Turtle Dumb

A few years ago my adult daughter acquired three water turtles. I don’t remember where she got them, just that they appeared as the latest addition to her menagerie which includes cows and horses and chickens besides the dogs and cats that call her house home.
Anyone who knows Sarah knows that she loves animals. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t. I have loved pets that I’ve owned, but that’s on a one-at-a-time basis. Sarah likes all creatures all of the time. Thus it was not surprising for 3 turtles to become part of her life.
Their home was in a plastic children’s wading pool and they loved it. They’d climb up on the rocks placed there for them and lie in the sun for hours. They didn’t seem to mind if I watched them, but if I got too close they would jump into the water and hide as they do from prey in the wild. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company and they grew and thrived as they paddled about their watery home.
A couple of years ago, like the rest of the gang, they made the move back to Fallbrook with the family. And their home was quickly relocated to a spot in the year near the steps to the house that provided both sun and shade. And they seemed happy enough. Until one day.
One day, the first person outside noticed that there were only two turtles in the pool. And a frantic search ensued. I wondered if one of the cats had finally made a catch. They used to sit nearby and tease the turtles, but I’d never imagined that they’d hurt one of them. But what other answer. The dogs ignored them. And the turtles had seemed contended enough. Why would one take off?
We pondered this for a few months before a second one also decided to explore the great outdoors or became catnip. I still wonder about that. And the one who remained seemed sad to me swimming around in what was now a big area without his two buddies.
Not long after the second turtle went missing, my grandson, who’d been staying with me for a season, decided that he wanted a pet. And so he bought a tank and a tank-sized rock and a filter and set the lone turtle up in his new home in my living room in my tiny condo where he seems happy enough. He still lets me watch him, but will hit the water the minute I get to close or make a loud noise. But we understand each other. I feed him. And he tolerates me.
As it is almost always chilly in Oceanside, John rigged up a lamp and the turtle’s greatest pleasure is to lie on the rock just inches from the light bulb and bask in the warmth of it as if he were in the desert where I suspect he’d be happier. Except for the lack of water. He and I agree about that. We can’t be far from the water although I prefer the salt water of the ocean while he enjoys the fresh water from the tap.
And all has been well for many months now until the other day when Sarah’s youngest was outside playing with a water gun and aimed it at a rock looking thing only to realize it was a turtle. Now we don’t know if it is escapee number one or wanderer number two, but he’s back. And, of course, nothing else would do except to bring him to my house to reunite him with his buddy. And that seemed to be working okay until a few minutes ago when I noticed that the new arrival had apparently climbed up on the rock and when the former sole surviving turtle spied his old friend on the one and only rock, he proceeded to climb up on top of him.
I got a great picture before they heard me and plunged back into the depths of their tank. Perhaps, I need to explain the concept of a selfie to them as I’m sure they can see their reflection in the glass.