Clifford

Clifford came into my life just a couple of days ago in a supersized laundry detergent box. As my friends passed him over to me, they let me know he was a boy.

"You can tell?" I asked the question to be polite. I didn't want to know the answer. Clifford is a turtle, a reptile, and reptiles are so reptilian. I am fully aware that they reproduce, but where things are hidden on their scaley bodies and how they work...ewwww.

"The boys have red and orange eyes and the girls have yellow eyes." They were as jazzed as I am now about sharing that random piece of trivia.

"Ahhhh," I said, relieved to the heart's core to know that it didn't require any lifting of tails.

If only all animals were able to be as discreet about their gender as the box turtle. I pretty much would prefer to walk into a barbed wire fence with a blindfold on rather than risk seeing a bull or a stallion when I go to a rodeo - gives me the heebeejeebees every time. And yes, I do go to the rodeo. If you avoid the more masculine animal pens and close your eyes when the cowboys ride the bulls, it is good fun.

I liked Clifford from the moment I laid my blue eyes on his red ones. He has a pretty yellow pattern on his black back and the least offensive yellow speckled scales a reptile could have. And he has an unusual passion for life, I think that's what I like most. I haven't seen this turtle sit and rest. His head is in and out, his legs are always pumping, he responds to every sound and brush of wind. He is alert and alive and ready for experience.

And I guess that is the beginning of why I feel guilty for having him. I thought maybe when I took him out of the laundry detergent box and into a larger, more comfy rubbermaid container he would stop trying to claw his way up and out of his prison. When that didn't happen I told myself that he just needed time to get accustomed to his new home, then he'd stop straining his neck skyward all the time. But every time I look over the lip of the blue plastic box, there is Clifford focused on regaining the wild woods.

I also picked up some guilt by accidentally overinforming myself. I went online to find out what I should feed a box turtle and found out that they are on the decline. Why? One of the main reasons is because they are so darned easy to pick up in the woods, get named Clifford and put into a box filled with dirt.

At first I justified things to myself. My friends found four box turtles before they found this one. That sounds like an overabundance to me and risky to my states whole ecological balance. And just last week there was box turtle roadkill on our street. If I let Clifford go I might be sending him smack into a big rig. Plus there are all those heinous predators out there ready to sharpen their knives against their forks when they see happy Clifford hurriedly plodding their way.

But you know what? I think he wants it. I don't think he wants me to protect him. I think he wants the adventure of real life. Not all box turtles might be like this, but Clifford likes the feel of the grass on the bottom of his shell, he likes to be going somewhere, headed toward something. He doesn't so much like being held upside down by my adoring boy.

So that's it, Clifford is going to break my heart and leave my life...soon...I'll do it soon. Does anybody know a good set of woods close to my house with no racoons, owls or turkey vultures?