I've had a variety of
turtles. Painted turtles. Red-eared sliders. Wood tortoises. Box turtles.
What started as an interest in aquatic turtles has moved to the much
cleaner land-dwellers. I've enjoyed having turtles so much, I often get chided
by my significant other. She requests I purchase some public access TV time and
host a Turtle
Talk show. I've had my
fair share of turtle tragedies and scares. One such event was when I was turtle
father to three sliders. After leaving my reptiles in the care of my
roommate for a weekend, I returned to one less turtle. With no plausible
escape route visible, I assumed the worst and confronted my roommate. To
his astonishment and mine, he knew of no such situation. After wrapping our
heads around the issue, we searched. Caught in the corner behind a bookshelf,
he was dirty and dry but alive. Apparently, this death-defying adventurer
squeezed his way out, plummeted nearly five feet to the carpet, stuck close to the
wall and ventured around the perimeter of the room until there was nowhere
left to roam. Based on the dustbunnies he uncovered, I knew I needed to
foolproof my tank and clean my room.
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