SweetWitch
Green Goddess
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2005
- Posts
- 20,370
There was a knock at the door. Annoyed by the constant interruptions of children all day, I tromped to the door expecting yet another, “Can she come out and play?”
Boy, was I surprised to find the startled face of a neighbor lady, her eyes huge with fear. She was pale, trembling slightly while glancing furtively over her shoulder.
“May I help you?” I asked through the screen, wondering what horror had befallen the poor creature.
“Do you have any pets or small children?” she asked, glancing again behind her.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
The woman looked back once more, shuddering with some unnamed revulsion before turning back to me. I began to wonder if I needed to dial 911, if maybe some horrible tragedy had befallen the neighborhood.
“There’s a huge snapping turtle in your front yard,” she said, pointing excitedly. “It tried to eat our dog.”
Looking toward the road, I saw her daughter, in her hand a leash attached to a curious pup. Then I saw the shape of the reptile in question, lying in wait in the grass.
Grinning ear to ear, I stepped outside. The woman shuddered again, jumping back as if afraid I would make her go touch the thing. I giggled, ready to torment the poor woman, but trying to stifle the urge.
“You better call animal control,” the woman advised.
I laughed again. “Naw. Let’s put him in a pot.”
She gasped, horrified that I would make such a suggestion. As I got closer to the turtle, she squealed a warning. Just to frighten her, I snatched the creature up by the tail, holding it out as it hissed and snapped at the air.
The woman and her daughter gave us a wide berth, the mother murmuring that I was going to eat the filthy animal.
“No,” I said, “it’s too small. This one’s just a baby.”
Not that I would have eaten it anyway. It smelled awful, being out of water too long. The poor thing was angry, confused and obviously not doing well. I dropped it into a cooler, the only thing around big enough to hold it securely, and put the cooler in the backseat of my car.
“What are you going to do with it?” the women asked in unison.
“Take it down to the river, of course.”
They both breathed a sigh of relief. I think they were singularly disgusted at the prospect of my eating the thing. It was about as big around as a 5-gallon bucket, weighed maybe 12-14 pounds. Last I saw of the terrible, hissing turtle, he was making a bee line for the river bank.
http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh34/Molly_Wens/second/turtle1.jpg
Boy, was I surprised to find the startled face of a neighbor lady, her eyes huge with fear. She was pale, trembling slightly while glancing furtively over her shoulder.
“May I help you?” I asked through the screen, wondering what horror had befallen the poor creature.
“Do you have any pets or small children?” she asked, glancing again behind her.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
The woman looked back once more, shuddering with some unnamed revulsion before turning back to me. I began to wonder if I needed to dial 911, if maybe some horrible tragedy had befallen the neighborhood.
“There’s a huge snapping turtle in your front yard,” she said, pointing excitedly. “It tried to eat our dog.”
Looking toward the road, I saw her daughter, in her hand a leash attached to a curious pup. Then I saw the shape of the reptile in question, lying in wait in the grass.
Grinning ear to ear, I stepped outside. The woman shuddered again, jumping back as if afraid I would make her go touch the thing. I giggled, ready to torment the poor woman, but trying to stifle the urge.
“You better call animal control,” the woman advised.
I laughed again. “Naw. Let’s put him in a pot.”
She gasped, horrified that I would make such a suggestion. As I got closer to the turtle, she squealed a warning. Just to frighten her, I snatched the creature up by the tail, holding it out as it hissed and snapped at the air.
The woman and her daughter gave us a wide berth, the mother murmuring that I was going to eat the filthy animal.
“No,” I said, “it’s too small. This one’s just a baby.”
Not that I would have eaten it anyway. It smelled awful, being out of water too long. The poor thing was angry, confused and obviously not doing well. I dropped it into a cooler, the only thing around big enough to hold it securely, and put the cooler in the backseat of my car.
“What are you going to do with it?” the women asked in unison.
“Take it down to the river, of course.”
They both breathed a sigh of relief. I think they were singularly disgusted at the prospect of my eating the thing. It was about as big around as a 5-gallon bucket, weighed maybe 12-14 pounds. Last I saw of the terrible, hissing turtle, he was making a bee line for the river bank.
http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh34/Molly_Wens/second/turtle1.jpg
