the mother robin fluttered up from her nest again. She was like, "Really? You're back. Really. That's great." So I picked up the turtle and turned him over. Hank touched his shell on both sides, and even touched his little claws that were peeking out. Then I moved the turtle back to where I'd found him, because maybe he was going somewhere in particular.

Then I picked a tick off of Hank's shin, and then we went back inside and left everyone in peace.

Here ends the day's field study notes from our house. Are y'all outside playing? Have a good weekend, whatever you get up to!